Neither ever nor never goodbye - Writer207 (2024)

Chapter 1: (0) Stasis

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Darkness.

Nothing but darkness.

Then, a spark. A fragment of life sputtering into existence. A cooperation between darkness and light, life and death, to create something so alien that all who gaze upon it are left to pick up the shards of their broken minds.

A city. Traces of civilization, leaving a gash in the natural landscape of deepslate caves. Built by nobody, inhabited by ghosts, ever abandoned. Nothing more or less than a scar of what once was – of what is – of what will be.

A grassy scent in the air; a mournful sigh for all this is.

Ruins. Streets covered in debris, walls and roofs barely standing. The wood has long since rotted, the stone bears scars of time neverending. Covered in an eternal thin layer of bioluminescent darkness.

It climbs the walls, builds bridges across stone, feeds on what little life wanders into it. The silence as poignant as the persistent darkness, a blanket of stars, its electric blue and green-ish shine shifting across it. Barely enough to be seen; not enough to illuminate anything; enough to send shivers down one’s spine as they watch eternity unfold.

A small altar; candles ever burning, a body ever dying. A grief that cannot fade.

A portal. A tall frame of reinforced deepslate, the secrets of which will never be unearthed. Once lit, twice used, always cycling through to the next moment. A set of bones lying next to it, the architect, a silent witness.

Approach the frame; you can almost hear their cries of laughter, of pain, of despair, of grief. Perhaps you even hear their voices dig into your skull, begging to be heard.

“Hey, idiots! We’re right over here!”

“Give him back! Just give him back... please...”

“It’ll be okay. Take my hand?”

“You took my buddy from me! And now you will pay.”

A world in stasis. Caught between two heartbeats. Between now, then, later; ever-present, never far. A silent witness to the tragedy of life, to the horror of heartbreak, to the atrocities that have been committed, that are committed, that will be committed.

When darkness is illuminated, terrors come alive; when the light touches walls and sculk, buildings and sensors, portal and shriekers – the world is born, lives and dies within the cavern where the ancient city resides.

Once the light had burned, it must vanish. Darkness returns. The terrors recede and fall into slumber while the darkness recuperates. The darkness remains until the light burns once more. No surprises, no change; events will unfold as they always have.

This is where our story begins and ends forevermore; in the time between light and darkness. Before and after, until what has been uncovered will be seen for the first time again.

Attend a tale of grief and sorrow.

Attend the story of the inflexibility and static nature of man.

Attend the darkness, while we await the light that will burn all.

Chapter 2: (1.1) The fog beckons

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The Evermoore buzzed with life. All kinds of life called this region their home; a host of insects and frogs and some smaller reptiles and amphibians. The sun shone through the foliage, hitting the waters and dry patches of land that made up the swamp as the great witch Shelby knew it. A nice summer day that, frankly could only be disturbed by the fog.

The mysterious fog was always around. It often waned and grew in intensity again, ever present at the edge of the Evermoore. Shelby suspected it wasn’t the usual kind of fog, that it held something alive. It may even be alive itself, potentially, though she was not sure how that was possible.

Sometimes, she could swear she heard the whispers on the wind: some groans, some cries for help, some quiet whispers of comfort and peace. Whenever she woke, she never knew what the fog would throw her way. She had learned to live with them the same way one learned to live with weird neighbors – namely, ignoring them until they became too big to ignore. She spent her days gathering potion ingredients, selling her brews and magical services to those who came to her for help, and building upon the name she was making for herself. It taught her she didn’t need the witch academy to feel good about herself; she could do that herself already.

Today, a breeze carried whispers throughout the Evermoore and reached Shelby’s ears as she worked on her little garden. She had expected the usual whispers she’d learned to tune out. The words, the voices were heavier, lower, demanded her attention in a way the previous whispers hadn’t.

She glanced at the fog at the edge of her domain. It didn’t look the worst it has ever been – it may even pass for regular fog. Still, her gaze was drawn to it in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. She shook her head on several occasions, to snap herself out of that attention-grabbing curiosity and forced herself to look back at her parsley and thyme, to focus on the garden again.

She couldn’t help herself.

“Hello?” The witch stood up and looked out into the fog. “Is somebody out there?”

Nothing but the whispers that quietly murmured on, not even acknowledging her.

Shelby tried to shake the odd feeling she got from them. She figured the garden had gotten enough maintenance and shut herself into her workshop, to block out the whispers. She brewed enough potions for a month’s supply – or until someone decided to buy her stock in bulk. Brewing had always calmed her mind, and she exited her workshop at the end of the way, not a worry in mind.

The whispers found her again and had grown louder than before.

“Shelby…” The witch froze in her tracks. “Shelby…”

They’d never said her name before.

Her gaze scanned the surrounding area. She saw nobody and nothing beyond the thick fog that made the majestic mangroves fade into the background and that coated the world in a soft layer of white wisps.

She stopped herself from taking more than two steps to the border.

“Who’s out there?” she bravely called out.

“Shelby…”

She sprinted into her hut, locked the door, and shut the windows. Maybe she should go to bed early today.

Every month, every ruler of a kingdom, settlement, or empire came together at what was colloquially known as the spawn castle – where they once placed down and met around a campfire, and where they decided to build a castle to continue meeting one another. Where each of the towers was constructed according to the style of each of the settlements.

Shelby was always happy to go to the spawn castle; it was a nice change of pace from the wet and soggy marshes she called her home. While everyone met one another and spoke, discussing their problems, Shelby leaned back in her chair and listened. At certain moments, she gathered her courage to speak up and share her own troubles – then, she sighed and continued to wait for one of them to be caught alone, to share her troubles in private.

“I know it’s true!” Sausage said, as one of the last people to speak during this meet-up. “Something’s watching me and I don’t know what it is.”

“I mean, Hermes does have quite a disconcerting gaze…”

“It’s not Hermes!” Sausage defended his child from fWhip’s accusations. “He would never look at me like that, no. It’s something else, I’m sure of it.”

Sausage argued his case for a little while longer, but his conviction did not change – someone (not Hermes) was watching him and he did not know what this being wanted of him. Shelby remained silent, but she could empathize with him. Except his troubles seemed to be just a feeling, whereas she heard only voices from the fog. Both with their own agenda, both with their own ideas of what should or shouldn’t happen.

After Sausage’s rant, their meeting was adjourned and everyone started to return to their homes. Sausage was gone before Shelby could catch him, however, and she quickly grabbed a hold of Pixlriffs before he could leave, too.

She wasn’t sure why she chose him out of all those who were still present, but it felt right. He thrived in history and the arcane, and perhaps one of his stories tied into what was going on with the fog. If anyone could find a possible explanation, it would be him. Besides, rumor has it that the ancient capital itself was haunted, so who better to ask than the man who allegedly lived among ghosts?

In a low voice, so as not to bother anyone else, she told him her story. She explained the strange phenomena, what she’d heard, how it differed from what came before, and quietly waited for an answer.

He remained silent for a few seconds.

“You’re hearing voices coming from the fog – not from creatures in the fog, but from the fog itself – and they’re calling your name now,” Pix summarized her troubles. “And you’re sure that what they said a few days ago was different?”

“One hundred percent,” she responded with a nod. “And… I know it might not mean much, but I swear it feels different. I’ve been hearing these whispers and I know they were different. Weirder.” A little more personal.

Pix waited a few more seconds before he unhelpfully shrugged. “Have you tried telling them to stop?”

“More than once. They don’t just stop, though, so these new whispers probably won’t stop, either.”

Pix let out a deep sigh. “I… don’t know how to help, honestly, I haven’t had to deal with ominous voices yet. If I were in your shoes, if I couldn’t ignore them any longer, I’d kindly ask them to stop.”

The one thing she’d been asking them for a while. If it was any other ominous whisper, then maybe Shelby could have tried to ignore them once more. However, that wasn't the case – they said her name. They wanted something from her. She didn’t know what, and frankly, maybe she didn’t even want to know what.

Maybe she did.

“It can’t hurt to try,” Pix said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help—”

“That’s fine.” He tried his best with the information he’d received, and he’d done alright. Already being able to just tell someone helped tremendously. “I’ve gotta go now, thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome,” Pix said. “If anything else is troubling you, you can always come to me.”

Shelby nodded at her friend in response, and he returned to his ancient capital. It made her the last person in the spawn castle, deserted and hollow and silent. The only thing that would make this a truly spooky atmosphere was nothing but darkness all around.

She shook her head. Spawn castle shouldn’t be spooky – it wasn’t made for one person to walk the halls, so the great witch left the castle, back to the Evermoore.

Back to the whispers in the fog.

Chapter 3: (1.2) The impossible sign

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Something odd had appeared in front of the Dwarven Keep.

It’s not like Impulse wasn’t used to it. Living close to Pearl and Gem often meant being surrounded by weird. Even their pranks could be classified as such, so even if something odd were to appear, he could easily shrug it off.

This was different, though. He’d known them for a while – he knew their style, what kind of pranks they liked to pull, what effort they would put into it. he knew them well enough to know this was not their prank, nor their idea, nor anything they had touched with a ten-foot-pole.

Impulse scratched his head as he stared at the single bamboo sign that bore just a simple ‘sup’.

An enigma waiting to be solved.

At first, Impulse thought Gem or Pearl tried to call to his attention that he was consuming way too many golden carrots lately and wanted to let him know to eat his soup - but misspelled the word for some reason. They’d be right: golden carrots just had the best nutrients, even if soup was a little more flavorful.

The longer he stared at the sign, the more he realized something wasn’t quite right with it. So he stared and stared until he left the site and stared no longer. Then it clicked.

It was a bamboo sign.

Normally, it wouldn’t look out of place – Impulse had seen them before, had used them before. But never on Hermitcraft, as that was impossible.

The multiverse was a strange patchwork of worlds, both old and new, inhabited by many itinerant souls looking to build up homes, such as the Hermits. Whenever the Hermits decided to pursue new horizons, Xisuma tried to find a world as new as possible. For in this multiverse, worlds were born and worlds could die. The worlds evolved alongside the souls, sometimes presenting them with wonderful new biomes and building blocks. However, as soon as a world was settled, it remained static. No new biomes would spring up in an inhabited world the same way they did in newer worlds.

Worlds were connected to one another with world portals, allowing for easy travel between them without having to traverse the treacherous void, which holds a real chance of getting lost and never being found. However, these worlds would not allow that new creations would find their way to older worlds. The Hermits learned the hard way when, in a previous world, someone wanted to bring home a frog that didn’t survive the very survivable journey from their personal world to the community world of Hermitcraft. No new item carried by someone who visited Hermitcraft survived the journey, either. Many of them had tried, specifically with bamboo items from their personal worlds – the bamboo on Hermitcraft was just strong enough for scaffolding –, but nothing survived.

So how did that bamboo sign get here?

Someone flew through the skies and Impulse glanced up. He didn’t often know when someone came, but he managed to catch how Pearl returned to her base and landed near the bridge that spanned the river that separated her alien landscape from the Dwarven Keep.

Maybe he should get a fresh pair of eyes on this, he might as well ask for help. He jogged to the other side of the bridge, calling out her name.

“Pearl!”

She turned her head, aiming a warm smile at him. seeing her grin never failed to lift his spirit, and even now he found himself smiling a little more in her presence.

“What’s up, Impulse?” she asked when they had come within talking range.

“Hi!” he greeted her. “I have a question for you.”

Pearl was already nodding. “Sure, ask away.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any access to stuff made out of bamboo already, do you? In Hermitcraft, I mean.”

“Do you want me to try?” she asked with that mysterious mischievous grin and then folded her arms. “What do you need bamboo for? What are you planning, Impulse?”

He’d seen enough. Her reaction put Impulse at ease; she had nothing to do with this. Though, it was still Pearl – she could be an excellent liar if she wanted to. She would have no reason to lie about this, though her question might be deflection.

“I’m not planning anything,” Impulse said. “I just… Come take a look at this.”

“This better not be a trap,” Pearl said as she followed him to the Keep - always three paces behind him, in case something was hidden within the bridge as some sort of prank on her. He didn’t blame her for her caution, even though it was unwarranted.

“It’s not,” Impulse responded. “No, I just wanted to hear your expert opinion, that’s all, since you’re out of this world and stuff... I mean, you can already see it from over here.”

He pointed out the bamboo sign slowly coming into view. Its text was unreadable from this distance, but the sign itself stood rather central; easy to spot its yellow structure against the greys and blacks of the blackstone, deepslate, and stone from the Keep. They didn’t even need to walk too much closer before Pearl made her assessment.

“That shouldn’t be here,” she stated plainly.

Impulse nodded. “Keen observation. It shouldn’t.”

Pearl said nothing else about it. She quietly approached and watched it curiously, almost as though expecting it to come alive where it stood. But it remained stationary, and nothing else happened.

“So…” Impulse began. “Do you know how this got here?”

Pearl shook her head while she stared at the strange sign.

“This wasn’t me.”

Impulse was inclined to believe her as much as he was inclined not to believe her. Pearl, he had learned, was one of a kind. One day, he could just watch her plan her newest base feature and the next day, a new building or plant had suddenly sprouted into existence. It was a gift, he supposed, the gift of building. Even though all Hermits were speedy builders - especially when resources were as abundant as they were after a few months on their new world - they were not all as quick as Pearl. She possessed a gift almost as alien as the surroundings of her base and he had no idea if those powers extended beyond her abilities to build beautiful structures very quickly. If she, for example, could pull a bamboo sign out of nowhere and put it in front of Impulse’s base.

It was some sort of in-joke between the soup group. Nothing to give too much credence to. Still, it was always a toss-up to see if he believed her mysterious smile hid a giddy secret or if she was just toying with him. Today, he believed her – she hadn’t placed this sign here. Yet, it raised an interesting question, back to square one.

How did that sign get here – and who placed it here?

“What about Gem?” Impulse wondered out loud. “Do you think she could have an idea?”

“I don’t know,” Pearl said. “She probably won’t have seen it. She still hasn’t left her bed yet.”

It was unfortunate, but illnesses were unavoidable. Even Hermits got ill from time to time, and now Gem had caught something real nasty. One moment, she was fine – the next, she almost fell over. If it weren’t for an intervention from the Soup Group, Gem would have insisted on building up her base. She’d been stuck in bed ever since.

Impulse and Pearl tried to spoil her, visiting her often and feeding her all the soup she would ever need to get better, to little effect. She wouldn’t have seen or heard anything about the bamboo sign. Frankly, they probably should let her rest instead of pestering her for answers. It may not do her well.

“I guess I’ll have to ask around, then,” Impulse said. “Thanks for the help, Pearl.”

“No problem,” Pearl said. “Good luck finding out who did this.”

She returned to her own base - she had stuff she needed to do, as did he. Still, he took a moment to stand in front of the sign and read its short and mysterious message once more. He scratched his head again and sighed deeply.

An enigma, indeed.

Chapter 4: (1.3) Lands of old

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The warmth still hung in the air. Even after decades, the Rapture made an impact on people’s lives. Some believed these effects would vanish eventually, but even after half a century, the general warmth came as a shock to those who hadn’t grown accustomed to it over that time.

Two people appeared in the undisturbed landscape. A man and a woman, dressed in a way that would have befitted the colder temperatures they were expecting. Her immaculate green dress reached to her ankles, protected by a warm pair of boots. A violet cloak rested on her shoulder while a pristine if somewhat old wizard’s hat sat firmly on her head. She held onto a great staff with an amethyst attached to the top, looked up at the familiar terrain around her.

The man had a more disheveled look. His dark coat and fingerless gloves had small tears and holes. On his graying ginger hair rested a pair of goggles, one of the lenses cracked. An old, tattered red scarf was draped around his shoulders, and he pulled it a little more loose while his leathery wings stretched out, glancing at the surroundings.

“This was the closest you could get us?” fWhip wondered. “Couldn’t you have, y’know, gone the extra mile? Or ten?”

“The terrain could’ve been destroyed,” Gem responded. “Would you rather we appeared and immediately drop to our deaths, or worse?”

“No, no, not at all. You've made the right call.”

If their memory served them right, they were about fifteen miles away from the Crystal Cliffs. Even from their position, the mountain range into which the city-state had been built was visible and the wizard tower that served as a prominent landmark still stood tall. A little dilapidated, yes, but it survived half a century’s worth of Rapture aftereffects; a beacon to guide them home.

They might have thought it harder to spot the tower. The vegetation around them was mostly dead. What little grasses around were a sickly yellow and white, in between patches of the driest dirt. Withered trees and bushes that looked like even the slightest breeze could shatter them. still, in the breeze, they merely swayed. The breeze, uncomfortably harsh as it brushed past their skin and seeped into their clothes.

fWhip took a deep breath. “So… shall we?”

“Let’s go.”

Whatever roads once crossed these lands had been destroyed or were now indistinguishable from the forest ground. Still, with a wizard in their midst, it was easier to traverse the terrain. Slowly, over the course of the next three hours, they approached the mountains.

At long last, the forested area made way for a barren wasteland that reached to the foot of the mountains and cliffs. The western gatehouse had collapsed and the twins had to climb the debris. fWhip helped Gem wherever he could – maybe there once was a time when they could scale these heaps with ease, but not anymore. Time, however much Gem wanted to conceal it, still ate away at them. Gem’s joints weren’t as supple as before and fWhip was barely able to use his wings anymore.

It took some time, but they soon entered the once-vibrant academy town. Amethyst roofs lay shattered on the ground, typical white walls crumbled beneath their weight. The grasses a withered gray, the air silent. perhaps that silence was the most confrontational part. The silence was unbearable – once, they knew laughter, spells cast everywhere, dragon wings flapping over a city where everyone lived life to the fullest. Now, filled with a dreadful silence, an uncompromising emptiness Gem wanted to do away with.

But the silence reflected the heaviness of reality, and nowhere was it clearer than the tree.

In the middle of the Crystal Cliffs stood a tree. Once gifted to the Crystal Cliffs as a sapling from Mezalea’s Mother Tree, her daughter grew easily and quickly in the magical soil, with a silvery stem and indigo leaves that shimmered as brightly as the amethyst roofs. People used to say it held magical properties, and none dared to mess with this tree, for it was protected by members of the council and nature alike.

By time and ruin, the tree had been desecrated. The once beautiful indigo leaves had fallen, its skeletal frame of the silver stem now creepier and grayer. Across her trunk – and spread across the Crystal Cliffs in smaller patches – grew this dark blue-ish moss-like organism. It lived, yet had no sentience; the wizard felt the life force hidden within its shifting patterns. It had climbed up most of the trunk, reached for the overhanging branches. Its consistency varied, from thick growth near the ground to paper thin veil crawling ever upward.

Gem couldn’t help but stare. She knew almost everything in existence – so why didn’t she know this? A shiver ran down her spine when, within one of the crevices formed by the moss, she recognized the barest shape of a person. Other crevices, sunk into the sides of this thick tree, had no such pronounced shape. With little imagination, guided by the shape, one could see a person leaning against the tree as though taking a nap. A terrifying sight that made her skin crawl.

The moss did not just target the dead tree. It spread, seemingly from the trunk, to everywhere. It covered the debris, smothered what little plant life dared to grow in the ruins, and claimed everything it touched. It all seemed so familiar to a threat from a time long past. Yet, this was different. A similar theme, this moss seemed more alive than the Nether corruption could ever be.

Despite the terror, it was an impressive sight. one that tickled her researched brain and made her choose between touching it and taking a sample, or leaving it well alone for fWhip’s sake. He wouldn’t like her messing with this; he never liked that.

His hand found her shoulder. She turned and looked at the concerned aging face of a man worried about his sister.

Some things never change.

“Gem?” he put a little more pressure on her shoulder, almost as though to pull her away from the moss and behind him. “What is that? Do you think that’s some of Xornoth’s?”

Gem shook her head. “No, it’s not Xornoth’s. It’s… this feels different.”

He released her and moved past her. She followed his step, never more than three paces away from him. He walked to the edge of the biggest patch that originated from the tree and crouched there. At the edge, only one stumbled away from falling into it, he stared with a pensive look that easily rivaled Gem’s. After a few seconds, he stood up again – Gem supported him.

“Is this what you sensed, then? Do you think they’re here?”

Gem nodded. “They have to be.”

Someone had come. Someone had trespassed and set off the old magical alarm that Gem had put in place such a long time ago that she hadn’t thought it still worked. The main reason why Gem and fWhip had traveled back to their homelands was to find this person. After the Rapture, these lands became almost uninhabitable. Almost; because no living, sentient creature had been here until fifty years later, when this alarm had been triggered.

Even though it took Gem and fWhip long to respond – too long to respond – someone had to be here. if only to give them hope that more survivors wandered across these lands.

They found none. fWhip may not put in as much effort in searching as Gem maybe would’ve liked, but Gem gave up after too much time had passed. At the end, she found herself returning to the tree and the ominous human-shaped crevice.

What happened to you?

She wanted to know. She didn’t want to know. If this once was a person, she wanted to bring them peace. If it even was a person and not a figment of her imagination, not her projecting her worries onto this tree. Maybe nobody had come. Maybe she wanted to see something human-shaped to give herself a reason to claim someone had been here, but that they had given up and died and put themselves to rest against the tree.

Where were their remains?

She lacked the knowledge. She lacked the tools and patience and time to study this moss thoroughly. She hated it.

“By the gods, that stuff is persistent,” fWhip said behind her. His words brought her back to reality. His gaze was on the tree as well. “Where did this come from.”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t here when we…”

She trailed off, her thoughts getting ahead of her. This moss didn’t grow in the Crystal Cliffs in the immediate aftermath of the Rapture. No reports from fleeing Crystal Citizens spoke about these mosses, either. So it must’ve appeared during the last thirty years or so. Where had it come from? Why did it grow? What were its properties? Something like this almost radiated magic, in however small quantities, and it tantalized Gem.

fWhip noticed.

“No.” He shook his head. “No, you can’t… we’re not following that. Not in a million years.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to know what it does? Where it goes? How far it has spread?”

“Gem, look at what it’s doing to the tree!” he gestured wildly at their dead and corrupted surroundings. “To everything around here! If that’s even something it did. We have a good life, do you really need to know this?”

Yes. She needed to know. It’s been so long since she had a purpose and something to work toward. She had left so many goals behind when she and fWhip fled, and those she acquired in their new home had all been accomplished. She’d missed having something to do; something that isn’t as menial and easy as ‘develop a cure for marshfoot’ and other smaller tasks anyone else could do if they put their minds to it.

She needed a challenge, a purpose.

This purpose.

“Someone’s been here recently. We need to find them.”

“If they’re not already dead,” fWhip retorted. “Gem, please. It’s been, what? Three weeks since you felt the alarm go off? Open your eyes. Nothing lives here. nobody can survive here.”

“Maybe they’ve moved on to a different region,” Gem insisted. “We need to find them. If they’re alive, we need to help them. Besides… aren’t you curious to see what became of our homeland?”

A long pause, followed by a quiet groan that betrayed he still couldn’t refuse his sister when she looked at him with pleading wide eyes.

“We’ll visit the Grimlands first,” fWhip conceded. “Then Mythland. If they’re not around either of those places… we go home. Okay?”

Gem nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter 5: (2.1) Echoes

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Shelby had never felt so uncomfortable in her own home. She probably shouldn’t worry so much – voices from the fog were not unusual, how difficult would it be to avoid?

Pretty dang difficult, it turned out.

It wasn’t a question of whether Shelby could block them out, but more of a battle of stamina. Would the voices endure so long that she would snap, or would she be able to keep up appearances and ignore them until they disappeared?

Unfortunately, a chorus of disembodied voices with an endless amount of stamina would wear one down after a while. She may shield herself to the best of her abilities, but her defenses would lower eventually. They called for her attention, called her by her name, and after long days of wearing her down, she was more vulnerable than before.

“Shelby…”

No breeze carried the voices to her today; it sounded like they whispered directly into her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine, to hear that chorus from so close.

She whipped her head to the fog. She stood closer to the center of her little area; she wasn’t that close to the fog. Yet it whispered, yet she heard it so clearly.

“Er… I’m kind of busy now. please come back later.” She walked to her little hut, to the safety of the walls, to escape the whispers and thickening fog. However much she’d tried to keep her clearing fog-free, her magical anti-fog field wasn’t as effective as she had hoped it to be. When she stood in front of her door and turned, she realized she was closed in. The fog had curled around her clearing, completely enclosed it, growing so opaque that it was impossible to see through. If she hadn’t had her broom, she would’ve felt trapped inside her own home, pressured to give in to the request of the unearthly chorus that grew ever louder.

“Shelby…”

“I-I’m not coming.” She glanced directly into the fog. “You won’t make me. I’m not coming.”

Was she trying to convince them, or herself?

With her gaze on the fog, she hoped – wished – to see some figure. Something tangible and real. But the voices had not revealed their true form to her. Not yet. She feared that, once they showed their true forms – if they even had one – it would terrify her to her core. that it would incapacitate her and drive her insane. Anything could live in the fog, she told herself. Anything that spoke with a disembodied voice tried to lull her into a false sense of security before unleashing their carnage.

Or it was nothing to worry about at all. Maybe she just overreacted.

“Shelby…”

Shelby sighed deeply and shook her head. This was going to go so badly.

“Alright, I’ve had it with you,” she said defiantly. “Where are you?”

She pushed into the opaque fog and left her clearing behind. Even after a few steps, she could no longer see the outline of her home, of her brewery, of any familiar sight. The welcome sun vanished as Shelby disappeared into the mists, surrounded by an eerie silvery white the entire journey. At moments, Shelby even doubted she was even in her mangrove swamp anymore – the obviously marshy waters she traversed and the few mangroves she passed quelled her concerns. Still, sometimes, she thought she saw the outline of dead trees and uncharacteristically dry patches. But she didn’t focus on her environment too much – not while the chorus remained a few feet ahead of her and guided her through this landscape.

“Over here…”

“I can’t see you. Where are you?” She hoped for clearer directions. She hoped they wouldn’t eat her. She wasn’t sure where that thought even came from. If the voices had wanted to kill her, they would’ve probably done so by now instead of leading her ever deeper into this strange swamp where, beyond the voices, silence reigned. Where dead trees stood next to murky waters and healthy mangroves grew where there should be water.

The longer it lasted, the more Shelby wondered what she’d started.

“Come closer…”

“To where?”

“You’re almost here…”

“Can’t you just leave me-”

Her voice was caught in her throat. Just beyond the thickest of the fog, she thought she caught a glimpse of some shine. A color unlike any she’d seen before. Ever intrigued, ever cautious, she slowly advanced toward this glint. The fog seemed to part for her, the whispers grew quieter and encouraged her forward.

If she wasn’t so curious, Shelby would’ve turned and run. A natural instinct; her first instinct, always.

She was tired of running. Right now, so close to possibly the sources of her troubles, it was best to confront them.

She stepped onto an island, its surface no bigger than a modest home, in the middle of the murky waters that submerged the marshes. Atop the island lay the item that caught her eye. It looked like some sort of shard she’d seen before. the shape reminded her of amethyst crystals, such as could be found in Animalia and elsewhere, but the color was strange. light seemed to seep into it and shrouded its edges in darkness. Deep within she saw something akin to the black night sky with far-off stars dancing inside. The stars’ color leaned more to teal with the faintest electric blue edges, dancing and pulsating within the void of the crystal. Beyond this, it glowed very softly. It cast a faint blue-ish light, giving the direct environment an alien feel. It was but a small object, no bigger than the palm of her hand, and sat there. Waiting.

Shelby was drawn toward the shard. She couldn’t help herself; she stepped onto dry land and crouched, to get a better look at this curious little thing. She tilted her head a little and frowned at it.

“What are you?”

The shard remained still and the chorus did not respond. It had gone back to being non-descript background noise, with little rhyme or reason or even sensible words. They provided no easy answer to this mystery – only quiet, comforting murmuring that encouraged her to the best course of action.

The chorus had led her here. They wanted her to find it. That alone was enough reason not to touch it.

However, it piqued her interest. How could the night sky be reflected or contained in its form?

Very cautiously, she reached out. Every inch, she was ready to pull back her hand when danger became imminent. Every inch, she reassured herself nothing had happened yet. Surely, if it was evil, something would’ve happened already. Carefully, the very tip of her index finger made contact with the crystal’s surface. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she touched the smooth surface of any crystal shard she’d ever held. When she closed her hand around the item and closed her eyes, it felt exactly like holding an amethyst crystal, sharp edges and all.

The sky inside the shard did not manifest itself into the world upon touch. Her hand did not tingle, no weird thoughts washed over her mind, nothing suggested this shard was something evil. It could still be dangerous – the glow of the crystal was a little too alien to her taste – but it could hardly be called evil based on these criteria.

She placed the shard into her pocket, but never let go of it. She left the small island, plowing through the murky waters and thick fog. The great witch found her way back to her quaint little house after a journey that felt considerably shorter than the way to the island. She exited the fog and stepped into her home.

When she passed by her mirror, she saw nothing of note. Perhaps because her arms were covered up, her bare skin not visible in the reflection. If it had been, she may have realized the itch was a rash with a similar coloration to this strange shard.

Chapter 6: (2.2) Cracks

Chapter Text

Sometimes Grian wondered if he was going insane, or if the world changed to such a degree that it made him believe he was going insane.

A little over a few weeks ago, some sort of rift had appeared in his base. It had been nothing more than just a crack in the beginning; something so small that he forgot about it until it had become too big too ignore. Even now, it had become massive. This rift was akin to a nether portal, with purple energy swirling in the center and between the cracks. The magical energy had a deeper purple coloration than the nether portal, though, that almost gave it some depths that Grian often stared into. Lately, he almost found himself getting lost in the near-hypnotic patterns in the energy, almost unaware how much the rift was growing until it became noticeable to him, too. Tendrils of energy seemed to lash out from its core and spread out in the walls, cracking further and further, ever-growing in size.

Sometimes, Grian could swear he saw some sort of landscape on the other side.

It had become too much to ignore. His curiosity was sparked – and when his curiosity was sparked, there was no stopping him. He’d lifted a hand, once – almost touched the energy before a panicked voice in the back of his mind warned against it. He did not proceed after that.

He did not proceed for a little while.

But his curiosity took the better of him, as well as that part of him that wanted to share this discovery. As much as he wished to scream it from the rooftops, he could not do so. Xisuma would learn, one way or another, and he may come to shut it down. He managed Hermitcraft’s world portal, after all, and if this was dangerous, he may shut it down or try to. Which was good, nothing should be a threat to their community world and Grian didn’t want to be the one to bring unspeakable evil here.

He also didn’t want to hand over this secret without exploring the other side of it, first. And he wasn’t going to explore it on his own.

Grian flew out of his base, away from the mysterious rocks, and flew all the way to Scarland. He could have taken the netherhub – Tango had outdone himself this time with the astral library – but then Grian woud miss out on all the things his friends had constructed in this world. Such as the beautiful main street that greeted him as he flew in, such as the outline of a castle that had yet to be built. Such as his friend, standing in the main street, looking at the outline of his grand castle and making plans for construction.

“Scar!” he called out. “Scar!”

Scar turned around and waved at Grian as he landed next to him.

“Hi, Grian!” his friend greeted him with his ever-wide grin. “How are you doing? You came just in time, I was going to—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Grian said. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh, what is it?” Scar asked, waiting for his friend to respond.

“You know that there’s some sort of portal down in my base, right?”

Scar frowned for a second before he recognized what Grian was talking about. “You mean the crack in your wall that oozes purple light?”

“It’s a little bigger than just a crack now.” It as bigger than the smallest nether portal size and currently bigger than Hermitcraft’s world portal. “It’s… a little bigger now.”

“A little bigger?”

“A lot bigger, actually.”

Grian was about to go into details when someone else caught their attention. Flying in overhead – flying over and then doubling back, landing near them – was the dwarf of the server himself, Impulse. He landed next to Grian and Scar, who had stopped their conversation while Impulse approached.

It was an instinct. Grian wasn’t sure what Impulse would do if he knew about the rift in his base, so he kept his mouth shut. He could only hope that Scar would have the same instinct. Already that hope felt futile.

“Hello!” Impulse greeted them.

“Hello, there!” Scar said. “And what brings you to Scarland?”

“Oh, I’m just flying around the world a little,” Impulse said. “I spotted you from above and wanted to quickly come and say ‘hi’. And while I’m here… I have a question for you two.”

“A question for us?” Grian folded is arms, trying hard not to let shine that he suspected Impulse knew about the rift. He couldn’t know, he hadn’t been down there while the rift was there. “It won’t be a trick question, right?”

“No, no, not at all!” Impulse responded with a smile. “But… you wouldn’t have any knowledge about a bamboo sign in front of my base, would you?”

Grian and Scar glanced at one another quickly. Relief washed over Grian – Impulse didn’t know about the rift. But what was this talk about bamboo signs? This would could only support bamboo as scaffolding, and not for anything else yet. What was Impulse talking about?

“What’s so weird about a bamboo sign?” Scar wondered out loud, a frown on his face.

Grian leaned in closer to Scar. “Hermitcraft doesn’t have that yet.”

“Oh.” Somehow, it confused Scar even more. “We don’t?”

“No, we don’t. I thought you knew that.”

“I did not. I was already wondering what I was doing wrong-”

“Well, what did the sign say?” Grian turned to Impulse as he spoke, steering it back to the original topic. “Was it just a sign, or did it say anything?”

“It did say something, “Impulse responded. “It just said ‘sup’.”

This did not ring any bells for Scar or Grian. Still, Scar was very quick to shake his head.

“That wasn’t me.”

Impulse glanced from Scar to Grian, who threw his hands in the air.

“Don’t look at me, I’m just speaking with Scar.”

Impulse narrowed his eyes at the two of them for only a little bit. After a few seconds, Impulse shrugged.

“Oh, well, thanks for the answers. If you know something, just let me know. I’m trying to find the culprit.”

“Of course!” Scar said. “We’ll definitely let you know.”

“Thanks!” Impulse responded jovially. “I’ll leave you to your conversation, then. Bye!”

Impulse took a rocket and activated his elytra, soaring in the sky within seconds.

“Goodbye!” Scar called after him, waving goodbye. “Have a nice day!”

As soon as Impulse was well out of earshot, Grian turned to Scar. “Did you know about that sign?”

“No.” The man answered genuinely. “Did you?”

“Didn’t have a clue.”

So someone placed a bamboo sign in front of Impulse’s base while that should be impossible. That was interesting. Almost as interesting as the rift in Grian’s basem*nt. Perhaps the two of them were connected somehow.

No. Grian would know if something happened with that rift.

“So, what did you say was going on with that crack in the wall?” Scar then asked.

“The rift has gotten bigger. I swear, it’s almost three times as big now and I know I’ve seen some things on the other side.”

“And you want me to come take a look at it?”

“…Yes.” In the strictest sense of the word, yes. Just to come and check it out, because its current size was nuts. Grian had to share this insanity with someone and Scar was the prime target, who would share his concerns and excitement about this topic.

“Of course I’ll come!” Scar declared jovially. “Lead the way.”

Chapter 7: (2.3) Ghosts

Chapter Text

The Grimlands looked terrible. Despite the general atmosphere of the redstone wastelands that existed beyond villages and cities scattered across the landscape, it somehow looked even duller now. fWhip did not speak as they traversed the area on foot and saw first-hand what had become of home.

He hadn’t been back since the explosion. He’d been rescued from under the rubble and immediately evacuated to neutral Mangrovia. He never returned to the Grimlands – he’d followed Gem to the Crystal Cliffs, where he borrowed some of her stuff to make a travel pack. Next thing he knew, he and Gem were flying away from disaster; away from the Crystal Cliffs and the Grimlands without ever looking back.

The explosion crater still scarred the landscape. The dark moss hadn’t spread as far as the Grimlands, thankfully, but home did not need a secondary form of corruption to look awful. No life could be found; not even dry grasses. No stray dogs or hostile monsters wandered across the dusty debris of a once-powerful city.

It felt weird to stand at the edge of the crater where once stood Eastvale.

Where the Rapture had been initiated.

Gem placed a hand on his shoulder. “fWhip…”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t look at her. “I knew this was how it would look. Nothing survived. I didn’t have much hope for this place, anyway…”

She gently squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s move on.”

Gem led him away from their homeland and the crushing weight on his shoulders.

Through the Crystal Cliffs, going west. Through empires of their close friends and neighbors, because their curiosity had grown since they first arrived. Through Rivendell, completely overrun by that familiar Nether corruption that barely swayed in the wind anymore – barely more than plants that could not survive and had not survived the frigid winters. Through House Blossom, where all plant life had been eradicated and the floating castle had crashed. One tall, magnificent flower attempted to grow, but the dark moss nearly crushed it as it sucked the life out of it.

Through Gilded Helianthia, suspiciously in pristine condition. A nearly straight line showed where the moss could not or dared not cross. The homes, barns, and fields lay in ruin. It had burned to the ground – even after half a century, the ashes had been enough to grow new crops or plants where once fertile fields provided food for half of the known empires. the beanstalk was a husk of its former self, but it hadn’t toppled over yet, even if it seemed like it should have by now. The twins were grateful that something had endured, even in this state.

Through Mythland, where destruction and ruin had gradually come. The docks stood dry in the drained ocean. Buildings had fallen into disrepair, the moss rampaged through the streets – thicker than anywhere they’d seen before – and a cacophony of bleating echoed and welcomed its new guests.

“At least one species thrives,” Gem said, her gaze on the first blood sheep that wandered into view.

“I never trusted those stupid sheep,” fWhip said. He continued his journey, with a route away from the sheep. “We should probably keep our distance. I thought I saw that one leer at me.”

Gem sighed and followed her brother. “They’re just sheep.”

“Carnivorous sheep with little meat to go around. I’d rather not end up as their next meal, thank you very much.”

They kept a wide berth around any sheep they came across and continued through the familiar yet ruined streets of Mythland. The same sights returned over and over; homes, castles, defenses, utility buildings crumbled and destroyed by either time or moss. The landmarks had a sorrowful feel to them; even the summoning circle, untouched by moss, emanated this ominous aura that discouraged the twins from investigating further. That dark tower, a remnant of Sausage’s period as Xornoth’s puppet, was similarly left alone.

Gem and fWhip looked up at the tower. A grim reminder of the evil one man could be pushed to for a sliver of power; a man lost to himself, to the friends who failed to help and pushed him deeper instead. He’d gotten better. He said he’d gotten better. He complied without complaint about the tasks given to him. He continuously tried to make things right with those he wronged. He even made peace with the Codfather, his neighbor and rival.

In the end, he didn’t find Gem or fWhip when the time came. He didn’t show up to the Crystal Cliffs, though they had waited for his arrival. They’d wanted to leave together. Yet, he did not come and never attempted to make contact with them again – and his beloved kingdom became his tomb. If his blood sheep didn’t get to him.

A bright light flashed across the top of the tower, originating from inside.

“Was that me, or did light just flash inside the tower?” fWhip wondered out loud.

Gem looked at her brother. “You saw that, too?”

For a second, the twins looked at one another. Then, they glanced back at the tower. Not even a moment later, they both rushed to the entrance and ran up the stairs. Despite the height of the tower and their aging bodies, they climbed the narrow staircase as quickly as they could and came upon the door to the small room upstairs. From their side, they could hear frantic footfalls and a loud voice speaking to himself – or perhaps to someone else in the room.

“… it should work. This should work… haven’t I tried this before? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t hurt to check a third time. Or fourth. Let’s get this going…”

Gem and fWhip made eye contact again, this time in disbelief. The voice on the other side belonged to Sausage.

fWhip knocked on the door. The footsteps and talking stopped and silence fell for a few moments. fWhip knocked again. This time, they were met with a surprised shriek from the other side.

“Who goes there!?” Sausage’s panicked voice called out. “I’m warning you! I’m armed!”

“Sausage?” Gem responded. “Sausage, is that you?”

Another pause. The footsteps approached the door before it swung open. It revealed an older gentleman wearing faded robes in the colors of Mythland, smeared with all kinds of powders and strangely colored stains. His brown hair was a little longer and untidier than either twin was used to, and gray hairs were peppered in all over. The enormous bags under his eyes and the way he leaned against the doorframe betrayed how little sleep he’d had lately. Despite this exhaustion, the former King smiled widely and warmly, as he was used to, revealing the many wrinkles across his face.

“Yes, hello, ghosts of my past,” he said without missing a beat. He inspected them very closely. “Oh, you’ve grown old, fWhip. Hm. But you haven’t, Gem – what’s your secret magic recipe to keep the wrinkles away? I could definitely use that, too.” He chuckled.

The sight was uncomfortable. How he approached them, spoke to them, as though nothing had changed. They were the ghosts of his past and he addressed them as though they were alive, even if he clearly didn’t believe that to be the case. It broke their hearts.

Had he been alone all this time?

“Anyway, so good for you to be here!” Sausage continued. “Are you here to witness my glorious magic?”

“Sausage, what are you doing?” fWhip wondered. Sausage’s smile faltered ever so slightly.

“I’m bringing her back,” the former King responded. “I-I’m bringing everyone back. Pearl, the two of you, sir Carlos… starting with Pearl. She burned, y'know. Right in front of my eyes. Told her I’d take care of her animals, and I did.” He nodded to himself, proud of this accomplishment. “I mean, I must’ve. But she needs to come back. See how the world is off worse without her. She needs the opportunity to see how her animals have thrived. I’m sure she’d want to be reunited with them.”

He turned his back to them and rummaged through the ransacked cabinets, looking for magical ingredients from a supply that had long since run out.

Gem’s heart ached for the shadow of a man that stood in front of her.

“Sausage… such magic does not exist,” she said. If Pearl had burned… she’d heard stories, but never thought them to be true. The dead remain dead; even with the respawn they’ve been granted, the Rapture had nullified their gift. Those who perished had truly died with no chance of returning. True death had never been a consideration before – but when it had happened, it had been devastating.

Necromancy was forbidden in the Crystal Cliffs. It corrupts, makes you dive into the deepest crevices of your mind and soul. With Sausage’s current disposition and supply, he would never achieve his goals… but the fact that he kept trying said enough about him and his stubborn determination.

“You just watch, ghost-Gem,” Sausage said, pointing his finger at her. “I’ve been trying all this time and I’ve finally perfected the formula. Nothing’s going wrong this time around.”

“We’re not ghosts.” Gem spoke in her gentlest voice. “We’re here, Sausage. We’re real.”

“That’s what they all say.”

fWhip stepped forward with what little patience he had left and sighed. “Come here.”

A surprised shriek escaped Sausage's lips when fWhip turned him around and wrestled him into a hug. Sausage tried to resist, attempted with all his might to free himself. Though he’d always been stronger than fWhip, his strength had waned and he hated how the Count managed to keep him grappled.

“Wha- no! What are you doing!? I have to… have to…”

Slowly, Sausage stopped struggling against the embrace. Realization hit him, spread across his face, and allowed fWhip to squeeze him into that hug.

“You’re… you’re touching me,” Sausage said incredulously.

“Of course,” fWhip said. He released Sausage, who stumbled a few feet away from them with a confused look in his eyes.

As Sausage looked at them, he saw them. Truly saw them now. His gaze did not glide over them dismissively anymore. Instead, he watched them with as much attention as he could muster.

“Gem? fWhip?” Tears started to bring in his eyes. “A-Are you…?”

Gem smiled kindly at him. “Hi, Sausage.”

Without hesitation, Sausage leaped forward and pulled Gem into a hug that was way too tight, holding onto her as though she’d vanish if he let go, crying on her shoulder. Gem hugged him and patted him on his back while he sniffled and cried.

“I’m not alone anymore!” Sausage said in between sobs.

“No, you’re not,” fWhip responded. “We’re here, buddy.”

Just as abruptly as he grappled Gem into a hug, he ended it. a semi-genuine look of terror spread across his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleaned up, I could’ve made you something to eat…”

“That’s not necessary,” fWhip said. Welcome, but not necessary. The good company was more than enough to make up for it.

Gem nodded in agreement. “Sausage, it’s been too long, we need to talk.”

Chapter 8: (3.1) Expedition

Chapter Text

Sausage did not like the idea that someone was watching him. He did not have any proof that someone was watching him. The citizens of Sanctuary that he’d asked swore they did not have any malicious intent and only wanted the best for him and the lands. Not that Sausage suspected them of anything, but they knew nothing. Eddie told him not to worry, and Sausage tried to heed these words. Still, whenever he glanced over his shoulder, he could feel something’s gaze burn into his back, but nobody to confront.

Was it better not to have anyone and imagine it, or to be watched and to have someone nearby to confront?

He did not try to hide from those prying eyes that followed him. What use was there to him being locked up in his room, never to be seen again? So he walked through the streets, wore his grin with pride and hoped that he would be left alone. He was able to still live a comfortable life, even with that attention, but it had been tugging at his heart more recently.

Not a voice. He never heard a voice that guided him with wise words and lead him on the right path. It was more of a feeling; like the one that led him to the tomb. Like the one that inspired him to build a cathedral for Santa Perla. The prying gaze was only a mild inconvenience at best, without any physical side effects – but it still bothered him.

Sanctuary – or perhaps Santa Perla Herself – had to be trying to tell her something. His gut has never been wrong before. Today, and the past few weeks and perhaps even the past few months, it implored him to descend into the caves below the Goblands and to delve deeper than he’d ever delved before.

The sun shone brightly on him. Sausage was not as fanatic as the citizens of Dawn, but he still enjoyed the rays of the sun. It didn’t pain him to part with her light for a long time – especially because he didn’t plan to stay away for too long. Still, he told Eddie where he was going and instructed Bubbles to stay with Hermes and keep him company. It placated his young son enough to allow Sausage to travel away from his beautiful home.

The guards at the Goblands entrance tunnel knew him well enough to let him through. He quickly stopped where the uniformed goblins stood and chatted a little with them. only a few minutes, though, and then it was onwards into the caves. He pushed past the vibrant capital city, walking through its colorful streets to his destination, following the torches that would lead him to the GobRail.

He would never get used to the minecart ride, with all its bumps and the rattling and the evidence that, under normal circ*mstances, would point to the structure he was riding being on the verge of collapsing. The minecart would likely plummet into the nearest ravine if he was unlucky enough to fall at the moment he crossed said ravine. Despite the rickety nature of the GobRail, it was robust enough to bring Sausage to the end of the line. He still was glad to stand with both feet firmly on the ground and almost kissed the cold stone. He stopped himself; he’d already received weird looks from GobRail operators before and he didn’t want to invite those kinds of stares again. He already dealt with a very persistent, very likely supernatural stare, he did not need the justified confused glances of goblins to be added to this list.

He still wished them a good day and continued his journey. Armed with a torch, he followed the path set up by the goblins. Torches against the walls lead the way to the ancient city and kept mobs from wandering into these spaces, which reduced the number of accidents visitors would otherwise have in these tunnels.

Sausage descended into the caves, torches spaced close enough that mobs wouldn’t dare come in, but far enough apart to save some resources. At some point, half an hour into his journey, the trail of torches stopped and the tunnel ended in a darker hallway that seemed to swallow any light that came into contact with it. ever curious, Sausage stepped forward with the utmost caution and treaded lightly, even across the weird sculk that permeated the area and clung to his shoes.

He had heard stories about this place before – stories of which fWhip had painted quite a vivid picture and which Sausage now saw first-hand. The ruins of the city blocks were preserved, with what little wood they used having been eaten over time. Small sculk veins crept up some buildings while it consumed everything else around it. Everything, except for plot of deepslate a little further from his position. A perfectly square surface, as though something had once stood there or covered it and it had been removed. How odd that something like this could occur in a place like this. What happened over there? Did some goblin archaeologists clear that site for some reason? What was up with that?

He did not want to dwell on it too long. The longer he stayed here, the more an iron grasp around his heart seemed to crush it, the more his hairs stood up, the more he felt like this was the worst thing he could have done. As though he was urged to leave as quickly as possible.

Why was his gut telling him this now instead of at the entrance to the Goblands?

Something drew his attention – a noise that came from within the city. A noise he didn’t quite recognize, which barely echoed within the large cavern that housed the massive ancient city. It still reached Sausage’s ears: an almost unidentifiable ‘gah’ followed by some other sputtering noises.

If this wasn’t unknown terrain, if his heart wasn’t telling him to leave, Sausage would’ve grabbed the sword at his hip and advanced into the city. The city did not provide him any advantage, however, and since Sausage was feeling so out of sorts, he decided to approach the situation with the utmost caution. His curiosity was stronger than his sense of safety. Quiet, rapid footsteps nonetheless clattered against the sculk as he hurried and hid in the nearest ruin. He pressed his back against a non-infected wall and tried to keep his breathing steady, glancing to his side out of a crack in the wall.

He caught a glimpse of something.

Not something – someone. In the pale light of the soul torches, he saw someone move. They had an unfamiliar posture. Tall as a human, with some weird clothes that Sausage did not recognize. The style did not adhere to any of the empires that had been constructed in this world, or even to the independent straggler towns – this person – whoever that was – was dressed in all black clothes. Specifically, they wore a black robe with a large hood that currently rested on their shoulders. Their hair was almost the same blue as the soulfire and seemed to flicker in a similar fashion as well. Something small jangled and dangled from the rope that tied the outfit to their frame, and what little glimpse he caught of their gaze made Sausage wary of the stranger with icy blue eyes.

Who was that person?

A devil, possibly. A visitor from another world? But if someone visited, fWhip would have let everyone know to expect visitors to cross their lands while old friends caught up with one another. In either case, his instincts – and the persistent gaze – told him not to trust this person. It was better to err on the side of caution.

The person glanced around. Sausage may not have been as stealthy as he’d hoped.

“Hello?” their voice whisper-shouted. Their gaze scanned the area but did not find the crack through which Sausage saw them. “Is someone out here?”

Sausage held his breath, slid down to crouch. He quietly counted to five before breathing out, as quietly as he could. How long would he need to keep this up?

“Must’ve been my imagination,” the stranger mumbled. They packed their things and continued their trek to the other side of the ancient city. Sausage remained in place for a while longer while his mind raced. Who was that person? Where did they come from?

He had no clue. He did not want to find out, either. As quickly and quietly as he could, he made his way back to the tunnel he originally had come through. He didn’t turn to try and find this person again and hoped the stranger would not see or find him, either. They seemed too busy exploring or guarding the city to notice Sausage, though. he hurried to the tunnel, to the warm light of goblin-placed torches, and then back to the surface. Leaving the stranger in the ancient city.

Objectively, this journey was a bust. Why did the gaze even want him to come here? Or had this been a wrong interpretation of signs he’d received?

Chapter 9: (3.2) Skyblock

Chapter Text

Every now and then, Impulse left Hermitcraft for a little while. The group was nice and a lot of fun, but none of them could ever beat the company of his best buddy. They lived on different worlds, which made the journey a little arduous, but he gladly made the journey if it meant spending time with Skizzleman.

Finding the right nook of the right worlds to settle in was often an adventure in itself, but what followed was just as entertaining, if not more fun than they’ve had in a while. Sometimes, they set themselves goals they needed to accomplish, or they built their homes in the sky with nothing but the void beyond the small sky island they started on. Such was the case with their newest shared world.

This life was not without difficulty. Even though they had been around for a while and therefore were experienced souls, it was normal to slip up. Sometimes, one of them got grievously wounded or even died. The nature of the worlds in this universe was easy to understand – death was punished by the long process of respawn, and unpleasant procedure where the universe itself molded your body back together and dropped you off where you last rested – or where you first entered the world, if that resting place was obscured. Even with the best safeguards, slip-ups were inevitable, and Impulse had borrowed a small trick from Xisuma for himself and Skizz. Via their communicator, Xisuma had found a way to track whether someone was in the process of respawning and how long that would take. It relieved some of the stress of wondering when someone would resurface – and sometimes even whether they would even come back, as souls sometimes did not return, slipping into the void and returning to slumber.

A recent loss within the Hermitcraft community made Impulse use this in his shared worlds with Skizz. If either of them died, at least the other would know they were okay and when they would return. And, in the case of Impulse’s demise, Skizz would be able to contact Xisuma and tell him that Impulse would return later because respawning tended to take quite long.

But Skizz and Impulse were alive and well, happily working together to build their newest sky base. They were almost ready to explore the nearby sky islands and create a beautiful base that did not have any cobblestone pathways. Their little starter area had been constructed purely with cobblestone and they did not like it, but it was functional nonetheless. With a newly-built mob farm, things were looking up and they could start to think about expansion.

“So,” Impulse said during an already lengthy conversation with his buddy, “how’s the solo world going for you? Did you do anything fun?”

“Just great!” Skizz responded enthusiastically from the side of their platform where their trees grew. “You know, I’ve actually finished construction on Camel Bubbles.”

When Impulse first learned Skizz would build a giant camel out of bamboo – to celebrate the universe’s newest creations he discovered while out finding a new world for himself – he hadn’t doubted Skizz would pull through and finish it. It apparently took a ton of bamboo to get the necessary materials to construct this massive camel, almost as high as the mountains, and Skizz was incredibly proud of this feat. In turn, Impulse couldn’t help but be proud as well.

Impulse nodded. “All done?”

“All done!” Skizz beamed with pride. “I’m thinking of making him a friend. No, wait that’s wrong. I’m not thinking of it, I’m already building one.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Skizz was a delight to be around, speaking with that ever-present sincerity and respect and kindness. Speaking with such liveliness and excitability that even if Impulse hadn’t been smiling already, it would’ve put a smile on his face.

“Yeah! A warden friend for Camel Bubbles. I’ve discovered some deep dark not too far from where I’m staying. It’s very easy to gather the sculk that I need. I also found some swift sneak.”

“Swift sneak!” Impulse hollered. “Dude, good find! Do you like it?”

“I don’t like it… I love it! I don’t know how I ever could’ve gone without it, it’s so awesome.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing. Once you’re using it, it feels weird to go back to non-swift sneak sneaking. Just feel weird,” Impulse commented. He’s had it on a few occasions in a separate world and it always was strange to go back to the normal speed. It was a luxury to sneak around with such a great enchantment on your boots. It just made life that much easier.

“Yeah, it does,” Skizz responded and he started to mutter under his breath a little. “That wasn’t all, though. Just like this weird little shard I found-”

“Hey, Skizz?” Impulse hadn’t caught what Skizz said at the last second.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you know what I recently found in my base?”

It wouldn’t help Impulse’s investigation much. It wouldn’t help him make any progress whatsoever. However, now Skizz had mentioned his giant bamboo construction in the shape of a camel, his mind had wandered back to the sign that had been left in front of his base on Hermitcraft.

“A creeper?” Skizz wondered out loud.

“No.”

“A prank.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? How can you not be sure if it’s a prank?”

“I just don’t know.” Impulse shrugged. “It was a bamboo sign, Skizz. On Hermitcraft.”

It took perhaps a second too long before Skizz finally realized why Impulse hammered on the specific wood type. The quiet confusion on his face disappeared rather quickly. He turned to Impulse, holding onto the logs of wood currently in his arms.

“Hermitcraft doesn’t have bamboo stuff, does it?” he wondered. He walked over to the chest where they kept all of their wood to drop off what he’d just gathered.

“Nothing beyond scaffolding,” Impulse said. “So imagine my surprise when I’m flying out of my base and then finding this sign outside of my front door.”

“Did it say anything?” Skizz asked. As soon as the wood was dropped off in the chest, he walked over to his buddy to give him and his story the full attention it deserved.

“It only said ‘sup’.” Impulse shrugged again. “I don’t know, it almost sounded familiar.”

“Almost?” Skizz wondered out loud. “Did you ask anyone?”

“I did.” He asked a few people, but all of them were confused by the presence of this sign. According to Xisuma, nobody had visited Hermitcraft recently enough to place this sign here – then again, it was impossible to bring that in through the world portal. “Nobody knows what that’s about. They’re looking into it, but no luck so far.”

Skizz firmly placed a comforting and encouraging hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

“You’ll find out soon, buddy”, he said with a wide grin. “I believe in you.”

“Thanks, Skizz,” Impulse said, his gaze focused on Skizz’s face – or rather, on his grin. That grin that he knew so well. That grin that looked like it had a mischievous glint in it. That grin that made Impulse suspect something was going on that Skizz knew about.

A rogue idea popped up into his mind – did Skizz place that sign?

No. It couldn’t be. Skizz hadn’t been on Hermitcraft yet. Skizz hadn’t yet asked for access to the world where Impulse spent most of his time and it never seemed like Skizz had much motivation to come and visit so long as they had their shared worlds where they could goof off, experiment, and challenge themselves with crazy ideas. Besides, he wouldn’t get past Xisuma and the protections he’d implemented around the Hermitcraft world portal. Nor would Skizz walk into Hermitcraft without the necessary permissions.

His support was more than welcome, though, and Impulse walked around with a smile for the rest of the day.

Chapter 10: (3.3) Sculk

Chapter Text

“So… you call it ‘sculk’?”

It hadn’t been the first question Gem had asked her old friend. However, it was the first that related to the moss that covered most of the empires she and her brother had crossed to come to Mythland.

Most of the conversation was about what had happened. Sausage did not share too much – he repeated the same task over and over again, attempting to return Pearl to the realm of the living and generally unable to let go of her. On the other hand, neither Gem nor fWhip shared much. They had lived comfortable lives since the Rapture, but neither wanted to alienate Sausage by showcasing how well they’d lived while they believed Sausage and everyone else they’d ever known had perished. Discussing current events, they had plenty to talk about – especially when it concerned that moss that had spread everywhere.

“Yeah, I do.” Sausage nodded. His initial excitement had visibly died down, but it did not mean he wasn’t still as excited about their presence. They were still the only living people he’s seen in decades. “It skulks about, in plain daylight – it doesn’t really feel good. Oh, definitely not. I haven’t gotten much experience with it, but it’s very persistent. I’ve barely managed to keep it off my tower. If you don’t interact with it, it’s completely harmless!”

The wide smile that followed his statement was quite unsettling. It didn’t stay on his face for too long, was wiped off rather quickly to make way for a more pensive gaze. “Don’t know how my blood sheep have interacted with it, though. Maybe I should check on them…”

“Maybe?” fWhip huffed. Gem elbowed him in his stomach, who couldn’t appreciate her brother’s tone.

“So you don’t know what makes it spread?” she asked, partially to make Sausage forget about the comment. Not that it mattered – he seemed to have forgotten all on his own.

“No, I don’t.” He shrugged. “I just know it happens organically, y’know. Maybe it’s the sunlight. Wouldn’t be surprised if a post-apocalyptic plant would thrive only on sunlight and dead things. There’s plenty of dead things around here.” He glanced to the side, to the balcony that overlooked his empire. Where many evil plans were realized and a multitude of treasons took place. “I think I saw the first strand coming from the Codlands.”

That was new information – exactly the kind Gem had been looking for. She leaned forward a little.

“From the Cod Empire.”

“Yeah! I mean, I wasn’t paying attention – more important things have my attention.” He gestured at the room they were in. “I think I did see it first crawl out across the bridge between our empires. That bridge had long since fallen apart, but the sculk still stands. Wouldn’t cross that, though, I don’t know what happens when you touch that moss.”

He shivered at the thought of touching sculk – the mention alone made Gem’s skin crawl. Whatever the sculk was, it seemed very nasty.

“Are there other ways to reach the Cod Empire from here?” fWhip asked. He was just as interested as Gem – if only to find the cause of the sculk and to drag Gem back to their comfortable home far away from the tragedies these lands made resurface.

Sausage nodded frantically in response.

“Oh yeah, many more! The bridge was just the most direct route.” A frown appeared on his face. “Why do you want to know about the sculk? What are you two planning?”

“I want to know where it comes from,” Gem answered truthfully. “What it does.”

“We’re looking for a possible survivor who’s been to the Crystal Cliffs between now and about forty years ago,” fWhip responded just as truthfully, if a little more cynical. It was too big a timespan. Nobody survived in these wastelands, especially with the sculk around.

But still, Sausage had been here all this time…

Sausage shook his head. “Couldn’t be me. I barely left the tower since the Rapture.”

The twins sought each other’s gaze, startled and unsettled by this information.

“You barely…” Gem couldn’t finish her sentence. “How have you been surviving?” How are you even alive right now?

Sausage thought about it for a few seconds and then shrugged. “I genuinely don’t know. But I am. I’m still here, still breathing. Still alive.” He gasped and brought a hand to his mouth. “Unless I became undead and never noticed.”

No. Sausage wasn’t undead. That was not something that happened when you didn’t notice. How would someone not notice becoming undead? It was literally impossible.

“You need to leave your tower, man,” fWhip commented.

“But it’s safe here!” Sausage whined. “And it has everything I need.”

Gem suppressed a chuckle. This reminded her of better days, when it was the three of them against the world. When there was no Xornoth, no Rapture, no nothing that could destroy the bond they had. It only made the context of this conversation all the more harrowing.

“What he’s trying to say is that we need your help,” Gem said. “If sculk is as dangerous as you say, we can use all the help we can get.”

When she said ‘help’, Sausage’s eyes glistened with hope and a wide smile slowly grew on his face.

“You want my help?” he wondered. “Just the three of us. The Wither Rose Alliance back together for one last hurrah?”

“Hopefully not the last hurrah,” fWhip said, “but yes.”

“I’m in,” Sausage exclaimed. He almost jumped with excitement. How could a man of his age still look as excited as a little kid in a candy store and have that same hyperactivity? “Let me pack some stuff!”

As he rushed through the room, Gem and fWhip once again exchanged glances with one another. This was going to be a very long day; yet, this was also going to be a very good day. The Wither Rose Alliance was back together again.

Chapter 11: (4.1) Similarities

Chapter Text

fWhip wasn’t sure what he thought when one of his goblins ran up to him and told him someone had somehow snuck past everyone in town. Apparently, this intruder appeared out of nowhere, teleporting into the cave. Whatever brought them inside was unclear, but the goblin had been spooked enough by this sudden appearance that they immediately went to tell their leader what had happened.

Naturally, fWhip had to go down and tell this person that they shouldn’t just teleport into his cave. They had an entrance for a reason. You said hi to the guards, they phoned in that someone was coming in, and then there were no problems. You’d think magic folks would be less rude about it, but they apparently still needed to be taught.

He expected this person to be deeper in the caves. Instead, he met them as they came up to the main city of the Goblands. He blinked a couple of times. This person – this woman – stared directly at him as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. fWhip probably gave her the same look. She wore a warm green dress that replaced the light pink one he was used to seeing on her. Her hair was long and braided, draped over her shoulders and almost reached her knees. Streaks of white and gray shot through the ginger and a plethora of wrinkles lined her face. Atop her head sat one of the largest hats she’d ever seen ) instead of the mossy green he was used to from the swamp witch, this was pointy and purple – the same purple as her cloak and almost the same purple from the amethyst shard atop the intricately carved wooden staff.

“Gem?” He could barely believe this was how she decided to dress. Despite the… everything, his eyes were drawn to the hat. “I know you’re good friends with Shelby, but this is taking it a little too far, don’t you think? The big hat is her thing.”

This was strange. He knew the princess; out of everyone he knew from the surface, Gem always asked for permission and chatted with the guards. Why did she violate that rule?

How did she even teleport down here?

She didn’t react too visibly. He could feel her gaze trace him and his figure, resting on his face and tail. He frowned at her and quietly shook his head, glanced at his clothes. Was there something wrong with this? Why did she act like they didn’t meet as regularly as both schedules allowed them, to trade their specialty products with one another?

“What are you staring at?” he wondered. Quickly sniffed at his armpit. It confirmed he’d remembered to bathe and didn’t smell particularly bad today.

“Nothing. You’re…” She struggled to find the right words. “You’re green.”

“Yes? I’ve always been green.” What was that kind of statement? He’d always been green in this world. He was a goblin, and goblins were green-skinned small creatures that usually lived underground. It’d be weird if he were purple, or blue.

Something was off about her. Call it goblin intuition, call it knowing your allies, but something was not quite right. The way she looked, the way she carried herself, even the way she spoke. He didn’t readily see the happy-go-lucky chatterbox that was the princess of Dawn choose her words so carefully. Besides, she vehemently denied any relation to magical beings or having magic of her own. Unless she came into contact with a malevolent creature that stole years from people, or an accident at Shelby’s went horribly wrong, she shouldn’t look like she was ready to retire to a house on the beachside with a nice ocean view and few pesky neighbors.

“Is everything okay?” fWhip folded his arms. “You don’t seem quite like you.”

“I don’t—” she bit her tongue, swallowed her words before she could blurt them out. She regained her composure again and looked straight at him with a wisdom he hadn’t encountered before.

“You know me?”

It was a question and a statement at once; one that fWhip wasn’t sure why she’d use that. wasn’t the answer so evident?

Something more was going on here.

Or it was some elaborate prank. If that was the case – as he believed it to be – he didn’t appreciate it. Not yet. Let’s see her commit to the bit and see if she burst out in a giggle.

“Yeah, I do.” fWhip nodded slowly. “It’s surprising to see you all the way down here. What, did the sun finally bite you hard enough to flee from its glare? Or did you want to appreciate it more by diving into my caves?”

For a second, Gem stared at him and blinked. He could almost hear the gears in her head turning, and she tilted her head slightly. Her intrusive gaze studied him and his environment again.

“You live here?” Once again, a question and a statement. As though saying it out loud would make her determine whether it was the truth or not. fWhip, being a gentlegoblin, didn’t want to make her wait or leave her in the dark. And he was more than willing to play along for a while.

“Of course I do!” fWhip exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t I live in the Goblands? My own empire?”

He motioned to the caves and the settlement behind him. The town had never been more vibrant and lively than in recent weeks. Goblins walked above there, sparing interested glances in their direction.

“Goblands?” This time, it sounded like a true question, trying it out as though she’d never heard it before.

Somehow, this was what threw fWhip off. If this was a prank, it wasn’t funny to play so oblivious. fWhip still needed to work around his home and Gem, with this prank or whatever this was wasting some of his time. It was funny for a while, but if she wanted to press this as far as not knowing what the Goblands were, he couldn’t do this. Specifically because it targeted his pride in his home.

“What’s up with you?” he asked. “Is this a prank? Did the Sheriff put you up to this?”

Much to his disappointment, Gem did not drop the act like he’d hoped she would. She just stared at him wide-eyed, as though she didn’t know how to proceed.

That made two, because fWhip had no idea either.

“It’s not a prank.” She spoke softly. Her tone hadn’t shifted, and fWhip thought he heard a hint of relief and disappointment, a hint of peace and turmoil at once in her voice. He hadn’t thought that would go together. She stepped forward, gave him a weird familial look. As though she expected more from him than the strictly relational bond that they have.

“fWhip… it’s me,” she said in that same soft-spoken tone. She reached out with her free hand, trembled in the air. Afraid to touch him or do anything wrong while he gave her the weirdest stares. “It’s me. Gem. From another world.”

“Right.” fWhip nodded slowly as he pronounced the words. “It’s you.”

She shot him an annoyed look – one of the more familiar glances she’d given him before.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “You’re smart enough, and I’m not stupid. There’s a lot of worlds out there, but only ever one of us. From another world? Like, you’re not the same Gem as the one who lives on Hermitcraft, you’re two different people? Next thing you’re gonna try to tell me you actually know how to use magic here.”

The universe was vast and ever-expanding, multiple worlds dying and coming into existence every day. But each soul living in this universe was unique. fWhip was a goblin in this world, and in his personal world he was not. Sometimes, that was how it worked. But his goblin self and his builder self were not different people. They were the same. Joel was a god in this world and not one in his personal world - not that fWhip knew of, anyway. fWhip could go on forever. The Gem who stood before him could not be a different Gem from the princess who also lived on Hermitcraft as an elf and probably had some private world somewhere.

The staff and the hat almost made her look like a true witch, but it did look weird on her. She had to realize that, right? Perhaps Shelby tried to help her with this ploy, which was what might have caused the wrinkles. The swamp witch had a good heart, though the execution of some of the ideas was a little iffy at times.

“fWhip…” Her voice wasn’t one of disappointment or annoyance – she perhaps had hoped to be invited in. She had come with clear expectations, which hadn’t been met. What did she even expect from him? To continue the ruse? Truly, it made her that much more irritating and made him realize how much he disliked the princess of Dawn at times.

“Unless you want to continue to cosplay as a witch in my caves, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” fWhip said. “I’ve got work to do and I’m sure so do you. Okay?”

He gave her a knowing look and turned around, walking back to his home. He was done with the conversation and if Gem knew what was good for her, she’d realize this, too.

A thin line of lightning streaked past him, impacting the rock to his right. He yelped loudly, but calmed down as soon as he realized he was making a scene and needed to look like he had everything under control. He glanced at the rock where the lightning had impacted, and the rock was broken a little where it had hit.

fWhip looked at Gem again. He saw her straighten her back, raising the staff after holding it offensively. The amethyst shard glowed softly, a glow that faded. Gem wasn’t looking at the rock that had just been struck, but instead looked at the goblin leader with confidence.

fWhip glanced back and forth from the rock to Gem, confusion on his face.

“How did you—”

“It was a harmless effect,” Gem said. “It wouldn’t have hurt anyone, just give a little sting.” A hint of a grin appeared on her face. “Like I said. From another world.”

Another world. Right.

Right.

A part of him still tried to argue it was a gift from Shelby; a special staff that could shoot harmless streaks of lightning that couldn’t hurt people. It wasn’t too far-fetched. It could work. There was something else – a smaller voice, more of an instinct. From another world… somehow, with the evidence provided, he was willing to take that chance on her. Even if it went against the known way this universe worked. Gem had no access to magic in this world. While that didn’t mean she couldn’t cast magic in another world, it did mean she wasn’t magical in this one and shouldn’t be able to cast magic. Yet, she did. Gem from another world… it didn’t sound too bad, no matter how weird it was for Gem to have an impossible twin soul.

His mind was overloaded. He wasn’t sure how to feel, what to feel, or even what to think, as a million questions raced through his mind and created a cacophony of thoughts.

What even was going on? What did he actually believe?

“Okay,” he said. To shut up his thoughts, to follow what his conflicted heart said. It was best to make a decision rather than think things through. “Okay. I believe you.”

I believe you. So that was what he thought about the situation.

So he believed her. Time to act like it.

“If what you’re saying it’s true… we should probably tell the others. Unless you don’t want to reveal it to them, of course.”

If she was a twin soul, his friends might be interested to hear from her. Princess Gem probably would want to hear from her.

A genuine smile appeared across the wizard Gem’s face. “I’d love to, actually.”

Chapter 12: (4.2) Differences

Chapter Text

“Look at this!”

Grian pointed at the rift. Scar looked at it with wide eyes, as though he hadn’t seen it as they were flying down. They stood underneath the rift, now massive compared to their small forms. Scar stared at it in silence, his mouth agape, until his short sharp whistle pierced the air.

“Yeah, that’s bigger now.” Scar was barely able to contain how impressed he was. “Since when did it grow so much?”

“This just happened over the course of a few days,” Grian explained.

At least, that’s what he thought. He really should have paid a little more attention to the rift and how well it grew sooner, but the whole situation with King Ren, Grumbot, and Mumbo’s vacation – among others – have distracted him from the rift. Because he hadn’t been paying attention, he might have given Scar an answer. Either way, Scar’s eyes grew even wider.

“That’s a lot.” He exclaimed, his voice carrying all the way to the top of the cave.

“That’s not all.” With a quick glance at the rift first, he looked at Scar again. He lowered his voice and leaned in a little closer, as though the rift could hear him if he spoke any louder. Scar obliged and conspiratorially leaned in as well.

“I think I can sometimes see the other side.”

Scar gasped and leaned back, his mouth as open as his eyes were wide. His shock and surprise easily subsided and turned to wonder and awe. He glanced at the center of the rift and back at Grian.

“You saw through it? What did you see?”

“I don’t know.” Grian wished he could have seen a little more, or perhaps a little more clearly. “It was… some sort of wasteland? I couldn’t get a good look at it.”

“Did you go through it already?”

“No.” Not yet. With how often he’d lost himself staring into it, with the amount of time he’d spent agonizing what exactly could be found on the other side, it was a surprise he hadn’t tempted fate yet. The time had never been right, distractions always present in some way or another. Perhaps what little impulse control he possessed activated when he stepped a little too close and kept him here, in the safety of his base, with Grumbot watching over him.

Perhaps he never wanted to go in on his own.

“That’s actually why I called you over here,” Grian said. He looked at his friend again. “Do you want to give it a go?”

Scar looked from Grian to the rift and back at Grian. He already nodded before he spoke one word.

“I absolutely would!” Scar said. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Scar walked forward with all the confidence he possessed and stepped through the rift. Grian barely managed to miss grabbing onto his shirt and prevent him from walking through in this exact moment. Grian’s eyes widened in horror at Scar’s poor self-preservation. He wanted to take some things with him, in case they transferred over to the other side, but all preparation he’d wanted to do was thrown out of the window. Grian didn’t want to leave Scar stranded on the other side on his own, so he walked through a couple of seconds later, anticipation building as the swirling dark purple energy took him.

The rift took them to a wasteland.

From the first step out of the portal, their feet connected with some loose, dry underground and the air was equally as dry. An oppressive heat immediately beat down on them. Behind them, a vertical jagged line of purple energy floated in the air – the rift they’d stepped through, as it looked like on this side. Their way back home to Hermitcraft.

Everywhere they look, they only saw the red desert sands of the lower mesas, with more impressive terracotta formations and plateaus nearby. The sky was equally as orange, making it hard to see where the desert stopped and the sky began. They stood on a plateau themselves, as it seemed to drop off to a lower region to their left. Neither of them saw a pond, oasis, or any body of water. Everything was as dry and arid as it originally had presented itself. And, in front of them, a decent walk away from the rift behind them, stood the remnants of civilization. Tall and colorful conical roofs peeked out over the edge of the plateau they had been built on.

“What is this place?” Scar asked out loud. He glanced around interestedly but found nothing of interest other than the distant colorful conical roofs and the occasional dried-up cactus and dead bush. Yet, after a while, his gaze was drawn to the roofs.

“I don’t know,” Grian responded honestly. “I’ve never seen it before.”

When the rift first appeared in Grian’s base – even before he could look through the swirling energy –, he could not have guessed this was where it would lead. Many more questions popped up: why now? Why here?

Where even was ‘here’?

“Is this…” Scar began. “Do we know where this is? Is this even on the map?”

“If it is on the map, this isn’t anywhere near Hermitcraft.”

Someone lived in this world – the roofs proved as much. But if it was on the map, it was nowhere near any of Hermitcraft’s seasonal worlds. Was the world portal of this world even connected to any other? Grian still had everything on him that he had when he left Hermitcraft. Did they just invade the personal world of a true hermit while evading the use of a world portal?

They did just travel off-world without the use of a world portal. That was insane.

Perhaps, if they could take a closer look at the buildings, they could determine who built it, or what this was called. It could help them to identify who lived here, and perhaps how far away from Hermitcraft they were. And to apologize to those who lived here.

A pathway was carved into the side of the plateau, making it easier for Scar and Grian to climb it and see what awaited them.

They were met with a ghost town. Abandoned homes, as colorful as their roofs, disrupted and destroyed. The streets were littered with debris and the winds blew through them, recreating wails or sighs of some kind. Two structures towered over all. One was the trunk of a magnificent tree, all dried up. It must’ve looked majestic once, and perhaps it still did, but it had since then lost all of its leaves. Two was an even more magnificent palace, built primarily from red terracotta, with striking accents of green, yellow and purple. It had split in half, a fissure in the ground indicating an earthquake. It still crumbled, and a piece fell as Scar and Grian.

Grian thought he vaguely recognized the style, though he could not quite put his finger on it. he was sure it would come to him eventually, but in the meantime, he hated that all of this felt so familiar and that he could not figure it out. What was this town even about?

“Look at that palace,” Scar said. “That looks amazing!”

“That is beautiful,” Grian agreed. Despite being unable to place this style, despite the destruction of this structure, he still could admit this was quite a magnificent sight.

“What do you think happened here?”

“Something bad. Something…”

Grian stopped. His eyes scanned the row of homes that had been on his periphery, where he thought he’d seen something move – in a desolate town.

“Wait.” Something was out there; or perhaps someone.

Maybe they weren’t walking around in a ghost town after all.

“Sure thing,” Scar said, oblivious to whatever Grian had seen. “We can continue to admire that craftmanship. Just look at the details—”

“No, Scar,” Grian said. “There’s someone there.”

He pointed out the direction where he’d seen the movement. Scar stopped speaking and looked at the location that Grian had pointed out.

With two pairs of eyes trained on him, the stranger who’d attempted to hide did not see the point in continuing this. From the safety of one of the ruined buildings shambled the shadow of a man, hunched over. The colors had nearly completely faded from his royal uniform, two bags attached to his side that almost seemed to bulge with stuff he’d gathered.

He slowly approached the duo.

Chapter 13: (4.3) Broken

Chapter Text

The Cod empire was separated from Mythland by a magnificent wall and a ravine. As time passed, the bridge had rotted away and fell off into the ravine. Parts of It had been absorbed by the sculk, forming a boney frame to support itself as it dangled over the abyss. White bone-like spikes grew on the sides and provided the weaker sculk mass something to cling to. This substance had completely supplanted the bridge that spanned the ravine, though, and both Mythland and the Cod Empire were infested with this corrupted moss.

Sausage knew another way into the neighboring empire. Since most of this border consisted of a Mythic and Cod wall on either side, they had to walk around it. none of them minded the journey – they only needed to be aware of the sculk and blood sheep and try to avoid them.

Where the walls stopped, where both parties had given up with their tallest and longest wall contest, Sausage guided them into the Cod Empire. One piece of the Cod wall was stubbornly five yards longer than Mythland’s – maybe one last ‘screw you’ to Mythland in times gone by. The group walked around it and was immediately met with thick patches of sculk. The deeper they ventured into the swampy empire, the more apparent it became that sculk had aggregated here than anywhere else. The patches of sculk were larger, the sculk had more consistency and the small spots and dots within the all-consuming darkness of the sculk seemed more active. Active enough to make the Wither Rose Alliance make a wide berth around it.

Beyond the sculk, a heavy fog covered the whole area. It dissipated every now and again, but it was thick enough not to see more than a few feet in front of them – including where the sculk lurked. So much of both was around that they almost hadn’t noticed they had entered the capital city until they hit a steep decline where once the ocean lay and until the lingering stench of rotten fish hit their noses.

“It’s really done a number on the Codlands,” fWhip said as he looked around. The fog covered up most of their sight, and he had never been more thankful not to see the destruction and ruins. Though he and the Codfather were historically not the best of friends, fWhip still hated what happened. Nobody deserved to have this happen to their home, especially not because of something they both had enacted. A sense of guilt crept up on him.

“Jimmy wouldn’t like this,” Sausage said, to break the silence.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Gem said. She could almost see it happen in front of her: Jimmy winding himself up over it, trying all sorts of big and small things to stop the spread. How he would inevitably see his empire fall to this foreign organism. Cursing at the sculk in front of him.

Gem could almost hear him curse out loud.

In fact, she did hear cursing. Coming from their right, deeper into the city. Her head snapped to her brother and her friend, to see if she wasn’t making it up.

“What was that?” Sausage asked as he drew his sword. It hadn’t been drawn in a while, but it still gleamed in the light that managed to penetrate this fog bank.

“Was that a voice?” fWhip wondered. A loud string of curses answered his question for him.

They carefully approached the source of the noise. They couldn’t be careful enough, even if this was the first human sound they’d heard in the wild. Especially because it was the first sign of life they’d found. This person wasn’t even yelling, or calling for help - the breeze had barely carried the curses to them, and the Wither Rose Alliance had simply caught it.

Through the fog, in what might have once been the market square, they spotted a person. He wore a strange vibrant red sweater that did not fit him quite right, stained with darker red. His skin was paler than usual and dark stubble graced his face. His gaze – or what little the Wither Rose Alliance had caught from it – belonged to a madman. One mossy green streak ran through the dark, unkempt hair of this small youthful-looking terracotta man.

Despite the differences, they immediately recognized Joel, the King of Mezalea, as he paced up and down and cursed out anything he could and couldn’t see, rambling to himself.

“Joel!” Sausage exclaimed before either Gem or fWhip could stop him. “Oh, Joel, it is lovely to see you’re still alive as well!”

He stepped out of the mists, but the twins did not follow. Even from this short display, they could see Joel was more unhinged than they remembered. The short king frantically turned his head to Sausage and drew a dagger hidden somewhere on him.

“Who goes there?” he called out. As Sausage cheerfully approached him, his gaze settled on him and he narrowed his eyes, pointing the dagger at him. “You! Why are you here? Did you follow me?” He started to glance around, as though waiting for other people to fall out of the sky.

Sausage stopped and stowed his sword away, presenting empty hands to Joel.

“No, I didn’t do any following,” he said truthfully. “I just heard you curse from a little ways away and I came over. So maybe I did do a little following…”

Joel carefully lowered his blade, but did not stow it away. His thunderous, desperate eyes were still locked on Sausage, unable to perceive anything else.

“Then what are you doing here?” Joel wondered out loud. “How are you…? Have you been here this whole time? Why are you…?”

“I’m asking myself every day,” Sausage responded with a nonchalant shrug. He turned around and looked directly at where the twins were hiding. “Gem, fWhip, it’s safe here. It’s Joel. He’s alive!”

Gem and fWhip shared a glance. It would be nice to speak with Joel again, despite the circ*mstances. But this erratic behavior was strange – there was no telling what the King of Mezalea had gone through after the Rapture, or even what his state of mind was. They guessed he wasn’t in the best state of mind, considering he'd done away with his royal uniform and regalia. Perhaps seeing people he once knew would eventually help him. Besides, he already knew they were there, courtesy of Sausage, so there was no point in hiding anymore. Gem and fWhip stepped out of the fog and joined Sausage, both ready to act in case it was needed.

Joel watched them approach. Something inside him seemed to break. He sighed deeply and shook his head.

“Can’t I have a moment of peace for once?” he asked the grey clouds overhead. They didn’t have an answer. Joel stared until he realized he wouldn’t get an answer from them and stared some more.

“Joel, are you okay?” fWhip asked as he slowly and calmly approached Joel. So far, the King of Mezalea either did not care enough or allowed fWhip to come as close as he did. He did shoot an annoyed and incredulous look in the count’s direction.

“No!” he exclaimed. “No, I’m not okay. How can I be ‘okay’?” Joel turned his furious gaze at Gem and lifted his dagger again. “You need to stay out of everyone’s business! You don’t need to poke around everything! Ruin everything!”

The blade trembled as he was getting worked up about something that he blamed Gem for – something Gem could not identify to quell his misery. Joel was struggling with something and he definitely needed help. Gem quietly followed fWhip’s lead, though she kept her distance, and Sausage just watched with an intrigued gaze.

“Easy, Joel,” Gem said. “Just calm down and we’ll-”

“I won’t calm down!” If he had been close enough to her, he might have spat in her face, or done worse.

Gem watched him with pity. What happened to him that he acted this way?

He did not approach Gem, refusing to allow her to be closer to him. Instead he stepped a couple of paces backwards, shook his head again and glanced at the ground and everywhere else while he muttered to himself.

“Why didn’t it work?” he mumbled. “It was supposed to- why didn’t it work? Why am I here?”

Gem took one step towards him, hoping to appear as non-threatening as possible. “If you would just tell us what happened, we can help you—”

“I don’t need your help,” Joel snapped at her.

“Gem.” fWhip turned to her. “If he doesn’t want our help, let him be. He’s going through something.”

That didn’t mean Joel did not deserve any help. Whatever happened during these fifty years, it had fried his brain. If there was a spell that could fix this, Gem would have cast it already, without hesitation. However, with however far gone Joel seemed to be – despite his general disposition – she wasn’t sure if there was an easy fix to erase all his trauma. If age and experience had taught her anything, it was that not everything could be fixed with a spell.

“Joel, we are trying to find the cause of the sculk,” Sausage spoke up. “Do you want to join us on our journey?”

Joel stared at Sausage. It was hard to say what was going on behind his eyes, but he recognized something.

“Sculk.”

“The dark moss.” Sausage pointed out a nearby patch. “Don’t touch it! It’s very dangerous.”

Joel glanced at where Sausage pointed, then briefly glanced at Gem, and then back to Sausage.

“Looking for its origin.”

“Yes!” Sausage nodded.

Gem wished Sausage had been more careful with the information, but it was too late to change anything about that. He had Joel’s attention now – at least Joel had stopped acting so weird for a second. He glanced at the group - at Sausage, fWhip, and Gem, calculating something behind his eyes, weighing his options carefully.

“I know where that is.”

Sausage gasped. “You do?”

“I do, yes,” Joel nodded. “I know where it comes from. I can take you there.”

“Wonderful!” Sausage exclaimed. “That makes our job a whole lot easier.”

This was good. Joel joined them and they could more easily find the origin of the sculk. However, the twins were not inclined to completely trust Joel. Not with the way he’d been behaving up until now. Not with how he had glared and Gem and hadn’t wanted to calm down upon seeing the first friendly faces he would have seen in decades.

Joel did not notice their hesitations – or elected to ignore them. “Cool. Follow me.”

He promptly turned around and started to walk away, closely followed by Sausage.

Gem and fWhip glanced at each other. They had no choice but to follow Joel and Sausage lest they lose Sausage. It would also be a good idea to check out what Joel had found, though they were always careful.

So they followed, ready to strike if necessary.

Chapter 14: (5.1) Theories

Chapter Text

Sausage could have gone home. It was the smart thing to do, going home after what he’d seen underground. Sausage, however, didn’t want to stay with what he’d seen. He needed to share his experiences with someone else. However, fWhip wasn’t truly around the Goblands for some reason – they said he was visiting the castle at spawn with Gem – so Sausage didn’t know better than to go Tumble Town instead.

The Sheriff was a good man, a nice man. He often listened without judgment. Or if he had any judgment, he was more than happy to keep that to himself as long as Sausage was around. Truly a remarkable man.

Tumble Town had grown even more since Sausage last visited. The train looked stunning and the Sheriff himself seemed to be enjoying some time off at the nearest little park area. When he flew down, he noticed the Sheriff wasn’t sitting there on his own. Pixlriffs, the archaeologist, apparently had the same idea as Sausage and had decided to swing by. As he descended, the two noticed his arrival and Jimmy even waved at Sausage. Sausage would’ve waved back if he wasn’t too focused on trying to land and not crashing into the garden. It’d be a shame if he ruined it. So he quietly glided into the garden and only stumbled minimally while his feet found purchase with the ground. The Sheriff and Pix already stood up to provide him with support, should he need it, but Sausage hadn’t needed it. He remained firmly on his feet and gave the two friends a wide smile.

“Hello, Pix and Jimmy. It’s good to see you.”

“Hiya, Sausage!” Jimmy greeted him with a big grin on his face. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, I’m very good, thanks for asking,” Sausage said, looking at the widely grinning Sheriff and the quiet smile on Pix’s face. “How about yourselves?”

“I’m doing okay,” Jimmy responded and Pix nodded in agreement.

“To what do we owe you the visit?” Pix asked and he took a sip of the cup he’d been holding.

“Well… I’ve just visited the ancient city under fWhip’s Goblands,” Sausage said. “I could use some company right now.”

“Really?” Jimmy said. “You said you were gonna visit there at the last meeting, didn’t you?”

“I did!” Sausage nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, it was very interesting to go in there. That city down there, it’s massive, it’s extremely big. There was this… this strange thing down there, don’t know what to call it, but it almost was like this strange dark moss and it was growing everywhere!”

He paused for a second, gauged their reactions. Both Pix and Jimmy were quite interested in the tales he was telling and the discoveries he’d made. He wished he could’ve shared these things with fWhip as well, but since he was occupied at the moment, he couldn’t just yet. Fortunately, Jimmy and Pix were good listeners.

“But that wasn’t the weirdest bit,” Sausage continued.

Jimmy frowned. “What was?”

“There was somebody down there!”

Pix and Jimmy shared a look with one another; one that Sausage could understand, but didn’t appreciate. The kind of look two people gave each other if they were particularly skeptical about what they’d just heard.

“Are you sure you just didn’t see your shadow or something?” Jimmy wondered out loud.

“No, it was someone else!” Sausage placed a hand on his heart – it definitely wasn’t his shadow. He was certain his shadow didn’t look like that. “He looked very weird. I don’t think he was one of us, at least, and not one of any of our people, either. This… dramatic black cloak that covered almost his entire body, and his hair – was that even hair? It looked like those blue flames, almost like soul torches but brighter and he spoke to himself.” He paused for a second, but quickly continued speaking. “Okay, he muttered to himself, but it’s still a little weird.”

“Sausage, everyone here kind of speaks to themselves,” Jimmy said. That was an astute observation – how often had Sausage caught himself muttering something under his breath? Jimmy probably did the same, and Pix nodded, too. besides them, Gem and fWhip and even Joel on occasion spoke to themselves, sometimes out loud. Even if it hadn’t been the best argument, but it still struck Sausage as weird. Even now, Pix had a little bit of a frown on his face as well.

“It does sound odd,” Pix concurred, and Sausage nodded with him.

“I know, right?” Sausage said. “It did look odd as well, he was just sneaking and crouching all over the place, tried to keep his voice down. What could it mean?”

Sausage shared some glances with Jimmy and Pix.

“I don’t know, but it is a little weird,” Jimmy shrugged. At least Sausage had Jimmy on board with this idea.

“You mentioned some moss?” Pix said, directing Sausage’s attention away from the stranger in the ancient city to the other features that had stood out.

Sausage nodded. “Yeah, some strange moss with some light patches that move around a bit. It’s a little spooky, if you ask me, and there’s lots of the stuff down there. Some tendrils light up if you make too much noise near it.”

It was hard to describe – to truly know the atmosphere you had to be there. To feel how the cold of the darkness seeped into your bones and how the strange claustrophobia gripped you once you entered its grounds. How every bone in your body screamed at you that you had to leave as soon as possible, to not entertain the possibility of death. How could words even describe what he felt? So strange and alien, Sausage had no idea if he wanted to tell them to go there one day to understand how he felt. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to spare them that descent or if he wanted to guide them there to experience it.

“Why?” Jimmy asked, a frown on his face. He glanced from Pix to Sausage and back to Pix. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m pretty sure it sounds like something that’s growing in the mangrove swamp, too.”

For a second, the world fell silent and Sausage and Jimmy fixated their gazes on their friend.

“Wait… does Shelby know about this?” Sausage wondered. He’d been there not too long ago and hadn’t seen anything of the sort in that swamp. The world was a big place and even though Sausage’s eyesight was pretty good, he didn’t believe he spotted something there that looked even remotely close to what he’d seen in the ancient city.

“Most likely”, Pix responded. “I only saw a little when I last visited, but that was at the edge of her domain. I didn’t get a good look at it.” He shrugged. “It may be some dark moss that was similar due to the lighting. I’m not quite sure.”

It was possible that this was some variety of dark moss that just looked similar. If Pix saw the moss in the ancient city, they’d know for sure – but Sausage was certain e wasn’t doing the underground atmosphere any justice with his lackluster descriptions. So Sausage would have to visit the swamp and compare that moss with what he’d seen down below. If the witch gave him permission to investigate her grounds, anyway. He wasn’t snooping around the Evermoore if Shelby wasn’t okay with it. He’d rather stay on the witch’s good side.

At that moment, their communicator pinged. A notification had just popped up. Each of them pulled out their communicators from their pockets. After the twelve friends had convened at spawn when they had first found this world, the idea of a group chat had been floated around. Not that it was necessary – only messages sent within this world to someone who lived here were visible, and you could not send or receive a message to or from someone in another world; a restriction that came with every world. Still, a few of them had petitioned for a group chat, which eventually did come into existence. One in which fWhip had now sent a message, asking everyone to come to spawn. Yet, instead of the usual reason for this gathering, fWhip only asked for their attendance without explaining why they should come.

Sausage, Pix and Jimmy exchanged some glances.

“Do we trust this?” Sausage wondered. “I mean, I do, but…”

“Yeah. It’s fWhip. He’s sent us weirder messages before.” Jimmy reasoned. “So, do we travel together? It’s more fun to travel together.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pix responded, and Sausage was quick to agree as well.

Each packed their stuff and walked to the plateau that surrounded the city center of Tumble Town, where the Nether portal was located. A path ran from the Bowl all the way to the portal and then back down to the portion of town that expanded beyond the confines of the Bowl. The path was quiet, and they only met a straggler resident who preferred to climb the plateau rather than use the passenger train that connected both parts of town. Sausage wouldn’t blame them – the view from the path was phenomenal, especially in the nice but harsh afternoon sun that beat down on the citizens.

The portal hummed with that purple teleportation energy and Sausage was glad to travel through the Nether with his good friends. all the while, he couldn’t help but wonder why fWhip had called them all together so soon after the last meeting.

Chapter 15: (5.2) Familiar stranger

Chapter Text

The stranger in his faded uniform and two overflowing bags approached the duo.

“Oh, hello there!” Scar said, waving at the stranger.

“What are you doing?” Grian whispered at him, pulling the waving arm down.

“Maybe they’re friendly.”

“What if they’re…”

Not. One word, stuck in his throat, for the stranger moved closer and Grian finally saw his face. He’d tried to hide himself under a hood that must have protected him from the elements, though a permanent layer of red dust seemed to cling to his face. His dark hair was a little longer than Grian had expected, his body a little shorter than expected. He had not been taking care of himself and seemed to have forgone all kinds of hygiene. That tangled unwashed dark hair and the dark beard were a mess.

Grian did not focus on any of that. Not while he noticed the cautiously hopeful and distraught and confused look in the man’s eyes, as well as the faded streak of green in his hair.

Grian frowned. “Joel?”

At first glance, the man looked exactly like Joel. Yet, the longer he watched, the more he believed it couldn’t be him. Not really, anyway.

Scar leaned to Grian. “He looks a little different, right?”

“Joel, are you okay?” His friend did not look good at all, and the sight alone worried Grian. Even if something in the back of his mind was telling him that something was off about this man. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

Joel, without saying a word, stumbled forward. He stared at them as though he couldn’t believe his eyes and held out one trembling hand. He walked toward Scar and pinched himself. A brief expression of pain before Joel took Scar’s arm and pinched him.

“Ouch!” Scar pulled his arm away from Joel and frowned. “What was that good for?”

“You’re real…” he mumbled. Grian and Scar barely heard it. “Actual people…”

“Joel, what happened?” Grian asked. Whatever was going on, he did not like it and he definitely did not like how Joel had approached them. He hated not knowing why this felt so odd. So unreal.

“The Rapture, of course. You remember.” Joel was too eager to speak, too quick to answer. “The world ended. Homes were destroyed. People died. People left…”

A dark expression flashed across his face. one that made Grian instinctively step back. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, currently sheathed.

“But you’re safe!” Scar said, the widest grin on his face. “That’s all that matters now.”

Grian looked at Scar as his carefully practiced, genuine grin – and the cracks that started to show. the ways his grin was slightly off, how the twinkle in his eyes was ever so slightly guarded. Grian would have sighed in relief that Scar noticed the tension as well if Joel hadn’t been standing right in front of them.

“Maybe we should be careful,” Grian said.

“You should be.” Joel jumped at the opportunity to say some more. “It’s dangerous to be here. Especially during the day. You should come to my place, that’s safe.”

“That’s very kind, but it’s not necessary,” Grian said. He did not like that somewhat cheerful undertone. It barely concealed the threat layered beneath it. He turned to Scar. “We do need to go back home. Right, Scar.”

“Yeah, totally,” Scar said, nodding as he looked directly at Joel. “We do need to go home.”

Before Scar could finish saying his last word. Joel had closed what little distance existed between him and them and had drawn his own sword – Netherite. He swung it with all his force and slammed the flat side against Grian’s head. Grian, too slow to react slumped to the ground with a groan and wasn’t moving.

Scar gasped. “Grian!”

The urge to check on his friend was greater than the urge to run. He kneeled down and could see that Grian still breathed. Then, sharp disorienting pain as the Netherite metal connected with the back of his head. He didn’t remember falling over or hitting the ground. One moment, he kneeled next to Grian. The next, he lay on the ground, struggling to open his eyes. He just barely saw the tips of Joel’s dusty boots and how little sunlight pierced through the low-hanging clouds reflected off of the blade.

“Joel…” It was all he could say. It packed so many questions he wanted answered and all the confusion of the moment.

“You can’t leave,” Joel said. “I can’t let you.”

The world faded into darkness.

Grian’s head throbbed. That was never a good sign.

He tried to blink, tried to open his eyes. At least he wasn’t greeted with the heat of the arid mesa on his skin. It was still mildly warm and his head probably lay in a patch of sand or dust, but he was sheltered from the elements. Every time Grian tried to move his head, it exploded in pain all over again. His wrists and were bound together with some old pieces of rope that cut into his skin every time he wanted to break out. His ankles, on the other hand, were still free. If he wanted to, he could stand up and leave. What an oversight.

That didn’t mean he could do so, as his movements were still sluggish and he had no idea where he was or what even happened.

Hopefully, Scar was okay.

The sound of pained groans drew his attention. Grian forced his eyes open – they were no longer exposed to the sky. A dark, warm terracotta cave illuminated by a single torch made the cave a little darker than Grian would’ve wished, glancing at dark corners waiting for something to pop out and eat his face. Close to him lay Scar, halfway propped up against the cave wall, not unlike Grian. He was teetering on the edge of consciousness as well and someone stood over him. Joel – their captor – wiped something from Scar’s forehead with a dirty piece of cloth – sweat, or blood, or both. Scar attempted to awaken, but failed for the moment.

“Joel?” Grian’s voice was too weak and broke a little.

“Sit still,” Joel said, not looking up from Scar, who – in his confusion of not knowing what was going on – tried to move his body away from Joel’s touch. “This won’t be long. You’ll feel better in no time.”

“Did you draw blood?” Grian asked. He tried to sit upright, but his muscles wouldn’t quite do what he wanted to. “Did you hurt him!?”

“I did nothing,” Joel said. He turned his head to Grian – behind those eyes burned something reminiscent of red rage that glimmered in his eyes whenever he participated in one of Grian’s games. Yet, none of the chaos that usually accompanied it was present. “You said you wanted to leave. That’s hardly on me, is it? You wouldn’t have found yourself in this situation if you decided to stay – or if your friends weren’t stupid enough to just send two into my realm. Luckily, the choice is easier for you. Now, you’re enjoying the hospitality of a king.”

“We need to go home,” Grian said. “As much as we’d love to stay around, we just can’t. Our friends will be worried.”

They’d be worried, and may wonder what had happened. Mumbo knew about the rift and if they stayed away for too long, he might be able to call in help. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be the case.

“Only for a little while,” Joel responded. “It won’t be long before they’ll assume you’re dead and move on.”

A bone-chilling sentence that sent shivers down their spines. What happened to him that makes this such a casual thing to say?

Grian’s eyes met Scar’s, when he had enough strength to open his eyes and turned his head to an angle where he could see his friend. Scar’s hands were bound as well, but their ankles were free. Now Grian’s eyes had grown accustomed to the room, he noticed the ropes around their wrists weren’t tied to anything in the room either. If they wanted to, they could just get up and leave. If it weren’t for Joel’s presence.

“What’s going on?” Grian asked. “Joel, I don’t know what happened, so explain it. Why are you keeping us here?”

Joel turned his head to Grian again and another shiver ran down his spine. Something was seriously wrong with the Joel that stood in front of him. A glare lay in his eyes, without even the slightest hint of familiarity. His tone had a hint of hostility and despair and for a second, Grian believed that Joel would actually harm him. His sword was sheathed, but Joel could easily use it to further threaten or harm his guests.

“Do you realize how long I’ve been stuck here?” The hurt dripped from his voice. “Alone, without any company? Everyone abandoned me. My people, my wife, my brother-in-law… with nobody to speak to because they’re all bloody gone?”

His thunderous voice echoed through the cave. Neither Grian nor Scar wanted to make eye contact with him, scared to face his wrath. Joel lowered his voice again, took a deep breath. He bowed down, his face dangerously close to Grian’s.

“I need company. That’s what you are. You’re not going anywhere.”

Grian nodded frantically. Whatever was going on, Joel got hurt in more ways than Grian could imagine. It was best to keep this version of him placated and to hope that would be enough.

“You know what, you’re right,” Scar stammered. “It’s rather cozy in here. We’ll stick around, be your company. It’s not like we need to go home right away.”

Joel didn’t look at Scar as he spoke, nor saw the nervous smile on his face. His glare was still on Grian, yet pulled away from him. his glare softened slightly, though. just slightly.

“Take an example to your friend,” Joel said. “He knows what’s up.”

He stepped away from Grian, walked past Scar, to the only tunnel that exited the cave.

With a moment to breathe, both Scar and Grian took a deep breath and looked at one another. Neither knew what was going on or had any answer. Especially not when it concerned Joel, and how unlike his usual self he was.

Chapter 16: (5.3) A city covered in sculk

Chapter Text

Joel pressed on boldly, taking the front of the group. Sausage walked right behind him as they descended, chatting as much as he could, while fWhip and Gem were a little more careful. Both of them could feel the eeriness of the caves. Throughout their travels, they’d gotten used to mobless nights. Walking through caves without encountering mobs or even hearing them in the distance was a whole different experience. It reinforced the sense that something was terribly wrong; that the world had fundamentally changed half a century ago. That the sculk, ever present in these hallways – even as just a vein that connected two bigger patches – could strike at any moment, even if it had never attacked anything visibly. And all the while, fWhip and Gem kept an eye out behind them and in front of them.

“He’s walking quite confidently,” fWhip whispered, leaning closer toward her. Even though Sausage chatted loudly enough to cover the fact that fWhip whispered with his sister, he still wanted to make sure nobody but Gem heard.

“He is.”

“He’s so quiet. Barely says a word.” He nodded at Joel, who hadn’t turned his head once and hadn’t spoken either. “Look. Wouldn’t he normally have said something to Sausage?”

“He’s gone through something,” Gem said. “We all have. Let him heal.”

“Of course; if he doesn’t hurt us first.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He’s wounded. He’s hurt and already lashed out. He seemed a little too eager to bring us to where this sculk came from.” fWhip glanced up at a vein above their heads. Even within the darkness, those little bits of light were not enough to illuminate the cave, ever-shifting. When would some fall on top of him. “How does he know about this stuff, anyway?”

“fWhip.” Gem spoke in her most teacherly tone. “I don’t trust him, either. But we’re traveling with him now. If anything happens, we outnumber him.”

A few moments of silence between them.

fWhip sighed. “I don’t want it to come to that.”

“Neither do I. But if he’s a threat…”

fWhip looked in Joel’s direction and let out a sad chuckle. “Who would’ve thought, fifty years ago, that we’d conspire behind Joel’s back to discuss a contingency plan for him.”

Gem nodded grimly. “I did.”

fWhip turned his head sharply to her, confusion in his eyes.

“What, really?”

The pause already said enough.

“After Xornoth… after Sausage…” she shook her head. “Anyone could fall for the demon’s lies. Someone had to be ready.” Rather someone who knew how to deal with people and who had the right tools.

fWhip remained silent for a while, unable to figure out what to say.

“Wow, Gem. That’s dark.”

“That’s called being prepared,” she responded, not willing to bring up more of that old trauma.

The rest of the journey was spent in the relative silence of their company while Sausage desperately tried to pull any answer out of Joel other than the sparingly given ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Even then, the journey slowly started to come to an end and the sculk became ever more prominent in the surrounding area. They followed Joel into a narrow tunnel where they had to walk in a line and tried to make themselves as small as possible so they wouldn’t touch the sculk, that almost completely covered the walls of the tunnel.

The tunnel opened up into a massive underground cavern, the likes of which none of them had ever seen before. A giant open space, but it wasn’t just the sculk wasteland they expected. A full-blown city; ruined, desolate, like most buildings on the surface. A patchwork of taller and smaller buildings, all aligned on a grid of streets that were equally as ruined and covered in sculk. It hadn’t claimed all buildings yet, but it was well on its way to covering everything it could with the sculk. A blanket of darkness and silence, not a sound echoing through the largest underground area they’d ever seen. In the middle, in full view of those who’d just wandered in, stood a larger structure on an elevated plateau where blue soulfire burned and illuminated a strange frame that almost reached to the cavern ceiling. It could almost be a portal frame, but it was way too big and bulky. It wasn’t made out of the usual obsidian – and what would come through if it was even lit?

“Right, here you go,” Joel said in his most infuriatingly casual tone. “Here’s where the sculk comes from.”

He’d seen this before. he had appeared on the surface and led the Wither Rose Alliance here, he’d seen this before. Even with all of that, they might have expected Joel to be a little less casual about it. Or to watch it with the same awe that the other survivors were watching instead of glancing at it as though it was unimpressive, an uninteresting landmark.

“What is this place?” fWhip asked as the group progressed a little deeper into the city. Already, he and Gem didn’t get a good feeling. It may not have been the most relevant question, but he wondered whether this had been underneath the Codlands the whole time and if Jimmy knew about it.

Joel shrugged. “It’s an old city or something. I never asked. It was always just… below us, you know.” He glanced at the sides. “I wonder if the passages still work…”

“That’s a lot of sculk,” Sausage said. The biggest patch they’d ever seen, stretching as far as the eye can see.

“How did it get here?”

Something clicked – an unnatural clicking sound that original from the strange knee-high tendrils that sometimes poked out from the sculk and now were lighting up in a different shade of sculk-blue. Once the noise stopped after a few seconds, the tendrils calmed down again and returned to the usual darkness.

“What was that?” Sausage asked and the tendrils made the clicking noise again. He slowly backed away from them, not letting his gaze stray from them.

“Some sculk-growth thing. It lights up and talks back if you’re being too loud,” Joel said in the same casual tone, at the same casual volume he’d use in normal conversation. The tendrils picked up on his words and clicked once more.

Gem wanted to leave. This place gave her a bad feeling; yet, the answers she was looking for may be here. Maybe not the person who potentially survived, but answers to the mystery that was the sculk. Slowly, carefully, she pressed forward, fWhip at one side and Sausage at another, sneaking through the streets until they approached what appeared to be the city center. From afar, the frame already was big and imposing, but from up close it was ten times as unsettling as it should be. Gem and fWhip instinctively slowed their steps while Joel and Sausage walked ahead, one of them gaping at everything he saw like a little kid and the other as though he’d seen it all a million times before.

Sausage gasped. “Is that a portal frame?”

Gem could sense it happen before it did.

“Sausage, don’t—” He already climbed the stairs to approach the imposing frame. Gem shook her head. Still like a little kid. “Sausage, don’t go too far from us.”

“But it’s not too far, is it? I’m just curious,” Sausage said. He climbed the stairs and, in tandem, the others followed. They only made it about halfway up there when Sausage had reached the top.

“Guys, there’s something on here.”

“What is it?” Neither fWhip nor Gem saw what Sausage had found and Gem quickened her pace. She had to see it; she had to know if it would help her figure out what was going on with this strange moss and the world.

“I don’t know,” Sausage responded, “but something’s on the thing in front of the portal frame.”

Gem quickly joined Sausage. Some sort of smooth sandstone altar atop which lay a heap of sculk that wasn’t quite as formless. Almost human-shaped, almost like it lay on its back. Dark sculk contrasted with white bone-like spikes that might provide some stability to anything made from the weak, shapeless sculk. What would be its chest steadily moved up in down in very familiar, human motions.

Sausage leaned away from it. “I think it’s breathing.”

Gem slowly started to back away – whatever that thing was, she did not trust it at all.

“Be very quiet and move away,” she whispered to the men in her company. Sausage and fWhip heeded her words and followed suit, already descending the stairs. Joel, on the other hand, was feeling bold. He took a few defiant steps up the stairs in approach to the portal, unwilling to conceal his movement.

“Hey, idiots!” Joel yelled into the cave. The words resonated, echoed throughout, almost deafened his companions – they’d become so used to the silence that any amount of loud noise would be an affront to the ears. Some tendrils below clicked as the echo reached them, loud enough to be picked up down below.

“Joel!” Gem whisper-shouted at him. “What are you—”

“We’re right over here!” Joel continued. He hadn’t heard Gem, or he’d blatantly ignored her. Every second, he stepped closer to the altar. “Remember me? I’m the one who’ll kick your ass if you don’t give me what I lost right now!”

fWhip stared wide-eyed at Joel. “This isn’t right.” Something was wrong with him; the isolation must’ve driven him mad.

“Want a snack? I’ve got three right here with me.” Joel turned to the Wither Rose Alliance, who stared at him with varying levels of shock and disbelief, meeting only a cold and desperate and hateful gaze.

Behind the Mezalean King, the creature atop the altar sat upright and turned its head toward them.

Chapter 17: (6.1) The strange life of the Wizard Gem

Chapter Text

The spawn castle was a thing of beauty. After the original twelve souls had settled onto these lands, they built a castle at the site of their spawn, all in the style of their empires to be, to showcase to the world and their visitors what this world was going to look like. Even though it had been a long time, it still stood as though time hadn’t gnawed at it – powerful magic had always kept this castle in great shape.

Now, fWhip awaited the arrival of the others with Gem.

Not his Gem. Now they were above ground and in the sunlight, he could see it even more clearly. This woman was undeniably Gem – she just wasn’t the Gem that he was used to. This Gem didn’t revel in the sunlight with a satisfied smile on her face. This Gem was quieter, more pensive, carefully considered each and every word. This Gem leaned on her staff as though she needed it to walk, even though she strode into the castle with a straightened back and an air of confidence fWhip would almost call arrogance. She regarded everything with a sense of wonder and excitement, which she attempted to conceal behind a mask of neutrality. Yet she couldn’t hide how she glanced in fWhip’s direction every now and again, when she believed he wouldn’t see it.

He did see it, though. He decided not to comment on it.

It was just so weird to be in the presence of a twin soul.

His friends would have to see it for themselves – fWhip wasn’t going to force them to believe something. He just hoped that some of them would treat her with respect and wouldn’t blindly assume this was the Gem they were familiar with, playing games and pretending.

Attendance wasn’t mandatory. Though fWhip hoped everyone would show up, he realized not everyone was ready to drop everything and come over. Gem, for example, was ill and on Hermitcraft, so she wouldn’t be able to attend. Beyond that, he’d only gotten confirmation from Sausage, Pix, Jimmy, and Shelby that they were coming. Everyone else either had a valid reason or a semi-good excuse for not showing up. Joel failed to send a message at all, which fWhip took as him being too busy to attend.

At least four of his friends would come over. He’d have someone to share this revelation with.

Soon, the first guests arrived and walked through the nether portal. The three men who had let fWhip know that they were going to come, quietly talking among themselves, a hint of worry on their faces. Despite their concerns and fWhip’s curiosity, he only paid attention to Gem. The wizard looked at the trio while fWhip tried to decipher what these people meant to her. He could ascertain that the fWhip she knew had meant something to her – something different than goblin fWhip and princess Gem meant to each other. This time, her face hid her thoughts and feelings well.

He may not even have to ask what those thoughts were. Gem might reveal them on her own.

As soon as Sausage spotted the two, he rushed forward to greet them. Jimmy and Pix followed right behind him.

“Hi, fWhip! Hi, Gem! How are you doing today? Why did you call us here?” The grin on his face was as wide as it ever was. Still, when his gaze landed on Gem’s neutral face, that grin faltered. He glanced at her again, frowned briefly and then took one step back. Confusion crossed his face and he watched her warily. “Who… you’re not Gem. Not our Gem.”

fWhip wasn’t surprised that Sausage, of all people, would immediately notice the difference. This observation made Jimmy and Pix take a closer look at her as well and they seemed to take her in with the same caution that Sausage now displayed.

“I’m indeed not your Gem,” she said. For a moment, she hesitated but pushed that aside. “Do you know…”

“I’m not sure,” Sausage responded. “You could finish your sentence.”

“Bubbles? Mythland? Sir Carlos? The Wither Rose Alliance? Sculk? Does any of that sound familiar?”

“Bubbles I know,” Sausage answered immediately. He then placed a hand on his chin and thought about it. “The rest… I do not. Sorry.”

Gem nodded, a sorrowful smile on her lips. Somehow, fWhip believed he spotted a hint of relief as well. “That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sausage said with a nod. “That all sounds… nice to know.”

“Hold on,” Jimmy said. “You’re not our Gem? But how- why- what happened to her? What did you do? What’s going on?”

“Our Gem is still ill and on Hermitcraft, just as she was yesterday. Nothing bad’s happened to her unless you want to call a particularly bad case of the flu bad.” The Sheriff was a good man, but he could be a little bit of a nitwit sometimes. He could understand the confusion, especially when faced with the doppelganger of one of his friends; a fabled twin soul, if Jimmy even knew what that was.

The Sheriff did eye this wizard Gem more warily and suspiciously than his friends.

“Who are you, then?” he asked.

“Jimmy.” Pix’s clear and patient voice cut through the air. “If you let her talk, she’ll probably explain herself.”

He looked from Jimmy to the wizard and nodded at her, inviting her to take the metaphorical stage and explain the situation. Sausage watched and waited with excitement, ready to soak in every word she would say.

“I am Gem. Gemini Grimms.” The wizard introduced herself. “I didn’t know that another version of me would be walking around here, which makes this more complicated than I’d anticipated. But I am Gem. I’m just from a different world than this one.”

“A different world?” Sausage said with a frown. He would be completely sold on the idea, if it weren’t for the fact that multiple worlds existed, yet every single soul was unique. Duplicate (or twin) worlds existed; duplicate souls did not. Like Sausage, Jimmy and Pixlriffs were interested to hear where this was going, and how she would explain it. Jimmy did make eye contact with fWhip, sharing a skeptical glance.

“Yes,” Gem responded. “It’s a world where you’re… well, where you’re all you. I’m here and all of you are different from what I’m used to.”

She’d swallowed her words and held her tongue. It only increased everyone’s curiosity, but she did not want to elaborate beyond this point. The men could only hope that she would choose to elaborate in the future.

What they did hear was rather interesting. She’d interacted with them before; but nobody could remember having interacted with a wizard Gem before, especially not with this kind of guarded attitude and this theming. It made some suspect her experience of the life they were given was vastly different from what everyone else experienced. She was, for all intended purposes, an anomaly. That was quite interesting and strange.

“Why are you here?” Pix asked. “It is nice to meet you. But I wonder, why did you come to visit us? What happened?”

Perhaps the answer could provide a little more insight into what she was. fWhip still carried his ‘twin soul’ theory, but Pixlriffs did not go there just yet. Not with what he’d just heard. Four gazes were fixated on the wizard – though none wanted to pressure the answer out of her, they were all curious. Gem herself gathered her thoughts for a second, to choose the right words before she could blurt everything out. Carefully chosen words that may not break her all over again.

“The Rapture happened.” She spoke that name as though it was supposed to hold weight, even if none of the men could feel the gravity of that event. Pix did frown – it sounded vaguely familiar, as though someone had mentioned it to him a long time ago. It had been so long, he did not know what it meant.

Gem gave herself a second to catch her breath. “It was a cataclysmic event. The world ended. Oceans receded, empires were destroyed. People died. Almost everyone died. I was… I traveled home to find survivors, to help those who were left. They died, too.” She attempted to glance discreetly in fWhip’s direction, though her gaze rested equally on everyone. “I tried to find a way to… restore the memory of my friends and… I ended up here.”

What little information she wanted to share was a bit confusing. She wanted to share, but not everything, and it made it feel disjointed. It gave Pix a strange feeling.

“And how would you restore their memory?” fWhip wondered, and he frowned. “Our memory?”

“Not yours. Not specifically,” Gem said and she sighed. “I was thinking, if I created a world where all of my friends lived… but something has gone wrong. I’m here, surrounded by familiar faces but you’re… you’re not them. You’re not the Codfather, not the king of Mythland, not the keeper of the Vigil. Not the tinkerer of the Grimlands. You wear my friends’ faces, have their personality, but not their heart. Not that I can currently see, anyway.”

It was the most emotion fWhip had seen her display since her arrival. He wished he was able to empathize, but he could not place himself in her shoes. He could see where she was coming from – she also had the face and core personality of the princess of Dawn, but something was so fundamentally different that they could not be called the same person.

Somehow, he had not expected this information to be shared. Not the apocalyptic kind. A lot of people died – he wondered how many of her friends she found dead, how many she watched die. What did death even truly look like? In a world filled with respawn, it was hard to picture someone to be dead – just the void, an empty space where that person used to be. Was that what she found? How did she know they were dead? All of that disregarding the fact that she knew them all in this life. That was impossible. fWhip had not met her as some sort of tinkerer before. The titles of ‘Codfather’ and ‘Keeper of the Vigil’ did not mean anything to him, or to any of them. The goblin was certain he did not have a twin soul – he figured he’d know if that was the case. He figured the universe would’ve noticed if more than a handful of these mythical souls existed.

Where did she even get the idea to reverse fate and to recreate what was lost? Something like that was not possible at all. That was similar to messing with the fabric of reality, which not even the most powerful wizard in any world was able to do. At the end of the day, everyone obeyed the hard rules that the universe placed upon its space, the void and the souls its housed, with love and care so that they lived their best lives. It was hard to imagine that Gem, with whatever magical power she possessed (and managed to carry over to this world from her previous one), had any hand in that. She just found a way to go from a very isolated, very sheltered world inhabited by twin souls that all supposedly perished to another world without the use of a world portal.

That theory still left a lot of gaps and assumptions in the story, but it was better than being stuck in an unexplainable situation.

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t created yesterday,” Jimmy argued fervently, grappling with the existential crisis based on his own interpretation. “No offense or anything, you’re probably a very powerful witch-”

“Wizard.”

“-but you couldn’t have created us! You couldn’t have. Could you?”

“I don’t understand, either,” Gem said. “I didn’t succeed. Not in the way I wanted it to. Perhaps the spell was unstable or I made a mistake as I cast it. Either way, I’m here now. I cannot go home.”

With the way she mentioned home, it was a miracle she still wanted to return after making this journey.

“What, you can’t just go back?” Sausage wondered.

“It took a lot of energy and time to even come here. It’ll take just as many years to figure out what went wrong and cast the spell again.”

Sausage and Pix nodded, understanding her point of view – even if possibly a little unsettled by the fact that it took years and that she may want to try again in the future.

“I’m here!” A shrill voice called out from the courtyard. The small frame of the witch of Evermoore stepped out of the Nether portal and ran through the main gates, into the main gates. She stopped for a second and placed her hands on her knees, panting. When she finally lifted her head, the large hat – similar in size to the Wizard’s – revealed her face.

“Hi, guys!” Shelby said. “Sorry I’m late, I didn’t mean to…”

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes on Gem. She hadn’t expected that sight: a similarly-sized purple hat, a magnificent staff that hummed with magical energy, and a gaze so cold that she had no idea if Gem tried to be neutral or if she wanted to hurt her.

The wizard’s hands clenched the staff, her knuckles going white. All the men equally looked confused at Shelby, who was covered in sculk.

Chapter 18: (6.2) In the storage room

Chapter Text

When Impulse walked into his dwarven base, he thought he was going to have a nice moment for himself. He was going straight for his storage system, to put some of the goods that were clogging his inventory back into that storage. Yet, as he walked down the stairs – ready to take his shulker boxes and clean out his inventory – he hadn’t expected to find someone rummaging through his storage. Then again, it was no surprise to see Tango here, muttering to himself as he struggled to find what he came here for.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Impulse wondered out loud. Not a hint of malice in his voice – even though all hermits had their own storage set up somewhere, there was bound to be something they didn’t have. And, of course, everyone had a neighbor or friend who might have that one item. Impulse didn’t mind Tango’s presence at all; if it meant Decked Out 2 would be built a little bit more quickly, Impulse was more than happy to let this happen.

Even then, Tango turned slowly, a grin that looked like it belonged to someone who knew he had been caught and wanted to talk his way out of it – even if that wasn’t necessary. He dumped some random items that “must’ve lagged in his inventory”, as Grian would claim, in a shulker box Tango had with him. As he didn’t break eye contact with his friend, half of the items clanged to the floor instead.

“Hey, Impulse!” Tango cordially greeted his friend.

“Hi, Tango! Did you find it?”

“I did, I did,” Tango said. “Look, Impulse—”

“It’s okay. You can take whatever you want for Decked Out – so long as you don’t bleed me dry on this.”

Tango almost deflated, releasing the breath he’d been holding while awaiting Impulse’s response. He turned to grab what had fallen off of the floor and stuff it into the shulker box.

“I heard you went to an ancient city the other day,” Impulse then said. He’d been meaning to ask, but never found the time between building the dwarven keep, managing iBuy and constructing his industrial district – and Tango was always busy in his citadel – but they were here now, so might as well. “How did it go? Did you find any goodies.”

“Oh, that was a bust.” The disappointment dripped from Tango’s voice.

Impulse frowned. “Really? I though you found a city that hadn’t been raided yet.”

“I thought so, too! But alas, it was completely empty. Someone beat me to it, and they came with a purpose. I encountered almost no shriekers, no sensors whatsoever, and someone scraped a large patch of sculk out of an area, leaving a very ugly square of deepslate exposed. Yeah, someone’d been there before.”

“That sucks.” Impulse had little else to offer. “I hope it wasn’t completely fruitless, at least.”

Perhaps he hoped Tango had found a chest with some interesting loot. That he found something of value still. Those hopes were smashed as Tango shook his head with a deep sigh.

“No, but it was kinda nice to poke my head in. Terrifying, sure, but nice. Nothing useful anywhere down there, though.” A pensive look crossed his face. “I really should use more sculk in Deepfrost Citadel. It’s got a nice color palette to it. I think it would work out well.”

“Yeah, that definitely sounds like it would fit your build.” Impulse had only seen bits and pieces of what was supposed to be Tango’s base; the giant, looming Deepfrost Citadel that welcomed anyone who wished to delve deep into Decked Out 2. So far, only the main gate and a few towers had been constructed, yet very little else. Tango’s attention must’ve been elsewhere, or below ground already. “Speaking of…”

“I’m working on it!” Tango responded. “It’s gonna take months still before I have something that’s even remotely playable, but I’m working on it.”

Impulse recognized that familiar hint of aggravation in Tango’s voice. These kinds of projects always took a long time, and there wasn’t truly a side project for him to tackle now the astral library had been completed. The end result was worth all the frustrations of building something as enormous as this citadel – or, in this case, an enormous game.

“Take your time, man. There’s no pressure, we’re all just waiting to play.”

“Yeah, no pressure, right?” Tango chuckled as he gave Impulse a side-eye. Just enough to let him know he appreciated the concerns as well as the company.

“Right.” No pressure at all – just some encouragement from a good friend to get on with it and build something unique.

Tango walked to the exit, one shulker box under each arm – he’d apparently filled them with everything he needed and it made transportation of such items all the easier. Before he left, he turned to Impulse again.

“Say, did you figure out who placed that bamboo sign in front of your base yet?”

The bamboo sign and who had placed it was still a mystery to be solved. Xisuma had been keeping an eye on the visitor logs as well as when Hermits left and rejoined this world – along with any anomalies in their inventories – but nothing had come out of that investigation yet. So far, it seemed those signs had appeared from thin air and just had been placed by nothing. They had already thoroughly vetted Pearl and she was sincere; this had not been her doing. So who could it be, then?

Impulse shook his head. “No, not yet. Unless…”

He shot a knowing look at Tango, who promptly laughed.

“Oh, wasn’t me. I don’t think I’d be able to sneak it past Xisuma even if I could. Besides, I’ve been a little too busy to think about anything beyond Decked Out. Are you sure this wasn’t Grian or Pearl breaking the world or something?”

“Nah, it’s not them.” It wasn’t Pearl, and not Grian either. He just talked with Scar which could only mean trouble for someone, but this bamboo sign wasn’t involved. Whatever project they were working on, it didn’t involve this sign – it was something else.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about a plan with Pearl in the meantime,” Impulse continued. “We hope to try to catch them red-handed, in case they want to try again. We’re still working out the details, but we’re gonna do something.”

It was only a hint of an idea at this point; Impulse would have to meet up with Pearl again to discuss the details a little further. After these discussions, Impulse would have a good plan in place to catch that culprit and unmask them.

Tango frowned. “And you’re sure they’re going to do it again?”

“Well… no,” Impulse answered earnestly. “But if they do, we’ll be there to catch them.”

Impulse had a good feeling about this – he believed the culprit would show up again, especially since the bamboo sign had been removed. If they were hell-bent on pranking Impulse – since he was the only one who had such a sign – they might be back with more bamboo stuff that shouldn’t be available on this world. They’d leave it at Impulse’s doorstep, and then they might be able to be caught.

Tango, on the other hand, was a little more skeptical. He merely shrugged.

“Good luck, man. I have to go now, need to bring this back home.” He patted the shulker box to give more weight to his statement.

Impulse nodded. Whatever materials were in these boxes now, they needed to go to Tango’s storage system. If Tango could use them to create one of the best games in the world, it would be all the better to let Tango use them than remain unused in his own storage system.

And due to the haste with which Tango would leave, Impulse did not comment on the tip of what looked like an echo shard poking from one of the pockets of Tango’s impressive Dungeon Master robes.

“Well, see ya next time.”

“Till next time, Impulse!”

With those words, Tango walked out of Impulse’s storage room and Impulse finally had the peace and quiet he’d thought he’d have when he came in.

Chapter 19: (6.3) The Warden feasts

Chapter Text

The creature was an abomination.

It stood taller than the humans who had entered its domain. Its arms were elongated and gave it a bigger reach than anyone would have thought. Its ribcage was out in the open, its heart visibly beating – or maybe something that looked like a heart but wasn’t. It throbbed and beat, shedding an eerie glow. Two tendrils poked out from its head and may serve as its ears, picking up on noise the same way the tendrils on the ground did. Its face was just a formless mass of sculk, on which only an enormous mouth was visible.

Behind it, a second creature reared its ugly, terrifying head. Much more narrow and lanky, from inside the unlit portal frame, one could almost mistake it for the reinforced deepslate that held this portal together. Creamy white as though one of those white spokes had grown ridiculously large and became sentient. It had a vaguely humanoid shape – in the sense that it looked humanoid in the way a child drew a stick figure in the sand and called that a person. Its round head couldn’t be bigger than a human hand, smooth and bone-like with accents of coppery orange. Its hollow eye sockets found the group. It appeared quicker and more alert than the other creature.

Even though the Wither Rose Alliance backed away, they saw both monstrosities rousing from their sleep and trying to find the intruders.

“Joel, what are you doing?” Gem whisper-shouted at him, as he awoke those creatures.

“Did he just call us ‘snacks’?” fWhip asked with a frown.

Sausage said nothing, hurrying away behind the siblings as quickly as he could without attracting too much attention.

Joel remained at the top of the stairs. He looked down on them the same way a tyrant would regard the rebellious people at his doorstep. With a glare in his mind and deadly resolve in his stare, the only thing missing was a dramatic breeze ruffling through his unkempt hair and his regal uniform instead of the dirty red sweater.

“This is all your fault!” he snarled at the three as he pointed accusatorily in their direction. “Don’t play dumb! I see right through you. You say you want the best for me, but I’ve always known you can’t mean that. You don’t mean that!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gem said. Joel had been predominantly looking at her. She slowly shook her head, still backing away from where these creatures were, now out of sight.

“Then this should refresh your memory,” Joel said. He turned around to the two creatures still atop the platform with him, perhaps to address them.

Two long spikes skewered through Joel’s chest as the thin creature shrieked and rushed forward. This shrieker lifted the king off of the ground. Whatever words Joel wanted to speak were lost in a gurgle of blood rising in his throat. All the while life was drained from him, a familiar blue-ish energy – which they’d only seen from the sculk – emanating from him and being absorbed by this shrieker.

The lumbering figure charged as well and slammed into the dying king, who stopped moving. The big mass of sculk seemed to sniff the air and turned its head toward the trio of shocked people.

As soon as it let out a roar, Gem grabbed the arms of her brother and her good friend and she sprinted away.

She wasn’t young anymore. The magic she used to conceal her true age only made her look youthful. Yet, her bones were just as brittle as fWhip’s and her stamina wasn’t as great as it used to be. Still, she managed to run faster than her friends.

She was faster. Maybe that’s why she narrowly avoided the energy beam that grazed her back. Maybe that’s why she didn’t fall to the ground or screamed in agony, like fWhip and Sausage did.

Gem acted on instinct. From the corner of her eye, she caught her brother falling and grabbed him under his arm. With one swift move, she kept fWhip on his feet and supported him while he hissed in pain and tried to keep up with her now comparably breakneck pace.

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to – couldn’t afford to. She would stop if she looked. She would worry, she would want to treat his wounds. She also could not afford to lose even a second. Those creatures were deadly and she didn’t want to lose her brother in an attempt to help him.

So she ran and pulled fWhip along with her.

She hadn’t expected fWhip to stop in his tracks.

“We have to get out of here,” Gem said. He needed the rest and medicine, yes, but not now. They were barely on the outskirts of the city’s main street. Yet, as she tugged his arm and took another step away from the carnage, he refused to move. “Now, please. fWhip…”

“What about…”

For a second, Gem glanced over her shoulder. The shrieker tossed the corpse of the Mezalean king aside like a rag doll, looking for another meal to devour. The larger, lumbering beast ambled closer to its prey: Sausage, lying on the ground, quietly whimpering while he tried to crawl away. He didn’t look back, only ahead – only pain and despair in his eyes and every movement. He didn’t see what came for him, but he knew he was being hunted at an excruciatingly slow pace. He had to know.

fWhip’s eyes widened. “No!”

Gem held fWhip by her side. “We’re going.” We’re leaving. We’re going to live.

fWhip shook his head. “But Sausage-”

“Is already dead,” Gem interrupted him. He’s already dead – still breathing, but not for much longer. It broke her heart as much as it did his and even now, she furiously tried to keep her eyes dry. Going back for Sausage was not an option; not if she wanted her brother to live.

She did not wait for him – she dragged him away from the scene, unable to look at what would happen next. With an iron resolve, she pulled fWhip along with her. He only protested the next few seconds but eventually allowed himself to be supported by her as they crossed the city and escaped to the tunnel they had originally arrived through.

She’d only allow him some rest once they were safely on the surface.

Sausage tried.

If the universe were to ever look back at this moment, it would know that Sausage tried. He tried to get away, crawled as quickly as possible while his body protested and screamed at every movement he made. That energy beam was terrible. It felt as though his clothes had melted to his skin, his muscles had fallen off, and his bones might as well be sticking out – all of that held together by a searing pain that scorched everything it touched.

He didn’t see it. Didn’t see the wounds, the blood, the sculk that seeped into his bones and slowly drained him from his life force. Wherever he crawled, the blue-ish dots of lights within the sculk did seem to grow a little livelier. He only saw the way out, beyond the soulfire torches, beyond the sculk-y darkness that consumed all. Gem and fWhip, running away to safety.

He didn’t see what happened behind him, but he did hear it. The heavy footsteps of the largest creature approached, the quick skittering of the lanky one. The utter dread that came with the knowledge that two predators were out for blood.

Something large slammed into Sausage. He could almost feel the stone beneath the comparably soft sculk, all the air knocked out of his lungs. His vision blurred and he coughed up some blood. The world spun for a second – or was that Sausage rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling now?

It must be. The next second, the creature’s terrifying mouth hovered over him and roared. It lifted its enormous arms and one after the other, beat them down. Hit after hit, bits and pieces of his life energy escaped his wounds and bled through the bruises that flowed into the beast and the shrieker that approached as well.

“Sausage…”

Her voice stood out like a spotlight in the darkness. A whisper on the wind that comforted him. A voice he looked for, but couldn’t find.

He glanced around. It was less painful than he thought it’d be.

“Sausage.”

A bit clearer now. Her voice came from the right. Somehow, while he looked for her, the beast’s continuous hits became less noticeable. The search had his full attention, nothing more and definitely nothing less than that. The world could have ended again and he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Pearl?” His voice was as clear as hers, strangely so. “Pearl…” I can’t see you. He couldn’t quite say it. He continued to look, even pushed himself up into a sitting position to have an easier time finding her.

There. His heart skipped a beat or two or five – right there. In the elevated walkway next to the main street at the top of the stairs, she stood. Untouched by sculk, a crown of sunflowers upon her head, her flowing green dress being played with by an impossible breeze. The few sounds in this room faded and the sun seemed to send one singular ray of sunshine to illuminate her as she descended the stairs with that gentle smile. Even below, the sunlight always found her and followed her.

“You’ve done enough, Sausage. You can rest now.” She carefully crouched down beside him and offered him her hand. “Take my hand.”

He did not hesitate. His hand rested comfortably in hers. He stared at her, only her, and she likewise kept her gaze locked onto him. She slowly stood and, hand in hand, helped Sausage to his feet as well. He was a little wobbly still, but it didn’t matter.

He stared at her – she hadn’t aged a day. She hadn’t changed, not a hair out of place, and that smile… oh, how he’d missed that smile.

“I’ve been trying to find you.”

“I know.” She nodded gently. “You’ve found me.”

She walked with him up the staircase. It didn’t end, though – continued ever upward. The dark deepslate changed to a lighter gray of stone and granite, without any sculk that stained it, and climbed ever higher.

If Sausage had glanced behind him, he would’ve seen the creatures still there. The shrieker pierced through his skin while the beast beat his body beyond recognition. It had long stopped breathing, but without any other targets nearby, they had to do with Sausage’s corpse.

Sausage saw none of that. He only saw Pearl and he willingly let her guide him away to a better place.

Chapter 20: (7.1) Hidden in the fog

Chapter Text

“Is something wrong?” Shelby wondered.

fWhip, Pix, Jimmy, Sausage, and Gem were all staring at her with a weird look in their eyes. She couldn’t think of anything that was wrong with her. She hadn’t noticed – and what she had noticed, she was physically unable to care about.

Strange patches of dark blue-ish moss clung to her skin, her clothes, her hair, her hat. Her vision had grown a little murkier; she’d seen in a mirror her left eye was completely drowned in that same color. Strangely, it did not feel weird to her that she looked like this. it had grown rather rapidly recently, yes, but it wasn’t bad as far as she could tell. Still, the way Sausage gasped in shock made her realize they may see it as malevolent.

Sausage grabbed Jimmy’s arm and whispered to the group that whatever covered Shelby reminded him of the moss he’d seen down in the ancient city; the moss that clung to his boots and made it difficult to cross that on foot. Gem, on the other hand, quietly stared at Shelby with a confused look on her face and silent, simmering fury in her eyes. A fury none of the men knew what it was supposed to mean.

“Shelby… are you alright?” Jimmy asked her.

“I’ve got a bit of a rash, yeah, but I feel fine,” Shelby responded. She noticed how everyone acted weird around her. Though she tried to remain her nice and cheerful self, her voice betrayed the anxiety hidden beneath. She quickly shifted her gaze to Gem, who was rocking a completely different look than before. “Nice hat, Gem! It really looks good on you.”

“How did that happen?” Gem wondered. She approached the witch slowly at first, then her pace quickened until she stood in front of her. Shelby was only a little smaller than Gem, but as the wizard towered over her, Shelby felt even smaller than usual. “Shrub, what happened? How did you get that?”

“It didn’t… I woke up one day and it appeared,” Shelby answered honestly. “I don’t know how it got there.”

Gem did not believe it. She reached out a hand to potentially grab her shoulder, but stopped mid-air. She retracted her hand and stared at Shelby with a gaze that could easily pierce the soul and expose someone’s deepest secrets. It very much unsettled Shelby.

“But did you do anything before that? Did you come into contact with anything weird?”

“Gem…”

“Please. This is important.”

Important enough to try and intimidate an answer out of her. Though the fury had only expressed itself in worry and despair, the men had no idea if this could change. They did not know this Gem well enough, did not know whether Gem would snap and do something terrible if Shelby didn’t give the wizard the answer she wanted to hear.

Shelby glanced at her nervously. If she’d realized that Gem was behaving differently than she usually would, her intensity might be something Shelby focused on above all else.

“I’ve… I’ve been walking around in the fog of the Evermoore,” she confessed. “And I was hearing voices… I found a shard in the swamp. Later I discovered the rash, but… I’m not sure if they’re even related.”

Shelby tried to sound as assertive as she could, given the circ*mstances. However, when faced with the piercing gaze of this Gem, it was too easy to feel small and cornered. Especially as the wizard threw all her charisma, weight, and authority in the conversation.

“Show me,” Gem said bluntly.

Shelby frowned. “The rash?”

“The shard.”

Shelby already lifted her hand to show Gem the rash, but lowered it as soon as the confirmation came in. Instead, she stalled for as long as she could, her fingers grasping the shard in her pocket, building tension and slowly aggravating Gem. At long last, she sighed and pulled the shard out of her pocket.

The men in Gem’s company only got a quick glance – the shape of a standard amethyst shard, but darkness swirled within. Darkness, with some blues that resembled the moss from the ancient city as well as the small patches of rash across Shelby. Not only did this darkness draw attention, but it seemed to draw in the light as well, the surrounding few inches seemingly growing darker, even when that was physically impossible.

As soon as it came into view – as soon as Gem saw it – she snatched it from Shelby and wrapped it in a faded purple handkerchief.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Shelby exclaimed. Gem did not listen to those pleas, however, and stowed the now wrapped-up shard away, out of sight, in a pocket somewhere on her person.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t have this,” Gem said. Her voice merely suggested authority, but none of the people in her company dared to question the authority she emanated.

“And you can?” Shelby asked. If she wasn’t so intimidated, she would’ve immediately tried to take the shard back. “You know, you’ve been acting weird today.”

“Where did you find this?” Gem then asked. “Where exactly?”

“T-The fog, in the swamp somewhere.”

“Show me.”

The swamp was different from the one Gem knew as the Cod Empire. The flora was all twisted and somehow deeply wrong, whereas the fauna mostly consisted of frogs, insects, and other small critters. Despite this swamp feeling off - it reeked of something arcane, ancient and unknowing she could not place - it was alive. A shrill contrast to the Cod Empire, the last time she visited. Water had remained in this swamp, the wildlife active and vocal… the Evermoore was alive in a way the Cod Empire was not.

One similarity was the heavy fog that obscured everyone’s vision and made it difficult to navigate these waters. They relied on their hearing more than their sight to keep tabs on where everyone was, and to ensure not one of their little group would be lost among in these murky waters.

A quiet set of whispers accompanied them throughout their journey. Whispers Gem did not recognize in languages barely spoken, as alien to her as this brand-new world. Yet, the whispers were here, their messages unknown, their presence unsettling. And yet, in their absence, it seemed something else watched and waited to bite down on them, to snatch them in a moment of inattentiveness.

The whispers were tame compared to that inherent danger always lurking overhead, deep in the waters, behind every piece of shrubbery. Waiting for a mistake.

“Are these whispers always present?” Gem wondered - if only to take her mind off of the predatory darkness in the absence of things.

“Yes,” Shelby answered. She did not elaborate; the whispers were always present, and their traveling companions - some of whom frequented the swamp for the witch’s help - agreed that these whispers sometimes even dared to call out when they were in the safety of Shelby’s protective circle. No more conversation was wasted on the whispers themselves, as everyone focused on not losing each other in the thick fog.

They eventually came to the one island where Shelby had supposedly found her shard. It looked similar to the surrounding ones and if Shelby hadn’t pointed it out, nobody else would have been able to correctly identify it. Nothing immediately jumped out as odd about this one island and Gem could not detect any kind of magic on the island or around it. Just an ordinary island, like the others.

So why was that echo shard here?

“You found it here?” she asked.

“Yes. It was right there,” Shelby said. She walked forward, onto the island. Gem followed closely behind while the men kept their distance, looking out for any sign of trouble that might emerge from the waters. Even the exact location that Shelby pointed out to the wizard was as unassuming as it could be. Gem looked around, searched for something that could point out evidence of the supernatural or arcane or the sculk, yet she found none. She decided to widen her scope to the waters surrounding the island and cast a glance in the direction they faced as they walked toward this island.

A decline in the terrain, yet no water flowed inside. A steady decline that went below the water level, descending into an eerie darkness. A tunnel of sorts, it seemed; a clear entrance.

“What’s that over there?” Gem pointed out the decline, somewhat visible from the island where Shelby stood. The witch followed her gaze and she frowned.

“That… I don’t think that was there before.”

Gem raised an eyebrow and glanced from this entrance to the witch. That cave or tunnel entrance, upon closer inspection, seemed rather obvious.

“So you didn’t see that when you found the shard?”

“No!” Shelby defended herself. “The fog was very thick. I could barely see the shard itself and I didn’t want to stay around for too long.”

Even then, she only ever saw the echo shard because of the dim glow it produced. If she had spotted that cave entrance before, it must not have registered as something worth exploring. Maybe whoever had whispered to her the first time had wanted to keep this a secret, only to reveal it at a better time.

“Let’s see what’s down there,” Gem said. Without hesitation, she walked forward. As she stepped out of the line of sight of the men, they approached as well, following Shelby and the wizard down this hidden cave entrance the witch must’ve missed.

“Do you know what lies below?” fWhip wondered.

“I… I do not,” Gem answered truthfully. “I do have a suspicion. Let’s hope that I’m wrong.”

Chapter 21: (7.2) Escape from Mezalea

Chapter Text

A moment of peace and quiet. A moment, which allowed Grian and Scar to take a breath and look at each other. Within this silence, they reflected on Joel’s outburst right before he left, his words still echoing in their ears.

Do you realize how long I’ve been stuck here? Everyone abandoned me. My people, my wife, my brother-in-law… they’re all bloody gone.

Grian and Scar glanced at one another, didn't dare to respond or break this brittle silence, for fear that Joel may still hear and return to them. One glance, yet that was enough not to feel alone. Neither of them truly knew what it was like to be alone. Through Hermitcraft, none of them were truly alone, even if they were busy with such a big project that it was a miracle to see them leave their base.

Neither of them knew what it was like to be alone, to the degree Joel seemed to be in. From what it sounded like, a whole country’s worth of people - a whole civilization’s worth - gone in an instant. The world in shambles, and only Joel remained among the survivors. Whatever this strange place may be within this universe, Joel was lonely to a degree that neither Grian nor Scar ever wanted to experience or wish upon anyone else.

Enough to drive even the sanest among them mad.

“What do we do now?” Scar wondered. Nothing more than a whisper, yet it still echoed against the walls. “We can’t stay here forever!”

“We’re not going to,” Grian said to calm his friend and quell his own worries. “We need to get out of here.”

Grian looked around the cave, trying to find anything useful. Joel had kept this cave as clean as was possible. But it was still a cave, and he may not have thought about every little thing. No tools or anything lay around that could help them free themselves from their predicament. Even if they couldn't find anything to cut the ropes that bound their wrists, they could always just leave. Grian hadn’t heard a door slam or fall into its lock. Perhaps the cave they were in opened up into daylight. If Joel just left…

“We need to leave,” Grian said. “Right now.”

“Now?” Scar’s voice rose an octave. “But what if he comes back?”

“Then we’ll deal with that if he comes back. We have a chance.” A chance, rapidly declining, since they had no idea when Joel would return.

In truth, Grian had no idea what Joel was capable of. This version of Joel, anyway. He didn’t know what Joel would do to keep them trapped in this cave, in this ruined place in this desert wasteland forever. He sympathized, but this only reached as far as the individual from before he tried to bash their heads in to keep them around for as long as possible.

If Joel had wanted them to stay, he should’ve attached them to the wall.

So they had to act quickly.

Grian snuck to the entrance, and Scar followed right behind him. Some tense few minutes in the darkness, in a tunnel sloping upward, until the sunlight hit their eyes and the two breathed in relief. As suspected, the way to freedom was open and unblocked. The tunnel opened up into a destroyed building and the cave entrance itself was a steeper slope where debris and rocks had to be scaled to exit. During this Rapture that Joel had spoken about, the floor must’ve collapsed and created a way into this cave.

It was a cave. It had been dark.

There had not been any mobs.

Grian shook his head. Not the time to think about that. He had to focus on the climb, which would be a little trickier. Their wrists were still tied and they had to climb this and get back to the rift. Grian went first, clearing the way and making sure the road ahead was as Scar-proof as possible. He held his tongue as Scar lingered at the bottom; he had no idea where Joel was and didn’t want to possibly alert him to their location.

When Grian made it to the top, he turned around.

“Scar, would you—”

Hurry up. Except Scar stood right behind him, wiping some sweat from his brow with his freed hands.

“Yes, Grian, I’m right here.” He wiped his hands on his pants and frowned when he saw Grian’s confused look. “Everything okay?”

“When did you do that?” Grian gestured at his hands.

“Oh, this?” Scar glanced down at his hands. “I just found a rock down there. that helped tremendously.” Then, silence, for a second. “Do you need help with that?”

“Yes!”

Scar reached out and undid the rope around Grian’s wrists. Scar tossed it down into the cave while Grian rubbed his wrists. They were going to be sore for a while, but it was a small price to pay for this freedom.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

The building was located in a part of town they hadn’t been. The yellow facade had faded, its windows returned to sand and shards, and it barely stood out in a row of ruined homes. The dead branches of the giant tree in the distance still watched over the ghost town and provided an easy way of determining their current location.

Previously, as Scar and Grian walked into town, the tree had been in front of them, slightly to the left. Now, it stood to their right.

“We need to go that way!” Grian pointed out, away from the tree. Scar only nodded and followed Grian.

They ran. They maybe should’ve been a little more sneaky in the town itself, but they ran. If Joel passed by, he’d know exactly what happened. When Joel returned to the cave, he would find the ropes and pursue them either way. It was best to create as much distance between them and him at this point. So they had to run.

If they weren’t running straight toward him. They had no idea where Joel had gone. Perhaps it was outside of town. But perhaps it was not, and that was a chance they had to take, for the rift was located a little ways away from this place.

A true ghost town, where only their footsteps echoed against broken tiles, with a strong breeze as their sole companion. To the outskirts of town, to the edge of the plateau, to the pathway down to the lower area of the mesa. Running, interspersed with walking when they grew too tired to run, but still going as quickly as they possibly could.

To the sparks of purple energy that the rift produced - a stark contrast with the faded reds and browns of the mesa.

“There it is!” Scar exclaimed. “Gosh, I’m so happy to see that purply rift again!”

“We can’t stop now,” Grian responded. “We have to keep moving.”

Joel could still be anywhere. If he stayed in town, all he needed to do was cast one glance down the lower areas to find that his prisoners had escaped. If he was out here hunting, they might be able to spot him - but it would also be easy for him to spot them. That was the disadvantage of such an open area - anyone could easily see everyone approaching or crossing the mesa.

And the portal was tantalizingly close.

Despite the adrenaline running through his veins, despite the stress that clouded his judgment and the panic that they may be spotted, they raced to the portal without being stopped once. No mad Joel appeared over the horizon to stop them, and nothing came their way, either. In many ways, it was a little too quiet for his taste.

It was also a post-apocalyptic wasteland, so it might be normal that nothing alive wandered around these parts.

“We made it!” Scar said. He stopped near the portal and placed his hands on his knees, panting. “Oh, we’ve made it.”

“Not yet!” Grian said. He pushed Scar toward the portal. “C’mon, move!”

Scar didn’t need to be told twice. After the first shove, Scar took the few extra passes he needed to step through the rift, and Grian followed suit. The familiar feeling of crossing dimensions washed over them. The desolate wasteland changed and they stepped into a familiar deepslate stone cave, that held all the comforts of home for Grian.

They allowed themselves a moment to breathe before they noticed their visitor. A faded royal uniform, two bags filled with junk, longer than usual hair and shorter than usual posture.

Joel.

The man turned around. He hadn’t said anything yet, seemed to have just stared at everything with quiet awe. His gaze landed on Scar and Grian the exact same time that they noticed him.

“What is this place?” Joel wondered, his voice barely a mumble. “How… what is that?”

He pointed toward Grumbot, their silent witness.

“Don’t you know-”

Scar could not finish the sentence on account of Grian elbowing him in his stomach.

“That’s Grumbot,” Grian said. “Are you okay? We’re on Hermitcraft now. Welcome to my base.” Despite what common sense might dictate, Grian took a step forward. Carefully, cautiously. It didn’t look like Joel would be doing anything, as that silent awe was accompanied by a deep-rooted sorrow that he couldn’t shake.

“Hermitcraft…” he tested the name, as though this was the very first time he’d ever said it aloud. Which shouldn’t be the case. Joel knew about Hermitcraft, they’d spoken about it at length before. Joel should know this.

Their Joel should know this.

Their Joel also couldn’t have been surviving in a world that clearly was no longer survivable.

“Joel… do you know who we are?”

Once again, Joel’s gaze landed on the two of them. Once again, not a hint of recognition on his face.

“I haven’t got a clue,” Joel admitted. “I don’t know what a Grumbot or Hermitcraft is, either… but you do seem to know me.” He took a pause. “What is going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Scar said.

“You came through the rift,” Grian explained. “You’re in our world now.”

That news shook him more than Grian had expected. Joel looked away again, looked at everything Grian had gathered or collected in this space, with a renewed look of confusion and awe. And with a brave tear he refused to wipe from his cheek or to acknowledge.

Scar and Grian looked at one another. What kind of a mess did they stumble into?

Chapter 22: (7.3) My better half

Chapter Text

As they reached the surface, Gem placed fWhip on the first flat surface she encountered that wasn’t covered in sculk. He allowed her to lay him down gently, and he groaned at the sudden movement but breathed in relief when he was lying down.

fWhip panted heavily, tried to focus his dazed gaze on her. During the journey to the surface, it had become clear how bad his situation was, and now she could see the damage. She wished she was able to look at his face, to give him that comfort – instead, she could only stare at his body.

The sculk had seeped through his clothes – through his whole body. The darkness glistened across his thigh and belly. Even now it slowly climbed up, small veins reaching higher toward his chest and heart. His face was pale, sweat dripping down. The goggles on his head were completely broken, most of the glass smashed out. He breathed heavily, as though he couldn’t quite catch his breath, and he reached out a hand to her. An open desperate hand that trembled badly.

A harrowing view. She swallowed her tears and kept a brave face, for fWhip’s sake. If only so she wouldn’t lose hope the same way that it slipped from her grasp.

She fell to her knees and held him. She didn’t care about the sculk that ate away at him and might just start to eat her, too – she wanted to embrace him, to hold him close, to give him the comfort he craved.

“Don’t worry, fWhip. I’m going to help you.”

She clenched her staff, focused through her muddled mind and dark thoughts. Energy – magic – built up inside the staff, culminated in a soft purple glow at the tip of the amethyst crystal that steadily built up. In her mind, she tried to dispel the image of the ancient city. She needed to go to her little apothecary in the Crystal Cliffs to find the items she needed to help her brother. Luckily, they’d visited home and she could easily picture the now ruined apothecary. They wouldn’t have to travel twelve miles or more to return home.

She closed her eyes and released the energy from the staff. When she opened her eyes again, she stood amid the rubble of the apothecary. With a quiet nod to herself, she cleared a patch of debris to comfortably lay fWhip on – as comfortably as possible. Then, she searched for what she needed.

The apothecary was a mess. She’d seen that when they were last here. Still, it hadn’t bothered her as much as it did right now. What few ingredients had survived the Rapture, had long since spoiled and there was little she could actually work with. Even if she used her magic to create the necessary tools – the right tools – she wouldn’t have all the ingredients she needed. She wouldn’t have the herbs and flowers and ointments that were once plentiful, and to conjure them all would take too long.

In frustration, she smashed some of the glass bottles that had miraculously survived.

“Gem…” Gods, he sounded too weak. Gem rummaged through the cabinets a little quicker.

“Just hold on, fWhip. There’s gotta be something left in here that I can use…”

“I’m not gonna make it.”

“Yes, you are. We just need some time and—”

“Which I don’t have.” fWhip put all his strength into that statement and quieted down again. “Gem, I’m dying.”

Gem stopped and turned. Though the image hadn’t left her mind, her heart broke all over again. She wished she had better accommodations. She wished he didn’t have to lie on a bare table that could collapse any moment. She wished she had something that would immediately return him to normal. But the sculk had melted onto his skin, had seeped into his hair, and he barely had the strength to turn his head to face her. Despite the pain, despite the terror he failed to hide from her, despite the grim prospects, he looked at her with a steady gaze that seemed to want to comfort her, with only half a smile on his face.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” He tried to push himself up. “Please…”

Gem placed a hand on his shoulder. He stopped the struggle and lay down again with a deep sigh, never looking away from her. Glancing at every little detail on her face with a calm disposition that scared her.

“fWhip, no. You’ll live. Y-You can’t just give up.”

“I’m not. Really, I’m not.” One hand crept up, slid across his chest until it met her hand still on his shoulder. From under the sleeve, Gem could see some of the sculk from his arm climbing up. He wanted to squeeze her hand, but lacked the strength. “Thank you. For everything.”

“fWhip…”

“Do me a favor, ‘kay?” His tone was softer, as was his volume. “Don’t try to fight it. I know how you can be when you—”

“Stop that.” Gem used her old teacher voice again, fought against the oncoming tears. “You’re not saying goodbye to me. You’re not.”

He didn’t refute it. He didn’t comfort her, didn’t tell her it wasn’t true. Merely nodded once and fought tears of his own. He won that battle more decisively than Gem. Why was he so brave? She should be the brave one, she should tell him it was going to be okay, she should comfort him while he whimpered and cried and let out his emotions. Why did he feel the need to hide it all behind that calm, brave face?

No. He didn’t hide anything. Gem just could not accept that fWhip already accepted his fate while she was certain something could help him still.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ll be okay. You’ve always been okay. Despite what happened… we’ve had a good life. It’s been good.”

Gem shook her head. “Don’t.”

Don’t say this. Don’t say goodbye.

Don’t tell me what to do when I haven’t even started.

“You never needed me,” he stubbornly continued. “Live a good life. For me. You can do that, right?”

“We can do that together,” Gem responded. “I’m not giving up on you.”

“Oh, Gem…”

If any words followed, they followed silently. His lips sputtered, stuttered soundless words. His gaze on her – once steady, now growing weaker. Before Gem could recognize the signs and demand he did not give up and beg him to stay, he’d already passed. His eyes on her, but with an empty gaze. His face expressionless, his body relaxed, the hand on hers now limp and nearly sliding off. The sculk very much alive, pulsating now and again, making more progress now the body no longer fought back.

“fWhip?”

She placed her trembling hand against his cheek, hoped that his gaze would follow it. His skin was still warm, but it would not be for long. Already, his warmth was being drained from him.

She clenched her brother’s hand in hers and burst out in ugly sobs that nobody heard.

Chapter 23: (8.1) The city under the swamp

Chapter Text

The world had never been quieter.

Everyone knew about the silence in the ancient city. That permeating silence and darkness left only the barest ambient sounds and sights. It always succeeded in making visitors as quiet as the environment themselves, to tread carefully lest something bad happened to them – or that was what everyone believed in. It was all they’d ever heard about.

And, for those who came for the first time, it left a lasting impression. Jimmy’s mouth fell open.

“Woah…” he barely knew where to look first. With wonder in his eyes, he barely scrutinized the environment he’d just walked into.

Sausage took a few more steps forward and glanced at the familiar structures and streets – sometimes too familiar. He glanced to his right, to what might have once been a simple family home, and that general unease settled back into him.

“This looks just like…”

“The one under the Goblands,” fWhip finished the sentence. He’d been down once before, and just once was enough to leave an impression. It seemed a carbon copy like the one underneath the Goblands, up to the rather large square surface of deepslate where once must’ve been a patch of sculk.

“We should stay close together,” Sausage said. He looked around to ensure nobody wandered too far. Jimmy and fWhip stood near him, Gem and Shelby were behind him. And Pixlriffs…

“Pix?”

Pixlriffs had mindlessly, slowly, walked forward, careful step after careful step. He looked around in silence, his gaze studying every little nook and cranny, his face both fascinated and sorrowful when they could catch a glimpse of it in the pale soulfire lights. Not a hint of fear, or awe. Almost like the city had enthralled his archaeologist brain.

“Pix!” Jimmy said, and Pix’s head snapped to his friend. “Don’t go too far! Stay close.”

Pix nodded, took one more glance at what had demanded his attention beforehand, and returned to the group with a mumbled apology for already straying too far. The sorrow never left his eyes and though he stayed close, his mind was a million worlds away.

Shelby and Gem remained to the back of the group, to allow the men to enter in front of them and clear the way. It was Shelby’s first time down here as well – she wasn’t sure how to feel about this. She wasn’t sure if this city provided her comfort or dread, knowing it had been below her swamp the entire time. A knot formed in her stomach and her mind raced. The few patches of sculk on her body itched as soon as she entered and fear struck her for the first time – would going further mean she’d lose more of herself? Would coming into contact with the ever-present sculk aggravate her symptoms?

Yet, she focused on Gem. The wizard in purple walked in silence and slowly observed the ancient city with an analytical, calculated look in her eyes. Her gaze glided over everything and anything. Despite the neutrality she tried to display, her mask inevitably cracked. A sense of fear, as she clenched her staff so hard her knuckles grew white. She took such small and careful steps that she might as well not be moving at all, that she caught her breath and almost did not dare to breathe when her gaze landed on the main centerpiece portal frame and altar.

“Gem?” Shelby placed a hand on the wizard’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“How is this possible?” Gem muttered under her breath. She shook her head ever so slightly. “Why…”

She trailed off, started to move forward a little. Just a little. Attempting to avoid touching the sculk and stepping where it hadn’t quite taken hold yet.

“Gem?” Shelby hoped she’d stop walking, that she’d answer her question, to see if she was truly okay – which it looked like she wasn’t. Gem did stop in her tracks, her gaze fixated on the portal and altar.

“How is this still here?” she spoke almost breathlessly, her mind racing as much as it was blank. Overwhelmed by so many emotions, she felt none and everything all at once. Her silence caught the attention of those who’d walked ahead, and the men turned and waited for the ladies to catch up.

“Do you know this place?” fWhip asked her. “What happened here?”

Gem looked at him – she saw what they didn’t, a wealth of information hidden behind her intensely sorrowful eyes. A gaze, piercing fWhip’s soul and making a shiver run down his spine. Then, her eyes were drawn to the altar again, seemed to follow a certain itinerary. Down the stairs, to some sort of indentation in the sculk. Her gaze lingered before she snapped her head away from that location.

“Something I’d rather not relive.” She looked at fWhip when she spoke. Then, she regained her composure and cleared her throat. Almost to present herself as though none of this affected her. Which was bullsh*t. “You said something like this also lies underneath the Goblands?”

The goblin nodded. “As far as I know, it was. It is.”

“How far away are the Goblands?”

“Not sure how many miles, but too far for these to be the same location. Too far to comfortably make the journey we just made.”

Too far to walk that distance in the amount of time they spent descending into this city. Too far to make sense otherwise. Too far to assume it’s easy to cross that distance.

“I was here not that long ago,” Sausage said. “Someone else was here, too. Someone… that wasn’t any of us.”

“Someone?” The guardian of Sanctuary had her full attention now, almost unbearably so. “Who did you see? What did they look like?”

“J-Just a guy,” Sausage said. “Flaming blue hair, dramatic black robe. Very cautious fellow. Mumbled under his breath. Never seen him before in my life. Does that sound like someone you knew?”

Any hope that had flashed across her face melted away. Still, the sadness persisted while her disappointment did not endure.

“No,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t.”

“Sorry.” It was absurd how easily those three words cut into his soul and carved out his heart.

“Don’t be. I just… I hate this place. My best friend and brother died here.”

Somehow, the silence tightened around them, almost suffocated everyone. Jimmy’s gaze slid away from the group and searched for evidence of the demise of Gem’s friends, but he had no luck. Pix looked at Gem compassionately, his own sorrow matching hers, though his fist was clenched. fWhip, in the meantime, started to understand her sadness – and why her focus might have been on him.

“Oh.”

“I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to help them,” Gem continued. “I tried… our friend ran while we escaped. He’d tripped. He was beyond saving, there was no time. And my brother… he…”

Gem’s hand trembled and she did not try to hide it. She merely clutched her staff, possibly to steady herself, but everyone had noticed. She’d lost her brother, and she still hadn’t gotten over it. Because it was not just something one could easily get over.

A hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. Cold, uncaring, almost seemed to dig into her skin. She almost jumped up, but Pix’s comforting face kept her calm. The darker, uncomfortable notions of his hand’s calming presence on her shoulder vanished – must be her imagination.

“You don’t have to speak,” Pix said. “Your pain is yours to share when you are ready.”

Gem merely nodded, not sure if she even had the strength to speak. But she straightened her back and looked at her companions below ground. It would be difficult to find the words for a while, and her mind and gaze were both drawn to the giant portal frame and the altar, currently out of sight. A hint of fear crossing her face.

“Hey, Sausage,” fWhip then said. “That person you saw…”

“Yes?”

“Could it be… it’s not one of us, definitely not, but can’t it be someone else? Doesn’t Tango from Hermitcraft look like that these days?”

Jimmy’s eyes lit up at the mention – that description had haunted him since Sausage had brought it up earlier today, but he hadn’t thought who reminded it him of. Though he hadn’t spoken to Tango since Double Life, Jimmy knew Tango well enough now to know what he looks like and what his plans are. Flaming hair seems to be a trait that persists throughout the worlds Tango chose to settle in.

Sausage shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t really know him.”

“He could’ve,” Jimmy responded. “Y’know, for Decked Out. His game.”

Pix only gave a nod, giving extra support to this theory. It could be plausible. It could have been Tango.

Yet, that disregarded the big question: how could it have been Tango if he was living on Hermitcraft? He hadn’t come through the world portal – fWhip would have known about it – and yet, Sausage claims to have seen someone who looked like him. Was that even possible?

Whatever anyone else wanted to say, was cut short. An interruption of their conversation by a group of footsteps that did not belong to them. Torchlight emerged from a side street and announced the arrival of three somewhat familiar people.

Three people who definitely didn’t live in Empires.

Chapter 24: (8.2) The impossible visitor

Chapter Text

Impulse and Pearl had decided on a trap to catch the one who pranked Impulse. Nothing too fancy – just a simple trap that would drop anyone down into a pit of water below. Rather simple, actually – just a couple of pistons, a torch in the hole itself so the person wouldn’t be in complete darkness, and an alarm that would alert them if someone had triggered the trap. Pearl and Impulse only needed to wait to see if someone fell into that trap.

Even if this amounted to nothing – and the culprit wouldn’t show up again – it was a fun side-project and perhaps a prank of his own for whoever walked through the entrance. In the meantime, he also got to spend some time with Pearl.

“And now we wait,” she said with that broad smile. Somehow, in record time, she had managed to create a cozy corner within his base, where they could sit down and relax and hang out while they waited for their mystery culprit to show up once again.

“Now we wait,” he responded. “What made you so sure the person who did this would show up tonight? It might as well catch any wandering mob at this point.”

Perhaps the person would return. Perhaps they would remain in the shadows, never to be discovered until a few years later, when that person might say one word too many that made Impulse finally realize it was them all along. And if they didn’t return… it might as well be an easy trap for mobs. There was no shortage of that on the bridge that connected Impulse’s keep with Pearl’s alien landscape.

“Call it my intuition,” Pearl said. “I believe something’s gonna happen tonight.” She sipped from her bowl of soup. Good soup. Their soup was always great.

“I hope so.” Even if nothing happened, he would like to have something. Otherwise, this may gnaw at him for the rest of his life.

“You visited Gem again, right?” Impulse then asked after a few minutes, to break the silence. “How was she?”

“She was resting. Sleeping.” Pearl sighed. “I wish I could’ve talked to her today, but her health and rest are more important than that. She did eat her soup.”

Impulse nodded. “That’s good.”

Good that Gem ate her soup. Good that she was resting. Whatever illness had felled her, it left her bedridden. Impulse hadn’t realized just how quickly certain illnesses could debilitate someone. Perhaps they were lucky this hadn’t spread to any of the other Hermits, and Pearl had volunteered to keep a close eye on her. Still, her condition had all Hermits worried, even if Pearl said that things were looking up and Gem was doing great as usual. Still, there was something about her – something that Impulse caught in Pearl’s sometimes too-smooth voice and too-perfect smile when she spoke about Gem. It almost sounded rehearsed, as though she’d said it a million times before and would say it a million times more.

Impulse didn’t pry. Pearl was a good friend and he trusted her to make the right decisions. After all, why wouldn’t he trust her after all she’d shared with him?

“Are you sure it wasn’t you who placed that sign by accident?” Impulse asked her after a moment of silence.

“Nope. Wasn’t me.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

Before either could say or do anything else, a bell rang out. Simultaneously, Pearl and Impulse turned their heads to the bell that Impulse had rigged up to ring out when the trap had been activated.

They’d caught something.

Impulse and Pearl stepped off of the couch and raced to the keep’s entrance, to where the trap had been placed, greeted by the warm sun on their skins. So it couldn’t be a mob. Unless a creeper had wandered in, no mobs spawned much on the bridge itself. Plus, the sounds of someone hitting their heads against the walls and ceiling due to attempts to fly out were unmistakable.

Just like this person’s voice.

Impulse instantly recognized it. that was impossible; this voice didn’t belong to any of the hermits, but it couldn’t be anyone but one of the hermits. Perhaps he wanted to hear his buddy’s voice.

The two broke apart what was the opening and revealed the pit below, quickly dug with deep enough water to catch anyone who fell in. The single torch on the wall still burned, even though the person they’d caught struggled against the water. Impulse had prepared something witty to say, but his heart dropped as soon as he recognized his buddy. That familiar half-apologetic, very much guilty grin looking up at him. Skizz’s chuckle betrayed he got caught, and under his arm – partially used as something to hold onto while it floated on the surface – a bamboo sign.

“Skizz?”

“Sup, buddy,” Skizz said, looking up at his friends. He could barely keep a straight face, reveled in the shock and the confusion that flashed across Impulse’s face. When he saw Pearl, he also waved at her.

“What are you doing here?” Pearl asked.

“How are you here?” Impulse asked. “You… the world portal’s closely monitored.” Not only that, but Xisuma would let everyone know with an automated message that a visitor had arrived and who that visitor was. It was difficult to enter without everyone in this world knowing about it. Let alone with a bamboo sign that the world portal would’ve destroyed if Skizz came through there.

“Well, I - hold on,” Skizz said. Easily, quickly, he flew out of the hole and landed not quite gracefully next to Impulse, still holding the sign under his arm. Now that he stood there, out in the open, Pearl and Impulse could see him wearing an enchanted elytra as well as full Netherite armor, with a diamond sword sheathed on his hip.

That gear must’ve been borrowed. It must’ve been. There is no possibility to carry over gear from one world to another. New world, new gear, as the saying goes. Always the ability to start afresh.

None of this made sense.

“This is much easier to speak, isn’t it? Being out of the water?” Skizz said, still quite pleased with himself. “Hi, Impulse.”

“Skizz!” Impulse exclaimed. No matter how much he tried, he failed to wrap his head around everything that was presented in front of him, for everything – with his knowledge – shouldn’t be possible. How is this possible? Was he dreaming?

“How – why– I have questions.” A quick sigh. “How did you get here? How did you get that sign here – those signs – how did you do that without anyone noticing? Did you sneak in? Is X in on this, is that it?”

“Oh, no, this is all my plan,” Skizz admitted. “Xisuma doesn’t know. Because I didn’t go through the portal.”

The universe had already stopped making sense, but when Skizz said that with that much confidence, it made Impulse realize how truly broken it was.

“Everyone has to go through the world portal to enter,” Pearl told Skizz.

“But I didn’t,” Skizz responded. “I didn’t have to. I found another way in. A backdoor, so to speak.” A strange glint appeared in his eyes, a mischievous one. One that said how he had a secret that neither Impulse nor Pearl knew about - a secret he wanted to share with his friend. A secret that, while it seemed to impress and confuse Impulse, didn’t have the same effect on Pearl.

“I can show you how I got here,” Skizz continued. “Show you the backdoor. Could make it easier for us to see each other.”

Impulse nodded. He didn’t think they’d use this secret backdoor to see each other all that often – Impulse already didn’t trust it and Skizz’s endorsem*nt, while helpful, didn’t automatically make him trust it. it could be nice to pop in for a while.

That, and the burning question of ‘how did Skizz enter Hermitcraft without using the world portal’ needed to be answered, sooner rather than later.

“Sure,” Impulse said. “Show me.”

“Show us,” Pearl said. “I’m coming, too. I’m gonna keep an eye out.” She’d folded her arms and gave Skizz an almost knowing look. “Lead the way.”

Skizz’s grin grew even wider. Not a second later, he, Impulse, and Pearl flew through the sky, on their way to Skizz’s impossible, supposed secret backdoor.

Chapter 25: (8.3) To undo what's wrong

Chapter Text

She cremated his body.

Just outside the walls of the Crystal Cliffs, with untainted dry wood, bushes, and grasses, she had built him a funeral pyre. While she did so, she left her staff to her side. It would have made this easier, but that did not feel right. It wouldn’t feel right unless she dragged every log, branch, and twig onto the central pile herself - unless her body ached as much as her soul and heart. It took her half a day to get it just right; her brother, lying on a bed of wood, awaiting the start of his final journey. His broken goggles rested atop his head, his hands folded across his chest, his gaze eternally on the sky.

She hadn’t shut his eyes – she preferred the reminder they would never blink again over the hope they would open once more.

As night fell, she lit a torch and stood at the foot of the pyre. Her hand trembled, but the flames danced all the same. For a second, she wondered if she could do this. Light the fire, step away, say goodbye.

She had to. She wanted to remember him as he was, not as a formless pile of sculk-to-be.

She threw the torch onto the pyre and quietly watched her brother burn.

As she stared into the flames, an idea blossomed in her mind. One she would have never come up with otherwise; one that could only thrive in the current environment, with sorrow in her heart and the iron resolve to set things right. An idea that could only exist because the truth dawned on her.

She was alone.

The last person to ever understand her burned in front of her. Many people had passed away, but she’d always known some of her fellow rulers had been out there somewhere and fWhip had been safely at her side. Now, she knew the truth. The others were dead. Sausage was too stubborn in his goals and Joel had never bothered to reach out, but everyone else had long since died. She’d never wanted to acknowledge it for as long as she had fWhip, for his kind presence softened the blow of that truth.

She was undeniably alone.

The Kings of Mezalea and Mythland found their graves underground, and the Wizard of the Crystal Cliffs burned along with the Count of the Grimlands. None were left.

None were left.

So she should set things right.

She was strong enough. Fifty years passed and she had continued to grow and nurture her magic, however inconvenient it was without the comforts and resources of her now abandoned and ruined tower. Not a bone in her body believed she was not strong or capable enough to do what her grief-stricken mind told her to do.

Necromancy, as a craft, was never something she’d pursued. Despite the hardships, it still was not a solution she considered. The costs were too high, the results too unpredictable. No, she needed something more potent, more reliable. Though memories tended to be fickle, it was the next best thing to employ. To recreate this world - to make it how it should have been. Without sculk, without the Rapture. Where they could live happily and peacefully until the end of their days. To reverse time, to break the Rapture out of existing, to keep the sculk out of their lands. To ensure no further tragedy governed their decisions, now and forevermore.

She was more than capable. It would take careful planning and research and practice, more than she’d ever done. Theoretically, this feat of magic was not impossible. It was just extremely difficult to pull off.

She was alone, and powerful and desperate enough to do this. She could succeed.

She had to.

Years of her extended life spent on research – years in the Crystal Cliffs, where she warded her workshop so the sculk could not claim it. Research, followed by the necessary intense planning and practice, careful to study each and every detail that could break the spell, her mind, or both. Even the smallest mistake could have the most disastrous of outcomes. One mistake and it all had been for nothing. It could not all be for nothing.

Years of research and planning and practice - and then the day came. She believed she could do it; she made herself believe she could. She strode out of her workshop to fWhip’s cremation site - the predetermined location of this massive ritual spell. The sculk had advanced, yet it dared not touch the site of ash or the single wither rose growing in the middle.

If only fWhip could see her now. As these years passed, she cared little about her previously carefully curated appearance. Finally, gray hairs had sprouted and wrinkles graced her face. Finally, age has caught up with the ageless wizard. It did not matter, anyway – if this spell worked, she would be reunited with everyone at the age of their demise. The signs of time would disappear, as would her memories of this horrid life.

She stood over the wither rose, closed her eyes, muttered the delicate incantation under her breath, focused. On the spell, the magic, the world. She pictured a home for her, her friends, and family - a world, exactly as it had been before tragedy struck, where they could live without worries or fear. A world without Xornoth or the Rapture or sculk or hardship or trouble. A world of peace.

Her volume swelled, arcane energy built up inside the crystal atop her staff. The world heeded her call, waited to see what would happen. The magic that coursed through her staff coursed through her veins, grew her confidence.

Cold. Darkness that sapped everything. Pain. All the nerves in her body exploding at once. A blinding light, painful to watch yet unable to look away. Her eyes burning. No more incantation, just one scream for eternity and forevermore. One hand, clawed away from her staff, reaching up. Unsure toward what. All the gods have forsaken this world, only sculk reigned. If not her own incompetence and arrogance, something familiar blocked her, consumed her. Snarled at her. Who was she, to defy what is and herald the end? Who was she, to change the laws of the universe, of birth and death and rebirth? Who was she, to breach the sanctity of life?

Warmth. Like the sun, flowing through her body. The scream ended, her voice returned to her. The painful blinding light now softer, warmer; no longer harsh candlelight, more like the calm sun. Welcoming. Encouraging. Quiet, yet present support. Perhaps not of her actions, but of her life.

One final push, one thrust of her staff to finish the spell.

From pure white to complete darkness.

From complete darkness to limited visibility.

Panic. Just for a moment, while her mind caught up with her body and the adrenaline faded. A spike of stress, as she was underground, with a patch of sculk nearby. She lit up the amethyst on her staff and looked at it. A self-contained patch, barely two feet across, with no veins crawling outward expansively. It just sat there. Unassuming.

She hated it.

Something else just sat there, too. At the edge of this sculk sat a small clothed humanoid figure with green skin and big eyes, staring at her curiously. Unlike anything Gem had seen before. She took a step closer, but they ran away and called out in a language Gem could not understand. They ran uphill, to a more illuminated part of the cave that seemed to have handmade structures in it, built by their small capable hands, and even with some illuminated signs that reminded her of the marvelous inventions of her brother and his people.

The creature ran away and sorrow descended upon the wizard. The spell had failed. She should have appeared in a beautiful green meadow near the Crystal Cliffs surrounded by her friends, unaware of the hardships they’d been through, ready for that good and peaceful life. Instead, she was in a different world or a far-off future (or wherever) where she was alone still, where sculk grew in smaller patches and some green people had vacated the surface in favor of living in dark caves.

The spell had failed. Yet, she lived.

She approached the settlement anyway, hoping to find that these people had a way to go to the surface. From there… let’s go to the surface first, then she could figure out what her next steps would be. If there even would be next steps.

As she walked up, more details popped out. Colorful homes, still underground in a large cavern. It must’ve been a lush cave once – or perhaps not even that. Wonky houses stood all over the place, with streets and pathways that seemed to appear wherever there was space. Large billboards overhead with bright signs advertising stone and pork. The people – those few individuals she saw as she walked closer – either ignored her or glanced curiously in her direction, but none made any attempt to come any closer.

All but one; from this settlement walked one of these creatures; tail whipping around, wild red hair and a mischievous glint in his curious eyes. He wore something that looked like it might signify some sort of importance to these people. Gem didn’t need more than a glance to recognize him.

Immediately, she wondered whether she was dreaming or if her spell had failed that miserably. That couldn’t possibly be…

“Gem?” He even sounded exactly like fWhip. “I know you’re good friends with Shelby, but this is taking it a little too far, don’t you think? Big hat is her thing.”

Chapter 26: (9.1) Nexus

Chapter Text

Impulse tried to understand what was happening. Yet, the more he tried to wrap his head around what Skizz said, wherever he took them, Impulse had no idea what was going on. It didn’t help that Skizz had decided to show them instead of telling them.

If Pearl didn’t understand, either, she hid it well behind that enigmatic smile and worried gaze.

Skizz, after being rescued from the trap set by Pearl and Impulse, pulled out a rocket and flew up, waiting for his friends to follow. Then, he guided them away from the dwarven fort and the alien landscape and the elven castle. Away, all the way to spawn, where he expertly navigated the starting area as though he’d been here before. How did Skizz know how to navigate spawn, when it must be quite confusing for newcomers and visitors? How often had he visited so that he knew where to go?

Whose elytra and Netherite gear did he borrow?

Impulse squinted, but didn’t see any intricate dwarven symbols or runes on Skizz’s armor. So Skizz hadn’t taken items from Impulse’s storage. Not that that mattered - Impulse would have gladly loaned some to Skizz if he needed it - but it did raise the question of whose gear that was.

If it wasn’t Skizz’s own gear.

He claimed to not have come via the world portal. He was taking them to a place that made such a thing not only obsolete, but allowed items that shouldn’t exist in this world to pass through: the bamboo sign, potentially his own gear… but such a thing was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

Eventually, Skizz found what he was looking for: an innocent-looking crevasse that the Hermits wouldn’t have thought twice about, one that must have been explored at the start of the Hermits’ stay on this world. A narrow ravine, where distant forgotten torchlight illuminated some darker spaces, reaching as deep as deepslate levels at its lowest points.

“Down there!” Skizz proclaimed. “Follow me, m’kay? It’s easy to get lost down there.”

With a quick jump, he flew down the crevasse as though he’d done so a thousand times before. Impulse and Pearl followed suit. Pearl followed Skizz’s direct route, while Impulse was a little more careful. Despite never remembering to come down here before, he avoided all the dangers and landed next to a still widely grinning Skizz.

“How do you get down here so quickly?” Impulse asked him.

Skizz shrugged. “It’s all muscle memory at this point. Come on!”

He turned around and walked into a clearly dug-out tunnel that sloped downward, pulling out a torch for visibility.

Impulse turned to Pearl. “Did this… you know…”

Pearl nodded. “Yep. Let’s not keep him waiting.” She marched in after Skizz, unwilling to elaborate. Impulse, with an answer he had no idea what to do with, decided to leave it be and follow. His most desperate questions would be answered at some point. He could live with Pearl not wanting to give him a more satisfying answer. He’s had to live with her enigma for a while.

The slope grew steeper, the descent quicker. Walking was still more viable than gliding down. From a hand-dug straight tunnel to a winding cave, eerily silent. Sculk veins popping from the walls, sometimes in bigger patches.

“Skizz?” Impulse tried to keep his voice to a whisper. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

“You bet it is,” Skizz replied at a normal volume. “This is a good sign, actually! We’re almost there.”

They continued in silence for a little while, the sculk growing more numerous as they walked. Until it opened up into a familiar large cavern where the signs of an ancient civilization have been covered and eaten by time.

Impulse frowned and instinctively crouched down.

“Why are we in an ancient city?” he whispered. This couldn’t be where Skizz could have found a way from his own world, right? Even if he managed to do the impossible, Skizz wouldn’t place the means on the periphery - or perhaps the middle - of one of the most dangerous locations in the most recent new worlds.

He must’ve lost ten years of his life seeing Skizz just casually stroll ahead without a care in the world, triggering all kinds of sensors in the area.

“Because we’re here!” Skizz said at a normal volume, many more sculk sensors pricking up at the sounds. “Well, maybe not here here, but on the other side. Right over there.”

He pointed at a location beyond the ruined buildings, presumably to the other side of the cavern.

“Are you sure about that?” Impulse said.

“Yeah!” Skizz responded. “Oh, it’s completely safe. There’s no shriekers anymore whatsoever. At least, none that I know of, and I know this place rather well.” He continued to walk as though it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

Despite being well-armored and having an elytra and the ability to fly away when danger arises, Impulse had never felt comfortable in this environment. There was something about ancient cities that creeped him out - perhaps it was the silence, perhaps it was the darkness, perhaps it was the warden, perhaps it was this ancient structure that did not exist a decade ago and popped up in all newly created worlds. Whatever it was, Impulse was deeply uncomfortable here.

“Well, come on!” Skizz said. “I’ve got something to show you that’s going to blow your minds!”

Impulse took one hesitant step forward, but Pearl followed Skizz and also disregarded all caution. Impulse stopped crouching and followed, cringing away every time too many sensors clicked and their tendrils leaned closer in their direction. His torch, no matter how dim the light always seemed in the deep dark, at least provided some sense of comfort.

Ahead, they could hear the conversation. A group of people, speaking with one another, that quieted down as Pearl, Skizz, and Impulse approached the main street through one of the alleys of this labyrinthine city.

A strange sight, that made them all pause in their footsteps. The light from Impulse’s torch barely mingled with the torches that these other visitors carried. A group of six, all familiar faces to a certain degree, some more so than others. Four men - Jimmy, Pix, fWhip, and Sausage - accompanied the witch Shelby as well as Gem.

Her presence was the strangest. She had donned purple wizard robes that might put Scar’s from season seven to shame, complete with a large purple hat. Her hair was longer, some streaks of gray in there, put in a braid that lay over one shoulder. Her face looked older, as though she’d lived longer. In her hand, a small something that shed asoft and eerie blue glow, swallowed by the surroundings. Yet, what Impulse focused on was the fact that he couldn’t see the antlers that Gem had while she was on Hermitcraft, but which did not exist in any other world - the same with fWhip, who only was a goblin on Empires, and who still had that same green skin and tail.

Gem herself frowned when she noticed Impulse, Skizz, and Pearl.

“Pearl?” Gem’s voice trembled, a frown on her face as she saw the otherworldly cleaning lady.

Pearl smiled at her; a heartfelt, genuine smile. “Hiya, Gem!”

“Gem?” Impulse said. This didn’t make any sense. They were on Hermitcraft – she should have antlers and not look like she was wearing wizard cosplay. She should be sick in bed to the point that she barely was able to get up. He glanced at Pearl, perhaps hoping for an answer in her gaze, but found nothing. “What are you…”

“How did you get here?” fWhip interrupted Impulse, looking at the trio. He checked his communicator. The one that, as the main admin of the world of Empires, would have alerted him if anyone entered their world through the world portal that was installed at the spawn castle. “You didn’t come– what?”

fWhip, like everyone else who was present, was extremely baffled and confused by this meeting. Pix was still distracted by the environment, but he was silently attempting to put it all together and trying to solve this problem with the rest of his friends.

“How did you get here?” Impulse parroted the words. This progressively became more and more incomprehensible. “Did you come the same way Skizz did?”

fWhip frowned. “Skizz?”

All eyes turned to Skizz, who had been silent during this entire exchange. His mouth had literally fallen open, but slowly closed it, surprised by the amount of people that currently stood in front of him. He, too, had glanced at his communicator.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Skizz said, his signature grin faltering a little. “I had no idea so many people would visit me and my world while I was away.”

Impulse frowned. “Visiting you?”

Skizz nodded. “Yeah! This is my world.” He turned to the Empires group. “Did you figure out how to bypass a world portal, too? I should’ve gotten a notification otherwise…”

“Wait, your world?” Jimmy wondered out loud. “This isn’t your world.”

This was impossible. Impulse tried to think, but couldn’t piece it together. They couldn’t have already crossed over into another world. To go to another world, you need a portal. More specifically, a world portal. He’d expected Skizz had somehow figured out how to set up a world portal in the depths of the deep dark, where no mobs could accidentally wander through, and that Skizz was leading there. It didn’t feel right that he already passed some sort of rift and walked into Skizz’s world. It didn’t feel correct that the Empires folks were here, as well. And Gem, too.

A shiver ran down his spine.

“Yessir, this is my world!” Skizz argued. “I can prove it, too. I’m making a large Warden statue on the surface. So, see that there?”

He pointed to the left – a large portion on the ground, very much a square completely void of sculk, with only deepslate visible. “That’s where I got the sculk from! Mined it up myself, brought it to the surface, made Seymour. You’re in my world.”

Impulse would have loved to believe his friend - he’d been told a lot of world-shattering things lately -, yet his mind refused to move on. He had gotten his sense of normalcy back, and then that bamboo sign appeared on his front door. Somehow, this was the line he drew. Stuck between believing his friend and hearing no lies in his voice, and holding on to what little he did know to be true about the worlds and their world portals.

“But this is Hermitcraft,” Impulse said in a flat voice. “Tango’s seen that. He’s told me about that.”

“No, this is Empires,” fWhip insisted. “You saw that patch before, didn’t you, Sausage?”

“What? Oh, yeah!” Sausage said, nodding wildly as he was addressed. “I’ve seen that strange little thingy before, I had no idea what it was. I think I might’ve also seen Tango while I was down here.”

“See? Sausage has seen it!” fWhip said. “But I wonder how you’re here now, and how Tango would’ve gotten here.”

“There must be an explanation,” Gem muttered. She and Pearl had remained silent the entire time. She’d been looking at Pearl, lost in thoughts and memories, and had been given a friendly look. Pearl’s supportive gaze had kept her calm, her presence invaluable and necessary.

“Must be,” Pearl responded, staying calm. She watched the wizard with great curiosity as she glanced around. The gaze in Gem’s eyes suggested that she started to figure out what might be the case.

Gem stepped aside.

“Gem?” Impulse said, but Gem wasn’t paying attention to him. She sat down on her knees, holding onto her staff. Her hands clenched around the wood and she closed her eyes, concentrating. The amethyst crystal atop the staff shed a soft purple glow in a short range. The darkness of the ancient city seemed to shrink away from the light, to retreat away from it and hiss at it in anger. The glow disappeared shortly after, and Gem’s eyes opened again. A similar purple glow faded from her irises as she stood to her feet, a little shaky.

Impulse watched her with concern – he’d never seen her do magic, but he recognized the wobble of someone who was unsteady on their feet. He rushed forward, offered a hand to help her up. Gem took it and stood, glancing up at him. Her gaze was kind, but Impulse couldn’t see any glint of recognition in them as she looked at him.

Gem glanced at the city again, this time with renewed curiosity and a greater sense of caution than she’d experienced before.

“This place…” she sighed. “It’s nothing.”

A moment of heavy silence.

“What do you mean, it’s nothing?” fWhip said, growing uneasy with Gem’s caution and silence. “T-This is Empires.”

“It is,” Gem nodded. “It’s also Hermitcraft. And Skizz’s world.”

Skizz’s eyes widened and he immediately sought eye contact with his buddy.

“How do you know that?” Impulse asked - something was seriously wrong. “Gem, what’s going on here?”

“That’s not the Gem we know,” Pearl said, with a tone that suggested that it might have been meant to calm his nerves. That did not help in the slightest.

“Not the… but that’s impossible!”

That was the moment Impulse’s mind decided to give up. He wouldn’t try to understand anything that was being said anymore, and would need Pearl to give him a recap when he was back in a familiar environment that did not bombard him with new, contradicting information every other second.

“We’ve been through this already,” Jimmy said. He helpfully gestured at Gem. “That is Gem. Yeah, there’s a second one. No, we don’t really know how or why she’s here.”

Gem quickly shot him a look that suggested that she had already explained. Then, she turned to Impulse and Skizz and Pearl.

“I… came to the Empires to set things right. I’d hoped…” she cut herself off and sighed, looking at Impulse and Skizz. “I’m sorry. I know Pearl, but I’m afraid I don’t know either of you.”

They took a moment to process that information, before Skizz dramatically leaned over to Impulse. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” Impulse responded.

“So, what did you just do?” Pearl asked her. “What did you discover?”

“This ancient city…” Gem’s eyes glided across the ruined buildings again. “It connects Empires with Hermitcraft and Skizz’s world. I don’t know how that’s possible, but this place… it doesn’t feel real.”

“What does that mean?” Sausage asked, his eyes widening in fear and glancing around nervously.

“It doesn’t feel like this. Because it feels like nothing. As though it doesn’t exist.”

A sense of dread descended upon the group. Something lingered in the back of their minds, uncertain of its origin but certain of its unsettling nature. Unable to understand why that statement was so disconcerting, but everyone sought comfort with one another. Almost as though they were exposed to a secret of the universe they shouldn’t have unearthed, but in a second-hand way, since nobody but Gem peeled away the curtain. Even second-hand can be harmful when you’re attempting to understand the sheer nothingness of the Void.

Pix stood in the middle of the street and regarded the massive portal frame, deep in thought. Everyone else followed suit, stared at it.

“Xisuma needs to know,” Pearl said, her voice a distraction from what was slowly washing over them and attempted to drag them down. “All of the hermits need to know not to come down here.”

Her voice rang through the ancient city where they stood, and shook everyone out of their slowly devolving thoughts. Nods, murmurs of agreement. Xisuma and the others needed to know. Perhaps their friends across the world borders needed to know. If only to warn them; if only to tell them to avoid ancient cities they may find in their worlds.

“Until we know what’s wrong, nobody should come here,” Gem said solemnly. “I think I might be able to figure out what’s going on exactly, but it’s going to take time. Until then, we all need to use the world portal if we want to travel between worlds.”

Nobody disagreed.

Chapter 27: (9.2) Closed

Chapter Text

“Joel?”

He barely heard the strangers. Barely acknowledged their existence. Not after what they shared with him.

“You came through the rift,” the one with the red sweater had said. “You’re in our world now.”

Their world…

The concept was strange to him. Only one world existed - their own, which had Mezalea and the Ocean Empire and the Cod Empire and Pixandria and Rivendell and all the others. Of course the Nether and the End also existed as separate dimensions linked to that world, but they were no less hospitable than their world had been in the aftermath of the Rapture. For as long as he lived, with everything that he knew, he only knew his world. The world of him and his friends.

The Rapture destroyed the world. Now these two - survivors who strayed too far from home, Joel believed - are telling him that this is their world.

They implied that more existed.

It wasn’t an implication. It couldn’t be, for Joel had traveled here. He’d seen a strange rift in the middle of the Mezalean Plains. A crooked, jagged vertical line that swirled with the same purple energy that Nether portals used to do before the collapse. Perhaps he’d hoped to be taken to the Nether for a change in scenery, perhaps he had other subconscious goals that his active mind had no idea about.

Instead, he was here.

“Are you okay?” The other one said.

Joel turned his head. The one who’d spoken - the taller one, with a scar across his face - immediately defensively raised his arms. The other one, in a red sweater, just stared with a confused frown.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” Joel snapped at them. His voice was perhaps a little louder than anticipated, but he couldn't care less about the volume.

“...No.”

“Then why are you even asking?”

It wasn’t hard to see, so why bother asking? Joel looked like sh*t. He knew he did, he just never wanted to acknowledge it because what self-respecting king looks like sh*t? He was certain he owned a comb at some point, but must’ve lost it in his ever-increasing pile of trash he dared to call treasures only to stroke his own ego and willfully continue the delusion that he was keeping it together.

He had been. He’d been doing a marvelous job, even if he had nobody to confirm that. He was not living, but he was surviving and it basically had become the same thing. He dug around the rubble to find what could be useful and only ever kept what wasn’t because one of his people valued it. He spoke with the dead mother tree on a daily basis, hoping for a response, begging to have her take him, too. The world had already taken everything else, so why should it stop with everything he'd once held dear was gone? Why not release him from this terrible world as well - or, if she was merciful, to grant him the same mercy extended to his wife. He'd still suffer, but the memories wouldn't drown him anymore.

He never wanted to acknowledge any of this. Not until he found two people, alive, breathing. Not until he knew life still existed in a forgotten corner of the world.

Not until he passed through that rift and came here.

Unfair. That was the sentiment he was stuck on. This was plainly unfair. Everything was unfair. Why did he lose everything, while this place - this world - did not apparently seem to know such tragedy? The two idiots gaping at him did not carry the same burden. They had not known loss on such a massive scale that it could break minds and were oblivious to the pain that inevitably accompanied it.

Why had these two been granted that oblivious life? Why couldn’t they feel that pain that Joel had to learn to ignore or be nonfunctional?

Why did this world even exist? Only their world had existed, and now this purple rift brought him here.

Something beeped. Two sets of beeps, happening simultaneously. The two glanced at each other, and then at a strange apparatus on their wrist. They stared at it for quite a while pulling surprised and concerned faces in the process.

“No more ancient city raiding?” The scarred man said. “Dang it, I wanted to get my hands on swift sneak soon.”

“That’s what you focus on?” His friend asked, almost incredulously. “I’m sure you can get this at Impulse’s shop.”

Sometimes, people ask stupid questions. Joel already had a low tolerance for it, but even less so in his current situation. Especially because he might have to stoop so low soon, too.

Joel would rather he didn’t, though - as a matter of pride and dignity and the illusion of keeping it together.

The one in the sweater glanced from his friend to Joel. “We- we need to go somewhere to… we have to go.”

Joels shrugged. “So? That’s not my problem.”

“It’s just…” He took a quick pause before he continued. “Stay here. If you want. Or go back home if you want, do whatever you want to do. But Scar and I do need to be going.”

“Get going, then.” It was about time they left him alone to collect his thoughts without being watched like an exhibit. They got the hint, luckily - they nodded before deploying their elytra and flying away, up higher and higher. Out of a crack in the ground that made Joel realize they had been underground the entire time. A crack, through which he could see an impeccably blue sky and soft white clouds.

The first blue skies he’d seen in years.

Perhaps Grian should’ve told Joel something. Perhaps he could’ve given the man some sort of a hint - but that would require him to know what was going on in the first place, and he truly had no clue. Especially when that message was sent out to all Hermits.

Pearl had sent it. She cautioned everyone not to visit any ancient cities anymore because it had become a gateway to the Empires world as well as Skizz’s world, and that something was wrong about that place. Grian’s mind immediately went to their visitor - that he came through the rift in Grian’s base while the Empires people and Skizz had arrived without Xisuma being notified was too big of a coincidence.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Grian immediately rushed to where Pearl had asked Xisuma to see her for an explanation - with Scar in tow, so he could hear for himself why the ancient cities were dangerous now. There, at the edge of the spawn town, Pearl waited along with Impulse and Skizzleman and fWhip and Gem.

Gem, who should be sick in bed and whom Grian only had sporadic conversations with over text for the past two weeks. Who also appeared to have raided Scar’s old wardrobe and added a ridiculously large hat to it. Who appeared to be older than when Grian last saw her.

It was best to not mention the wrinkles in front of her, though. Especially when everything in him screamed that something was off about her.

While Pearl and Gem told Xisuma and Hypno about the ancient city and Scar listened in, Grian pulled fWhip aside to ask about Joel. Apparently, the big god of the Empires world was feeling a little under the weather, but he was doing fine for the most part. Nothing out of the ordinary, beyond what was going on here.

Except that fWhip, despite being on Hermitcraft, still looked like his goblin-self from Empires, which should be impossible. If he had come through the portal, fWhip would look like a regular human.

The ancient cities were linked. That was what fWhip told Grian, anyway - with the way Pearl and Gem explained it, it seemed that they weren’t linked but more that they were the same city. Skizz had gathered a lot of sculk in his world, which resulted in a similar spot being sculk-less when Sausage and Tango visited at the same time. Strange indeed.

It was all a bit too much - the others from Empires had returned home already, going back the way they came, but fWhip and Gem would return via the portal. They weren’t sure what Skizz was going to do, but it seemed he and Impulse still had a lot to talk about.

There was more to the story. Grian could tell fWhip wasn’t telling him something, and he often glanced at Gem. He wasn’t sure what was going on between the two - besides being good friends and fWhip probably having helped Gem with whatever vibe she had going on - but he knew he probably didn’t want to know at the moment. He had a bit of a problem and mystery in his own caves to worry about.

Perhaps he should only tell Xisuma once the whole ancient city-thing was solved. Shouldn’t put too much on the poor man’s plate. Besides, maybe the problem would solve itself - as long as the rift was in Grian’s walls, that Joel from that weird world could always return home, and then it wasn’t a matter of “who is this person” but “how do we seal this rift”.

That wouldn’t mean his curiosity could be un-tickled.

He left Scar with the others - once Grian knew what he wanted to know, he decided to go back. Leaving Joel in his caves wasn’t the smartest idea he had, but now his business was settled, he could return and settle things with his visitor.

When he returned, Joel still sat there. He was looking up at the sliver of the sky that was visible from the cave floor. As Grian descended into the cave, something caught his eye. Something that changed the whole course of the conversation with Joel he had been preparing during his flight back home.

It was strange to see the wall like that. Months ago, the first cracks started to show. The wall split apart, seemingly from the inside out. Behind this wall, Grian had expected to see nothing but rock, but was instead greeted with a purple energy reminiscent of a nether portal.

The cracks in the wall remained, but that purple energy was not present anymore.

Grian landed and stared. For a few seconds, nothing crossed his mind. The rift that had been a fixture in his base for months now, gone without a trace. And the one who came through this rift from the world on the other side just sat on the ground and stared up.

Eventually, Joel must’ve felt the glare in his back, because he turned his head to Grian after a while.

“What are you looking at?” Joel asked him.

“What did you do to the rift?”

His voice might’ve been a little too loud and agitated, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Wha- nothing!” Joel looked offended at Grian. “I was looking at the sky and when I look back, this rift is gone.”

He was telling the truth. Though Grian wanted to stay angry at him, he couldn’t. He knew Joel well enough to tell that Joel wasn’t lying to him. The madman probably didn’t touch the rift since he came through.

Grian sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just… why did it disappear?”

Joel shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I don’t know how your rift works.”

“It’s not my rift!”

“Then why is it in your basem*nt?”

If Grian wasn’t so confused by everything that was going down, he might have given that question proper thought. It had been there for months, slowly appearing. Why did it disappear so suddenly? How was it possible that something happened right now, right after he and Scar had decided to go through?

Okay, perhaps that last thought had something to do with it, but they couldn’t tell one hundred percent that going through the rift triggered its disappearance. In either case, it was rather annoying and mysterious.

With the rift gone, Joel wasn’t going back.

Grian had to take a few more seconds to really think about that last thought.

“You know you’re trapped here, now, right?”

Joel frowned. “Trapped?” He glanced back at the wall where the rift was supposed to be and back at Grian. “Wasn’t that supposed to disappear? Can’t you bring it back?”

“No!” He sighed. “Well, I don’t know. It’s all weird. You’re weird.”

“You’re pretty weird, yourself,” Joel responded. He stood up to face Grian, straightening his back and lifting his head as though it would make him taller than he was. “I’ve decided to stay.”

“You’re staying?”

“Yeah, I just said that.” He shook his head. “Are you slow, too? I’m staying here, young man. Because you seem to know me but I don’t know you, and I would like to know what is up with that.”

Grian shrugged.

“Great!” he said. These were going to be an interesting couple of days. “Where do you want to start?”

Already, Grian was typing his message to Xisuma to let him know about the Joel in front of him.

Chapter 28: (10.1) Reminisce

Chapter Text

The Evermoore was a strange place.

The Wizard Gem saw it in the mists and heard it on the winds. The way her hands tingled and the faintest glimmers of the arcane spurred her to use her gift, even though she wanted to spare herself. This location was more pleasant to be in than the Cod Empire, if only because of the magic that hung in the air – where the lands came alive, the mists whispered and the winds showed the greatest sights.

Naturally, Gem settled here. Others offered their places, too - the Goblands and Sanctuary both had given her the option to stay with them. Even though she loved fWhip and Sausage with all her heart, seeing them with the knowledge that they just wore her brother and her friend’s faces - that they could never be them - broke her heart every time. Besides, she justified her decisions for turning them down, someone ought to keep an eye on Shelby.

Shrub. But Shelby, here.

Shelby looked terrible. Parts of her face was covered in sculk, veins spreading further to envelop all. It clung to her clothes, het skin, her hair. Already, it clouded one of her eyes. Already, it affected her in more ways than she could and could not imagine.

Perhaps the worst part was that Shelby didn't realize how bad it was. She didn't realize the hold the sculk already had on her, and how it already affected the Evermoore as well.

The wizard had only ever seen and interacted with it in the aftermath of tragedy. The Rapture destroyed the world. Only after the dust had settled did the sculk crawl out of their infested subterranean crevices and take their chance on the surface, suffocating all that remained. At least, that's what Gem assumed was the case. Whatever had truly happened, the sculk had only overtaken terrain and man-made structures. The effects on landscape and structures was undeniable; their effect on people unknowable.

Their passive, unknown effects that came with infection. She still shivered at the thought of Joel's body being pierced, of Sausage being slammed into the ground again and again, of fWhip and his final fight as the sculk had been blasted onto him and grew on him and choked him to death…

Perhaps that's why she reacted so viscerally. Her brother died in her arms, and she couldn't save him. Shelby might still have time - and now Gem knew about the sculk and what those monsters could do, she could do everything in her power to help the witch and figure out why her magic showed the ancient city was located in Skizz's world, and Empires, and Hermitcraft, and - most importantly - nowhere at all.

The thought of the ancient city was enough to bring back those horrible memories, but she could start small. With Shelby's shard, for instance. That simple small blue echo shard that shed a dull light blue glow, barely enough to illuminate the surrounding two feet. Similar to crystals that Gem had seen grow in the crystal cliffs, dark and twisted like the sculk, but they didn’t have that otherworldly glow.

Shelby had picked it up within the swamp, near her entrance to the ancient city. According to her, the sculk on her body only started to appear after she'd taken the shard. So, Gem took extra precautions not to touch it with her own hands more than she needed to, always levitating it close or around her. The expended energy was worth the pre-emptive protection. Besides, as long as she had the shard in her possession, Shelby wasn't going anywhere, either.

Shelby's friends were all worried for her safety, especially when her home was this close to a tunnel that opened up into the ancient city. Especially when the world itself gave her this strange shard and attempted to corrupt her. fWhip offered her a spot at a guest house within the Goblands and Sausage promised her a cozy apartment with the best view of Sanctuary, but Shelby declined their offers. Even the offer to stay in princess Katherine's guest quarters could not draw her away from her swamp. She feared she would miss her business and her animals - which gave her piece of mind - and the general atmosphere, which she did not want to miss.

Another reason for the wizard Gem to temporarily settle in the Evermoore. Someone really did need to keep an eye on Shelby, and who better than a fellow magic-user?

Gem could see why Shelby settled here. Beyond magic hanging in the air - whether the witch realized it or not - this was one of the few habitable places within the swamp, other patches of land too small to properly build on, obstructed by regular oak trees and massive mangroves. Still, even within this little part of the swamp, space was scarce, and she needed a place to live.

Scott - once regal and composed, now a colorful man with an easy smile and attitude - donated a tent: exquisite Chromian dyes combined with the best wool Glimmergrove could provide. The fabric was as colorful as Scott's outfit and was of an excellent quality. She thanked Scott for his donation and started to set up the tent with magic.

She glanced over her shoulder as Scott left. She saw the colorful tradesman, yet she couldn't shake the vision of the Elven heir who both fought his inner and outer demons. She came to the same conclusions. It wasn't him. This world's Scott wasn't her Scott, just like this Sausage wasn't her Sausage and this fWhip wasn't her brother. The similarities were present and threw her off, yet the differences were too striking to see them as her brother, her friends, her allies. Even if they almost were. An uncanny sense of familiarity that she couldn’t shake, as her mind was directed to the perfect world she had attempted to create a perfect world that should have been, without war and tragedy.

It often made her stop and wonder - did she succeed?

She couldn't have. She called upon ancient, near-foul magic that needed careful casting or else resulted in catastrophe. It already had; the Void itself seemed to interfere - to wrap its cold, uncaring fingers around her throat as she screamed, only to be dispelled by the light and comfort. She finished the spell, maybe, and that interference was enough to mess it up. Enough to create a monstrosity.

If it created anything at all.

No. She merely wished for her friends to live without pain and heartache in a brand new world. She did not wish ancient cities into existence, she did not wish for sculk to flourish still, nor for those two men - Impulse and Skizzleman - and the entirety of this Hermitcraft to exist. That couldn't have been here. They must've existed before she attempted the unthinkable.

Shelby walked by. Her cheerful greeting in passing snapped Gem out of her thoughts. The witch carried supplies in her basket and under her arm - potion ingredients for her next batch. With a friendly smile, she walked to her mushroom shop and left Gem again.

She'd set up the tent. The shard lay in a corner, half-buried. Safe from everyone. Ready to be studied.

Another figure drew her attention; one that emerged from the Nether portal, glanced around, and then strolled towards her when he had spotted her.

Pixlriffs approached her.

The differences still struck her as much as the similarities. He still walked the same, his eyes as intelligent as ever, his confidence perhaps only matched by the Codfather's occasional arrogance. The cadence of his words followed a familiar rhythm and his smile still calmed her nerves. Yet, what a difference a lifetime and one set of clothes made - a loose, blue shirt, a pair of dark pants, closed boots. Quite different from the sandals and the copper crown she was so used to. None of the warm colors of Pixandrians' dress were represented within this outfit. Gem didn't think she'd ever miss how someone dressed.

Then again, she hadn't thought she would be stuck in this situation.

“Hello, Gem.” He greeted her with a respectful nod.

“Hi, Pix.” Despite the differences, it was good to speak with him again. She had missed the conversations and his wisdom, even if she rarely sought it out herself.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said and glanced behind her. “Are you settling in okay?”

“I'm fine. This isn't the first time I had to camp.”

She hated it. She'd never liked it to begin with, but this was worse. It reminded her of the worst before the worst happened. Her tent back then was still bigger and more luxurious than what fleeing citizens had, but the sight of the Chromian donation alone could catapult her back to the first few months after the Rapture at any time.

Pix must've noticed her discomfort. “It's not as bad as people make it out to be. It very much is what you make of it.” He glanced at the sky - at what little wasn't obscured by the heavy canopy and the perpetual mists. “I'd prefer to have the stars and skies above my head. Luckily, it doesn't rain in the savannah.”

“I assume you didn't just come here to talk about the weather.” She folded her arms and looked at him, tried to identify the little mannerisms she remembered. She recognized the pensive nod, the kind smile, that slightly unfocused gaze as something else temporarily caught his attention.

“Ah, yes. Of course. You come from another world, and you've known versions of us that are different. I don't know about the others, but I am definitely curious about what I was like.”

So he came to give her an excuse to remember and recount, to reminisce and think about the best times. To inform him of what and who he used to be.

“How can I say no to such a request?”

“You could,” Pix replied. “I would've understood if the subject was still too painful for you.”

“Still a psychic, huh?” The words left Gem’s mouth before she could even think. She’d been so careful in the past, and yet this slipped through the cracks. Fortunately, Pix didn’t seem to mind this comment.

“I don't need to be when you give me such obvious looks,” he responded. “You don't have to tell me anything that is too painful. Just what you want to share.”

A pause. A moment of silence, to allow Gem to collect her thoughts and think about what to tell him. Yet, when he looked at her, she could only see what was familiar. She spoke without thought, let the words flow freely, and Pix listened curiously and respectfully.

“Will it satisfy you to know you’re similar?” she said. “I mean, you were a ruler. We all ruled our own kingdoms and empires. Yours was a theocracy. Pixandria. Its capital lay where the Shaeras-river curled around the foot of a lone mountain in the middle of the desert. The Copper King, they called you, and Vigil Keeper - keeper of the Vigil that stood in the middle of your city and which I’ve never really understood. You told me once it watches over the souls upon their death, and safely ferried them onto their next life with a clean slate.”

Pix nodded slowly, a hint of recognition in his gaze.

“Birth and death and rebirth.” He said each word carefully, almost unsure about whether to speak them or not. A hint of confusion to go along with the recognition, speaking familiar words that the version of Pix that stood in front of Gem had never uttered before.

“Precisely.” Gem smiled. “You cared for your people. All of us did, but your people cared for you, too. Community was such a big aspect of Pixandrian life, and you exemplified that during every meeting we’ve had.”

With nothing left to say, for the time being, silence descended upon them. A peaceful silence to allow Pix to think about everything that he had been told. Silence, broken by a hearty chuckle that came from him.

“That’s… that’s a little different from being an archaeologist.”

“It is,” Gem nodded. Going from the Copper King to an archaeologist was quite a change. “Your weapon of choice wasn’t a fine brush, but a trident. Your people made the finest tridents. I think you channeled lightning with it on occasion.”

That detail made him smile, and Gem smiled with him. It was odd, how one man could be so delighted with knowledge about a past that was hidden from him. It’s not him, Gem had to remind herself - the Pix she knew would know all these things. He would not be surprised and amazed and confused. He would not turn to her to explain the essence of the Copper King to him. And yet, beneath the confusion and amazement, Gem recognized the Copper King’s smile and it reminded her of all that she’d lost.

“I never truly knew you,” she said, in a lower, more serious tone. “Your home was the desert, mine the Crystal Cliffs in a cold mountain range. We were members of different alliances that were at odds with one another. I’ve never been the spiritual kind, and never understood how it worked, but I always respected you. I couldn’t not respect you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Pix responded, in a similar tone to match hers. “I’m certain I also respected you and all the brilliant things you can do.”

A weight was lifted from her shoulders - one she didn’t know was even present. She refused to acknowledge anything changed, though, and nodded at her old friend.

“Thank you, Pix. I really appreciate it.”

He gave her a nod with a sorrowful smile.

“You’re welcome. But since we’re still on the topic, did anything of note happen to me?”

Whatever expression rested on her face dropped alongside her heart. How did he know that?

“Your eyes betray you again,” Pix responded when she didn’t respond. “What tragedy has befallen me? You can be honest.”

“You… You disappeared,” Gem began in a shakier voice than before. “The Rapture destroyed everything. Killed many friends. But even months before that… you disappeared. In the past, you would sometimes leave, but never without a word of warning. Never without measures in place to replace you in case of tragedy. You disappeared weeks before the Rapture, without any warning. It was like you just evaporated.”

That serious look returned to his face. All of the confusion had made way for a concerned look - one that was rife with subconscious understanding.

Perhaps Gem underestimated how much her friends had lost - perhaps they remembered more than they realized, only to come to the surface when someone explained it to them.

Perhaps she should be more careful with her words.

“We looked for you,” she concluded. “We tried to find you. But you were gone. We believed you dead. Pixandria mourned you. All of us mourned you. And when life became a little normal again…”

“The world was destroyed. Many more lives were lost,” Pix finished. His shoulders slumped as though the weight of the apocalypse finally found him and pushed down on him. Still, when his eyes found hers, they didn't have the despair she thought they'd have. Instead, she just saw the gratitude. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He deserved to know. He asked for it, and she gave him what he wanted. Potentially what he needed. Even if it brought up bad memories. “Was it what you were expecting?”

“No… and yes.” Pix took a deep breath. “Is it weird to say it all sounds familiar somehow? I do not have any memories of that place, and yet everything you said… it made sense.” He looked at her quizzically. “Is that a side-effect of learning about how you know me? That it feels too familiar?”

“It might be,” Gem responded. “You’re the first who asked.”

Who knows? Maybe the next time Shelby asked about her life as Shrub and Gem gave her those details, it might all sound familiar as well. And as soon as someone else would tell her that this feeling appeared, Gem would know it was a universal experience. Until then, what Pix had was a unique experience.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, in an attempt to shake off the creeping depression of the Rapture. “Your tent needs some more decorating and I’ve been away from the ancient capital for too long.”

Gem glanced back at the tent, still rather bare and not looking too different from what she had seen refugees use right after the Rapture. The sight alone made her want to tear it up and set up a nice little home for herself - if she wasn’t sparing herself for Shelby’s sake.

No. If she wasn't sparing her magic for the unforeseeable future, when she might need it for a magnificent display of power in case of an emergency. Though she couldn't pretend not casting magic didn't bring her some peace for once.

It wouldn't stop her from using simple telekinetic magic to help decorate this dreadful space between these brightly-colored sails she would have to call home for a while.

Chapter 29: (10.2) Remember

Chapter Text

“Impulse, I just wanna say, this looks awesome!”

Skizz looked over the edge of the massive hole in the middle of the Dwarven Keep and looked down at the unfinished walls.

“Thanks!” Impulse said, glancing up. The space wasn't nearly as done as he'd wanted it to be. The entryway was partially finished, but the ceiling should've already been constructed and at the very least, some walls could hide the ugly stone he'd carved his space out of. At least the pillars and middle platform and epic Nether portal were impressive enough.

“I'm sorry I couldn't provide a better place to stay,” Impulse said. “I didn't expect anyone would come visit me that wasn't a hermit…”

Skizz already waved those worries away before Impulse could finish his sentence.

“No problem, dude. We can build one over there. I might be staying for a bit.”

He pointed to a blank space of wall, with few diorite and some granite dotted between the stone. A perfect spot to construct a temporary guest apartment where Skizz could stay.

Impulse frowned and folded his arms, looking at his best friend. “Yesterday, I thought you said you wanted to show us your world.”

Skizz nodded. “Well… yeah, but that was before all of this happened. I just wanted to show you the way rather than the actual place. Now that I’m here, I’m gonna make the most of it. Compared to what you guys have, it's a mess! But it's my mess.”

“And it's a beautiful mess, too!” Impulse defended Skizz's building skills. “Don't sell yourself short.”

“I'm not! I shouldn't compare it to you guys’ builds, ‘s all.”

At least he realized it himself. He shouldn't bother to compare himself. A lot of geniuses and expert builders lived on this world, and Skizz's personal brand of genius was quite different from what Impulse was used to seeing from the hermits.

“Do you want to see them?” Impulse then asked him. For a second, Skizz dropped his smile and his face grew serious. Almost dramatically, he placed a firm hand on Impulse's shoulder.

“I'd love that!” He started speaking in a serious tone but ended in a shout of excitement, a grin curling on his lips.

“Alright!” Impulse exclaimed. If Skizz stayed a while, he might as well show his friend around so he wouldn't get lost. “Wait, didn't you already see some?”

“Only flying over to get that bamboo sign in on your front door,” Skizz confessed. “Usually at night, but never in the full glory of the day!”

“Let's go, then!”

Impulse and Skizz grabbed their respective elytras and flew out of the keep and up into the air. From above, Impulse circled around, to allow Skizz to bask in the brilliance of his neighbors. Gem's elven castle stood on the hill under which Impulse's jeep was being constructed, a magnificent sight of towers and nature. And, across the bridge from the keep's entrance, Pearl's ever-changing, ever-growing alien landscape.

Impulse said little while they zoomed across the sky and admired the Soup Group's work. Skizz's cries of elation and surprise often received a verbal response. They flew across the castle and the landscape, and landed in the middle of the beginnings of the strange cultivated plants and nature from a world far away. Skizz was quite impressed with how real Pearl made it all look, while Impulse just nodded as Skizz admired the alien foliage.

The cleaning lady herself flew over, a shulker box under her arm, that wide grin on her face still.

“Hi Pearl!” Impulse greeted her, waving at her.

“Impulse! Skizzley!” Pearl said as she landed and placed the shulker box on the ground.

“Sup, Pearliepop!” Skizz shouted. “How’s it going?”

“I'm great, thank you,” Pearl responded

“And with the universe?” Impulse wondered.

“Eh, could be better,” Pearl shrugged nonchalantly. “Like always.”

“You are amazing,” Skizz said, still glancing around and not sure where to start looking first. “I mean, look at this place! How do you do it?”

Pearl’s grin grew a little more mischievous and mysterious. “One step after the other.”

“Come on!” Skizz exclaimed dramatically. “You're killing me!”

“Wouldn't dream of killing ya. You'd just sit down and pass away while you waited,” Pearl responded. “But where's the fun in sharing my secrets, huh?”

Skizz opened his mouth to counter it, but closed it again. He could only agree with Pearl, and so did Impulse, who was grinning through the entire interaction. He had stepped back to allow Skizz to have this interaction with Pearl.

“Say, have you visited Gem today?” Impulse then asked his friend.

“The wizard from another world or our unfortunate elf?”

“The one in her castle up there,” Impulse said, and he pointed in the vague direction of the elven castle without breaking eye contact. “If not, Skizz and I can bring her some soup and pay her a visit.”

Pearl shook her head. “No, I haven't visited yet. But you can definitely do so. I'll just check in on her in the evening.”

“Great,” Impulse nodded. He cleared his throat and spoke in a less enthusiastic, more serious tone. “How was she? I don't think that she…”

“Same situation,” Pearl said when Impulse didn’t finish his sentence. “She'll probably be sleeping when you see her.”

They continued to speak for a little while longer, mostly Skizz and Pearl catching up with each other. It had been a while since they had spoken - since Skizz was officially eliminated from the latest of Grian’s games - and Impulse could always talk to Pearl whenever he wanted, so he wanted to give them their moments. Once the conversation was finished, Skizz and Impulse took off to grab some soup and go to visit Gem.

“About Gem…” Skizz asked as they got the soup and were ready to fly up to the castle. “Is the situation that bad?”

“Yeah,” Impulse said. “She’s been sick for a while now. We thought it'd go away, but she can't quite seem to shake it. Unfortunately.”

“Poor Gemstone,” Skizz agreed with his friend. That sounded awful, to be stuck inside, trying to recover from an illness that just won’t leave her alone. She was very fortunate to have a group of friends that cared enough for her and would bring her tons and tons of soup to help her get better, in whatever way possible. Though, one question did come to mind.

“And none of you got sick?” Skizz frowned. “You? Pearl? Anyone? I can’t remember if you were sick recently…”

“No, we didn’t get ill,” Impulse said. “That's what's a bit weird about this. Gem’s the only one dealing with this right now. And Joel apparently caught something, too, from what I’ve heard…”

That was all Impulse had to say about it. With the soup safely in a can, Skizz and Impulse flew out of the keep and back to the elven castle. They landed on the steps and walked through the tall halls of this imposing, beautiful structure-to-be. It wasn’t yet finished - much of the hermit’s bases were still - but to Impulse, it was even more unfinished than the others. Half of the castle was still just a wireframe, showing how big it would one day be. What little walls were already erected hid an empty interior within. They had to fly up to a room into one of the towers that had birch plank flooring, which seemed to have been sectioned off from the rest of the wireframe and half-built walls by a wall with a door. Only two yards of flooring outside of the walls provided a landing platform for Impulse and Skizz.

Impulse took the can of soup from where he’d safely stocked it away and quietly knocked on the door. He gingerly opened it and walked inside, walking in such a way that his footsteps wouldn’t echo.

Skizz wasn’t sure what to expect, bracing himself for whatever he would find. Yet, when he looked over Impulse’s shoulder into the room, his heart sank and any remnants of a smile instantly faded.

This space was miserable. Nice walls, nice floor, exactly in the palette that Gem would use. Yet, this space was bare. Beyond the bed and the impromptu bedside table that someone else must’ve put there, nothing else stood in this room. Simple torches lit up the space, and from below one could see up to the darkened unlit ceiling of the tower.

Gem lay in the bed. Safely tucked away under the blankets, her red hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Though he hadn’t interacted much with her, Skizz knew her as a fun acquaintance - one that wasn’t as pale as the person he was looking at. Sweat gathered up on her forehead and while she was resting, it looked more like she was unconscious and having a bad time rather than being asleep and dealing with a nightmare.

“Woah.” Nothing else could escape Skizz’s mouth. A quiet reaction to a terrible sight.

“Hey Gem,” Impulse said. Unlike Skizz, he had walked into the room and approached her. His footsteps barely echoed in the space and he carefully placed the can of soup on the bedside table. His voice was quieter, too - everything to not disturb her too much and to give her some peace and quiet while visiting her.

“It's me, Impulse. I brought a friend.” He turned his head to Skizz. As soon as his buddy’s gaze fell on him, Skizz started to move, too. He walked forward, put up a comforting smile, even though Gem could impossibly see it. Still, in case she’d open her eyes when they were inside, she’d be greeted by a smile and not two people looking so serious.

“Hi,” Skizz said, unable to look away from her. “You look…”

The words were stuck in his throat. Many that would describe this situation, yet ‘awful’ was the one that his mind kept returning to. It was awful. It wasn’t just seeing her like that, but it was everything that surrounded it, too.

“I’m not sure if Pearl told you yesterday, but, er…” Impulse took a breath, tried to find the best words to describe the situation. “Weird stuff is happening. Ancient cities are the same city in different worlds, Skizz walked through from his one to hermitcraft, it's a whole thing. Pearl could give you details, if you want.”

“We got some soup for ya,” Skizz piped in. “You better be eating that when we're not looking.”

“She does,” Impulse said, leaning in closer to his buddy.

“She does?” Skizz nodded. “Okay. That's good. You need your soup.”

Perhaps he hoped hearing a voice she didn’t regularly hear would shake her awake, or give her subconsciously a better incentive to get better. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to stir her or wake her. He’d just have to believe that his presence and voice had a positive impact on her.

With nothing else to say, silence fell on them. Impulse, sitting at her bedside, that can of soup on the bedside table. Skizz, standing at the end of the bed with folded arms, unable to look anywhere but her face. Gem, still and quiet and breathing but looking so terribly sick and wrong. None of this felt right. Nobody should be struck down by any illness, especially one that has such a devastating effect on someone.

“We'll leave you to it, then,” Impulse eventually said. “Bye, Gem.”

“Goodbye, get well soon,” Skizz added.

He and Impulse walked out of the room, closed the door behind them. As soon as it fell into the lock, they breathed out. The atmosphere inside was getting to them and once they stepped out it fell away. As though they breathed in fresh air again, yet the tragedy of what was happening on the other side of the door still weighed on them.

“Man, that was awful!” Skizz said loudly - or perhaps it sounded louder because they had been quieter in Gem’s room. He shook his head. “She’s usually so full of life! Such energy! This isn’t… What even happened to her? How did she get so sick?”

Impulse looked at Skizz, wishing he could give his buddy all the answers he was asking for. It was rather difficult to do when they had no idea either.

“I don't know, but Pearl's trying to figure it out.”

Skizz frowned. “Is she a doctor here?”

“Nope, a cleaning lady. But she is the most willing to find out,” Impulse said. “She spends a lot of time with Gem. They joined us around the same time, and… well, they stop whispering conspiratorially when I come in and only give me half-answers, so I don’t know what’s going on there. Just that Pearl is on it. I wouldn't even know where to start looking.”

“Me neither,” Skizz admitted. “Although… do you think it has something to do with the interconnected ancient city situation?”

Perhaps, if this had started around the time the ancient cities became weird, they could have a point from where they would start looking. But Impulse shook his head.

“Nah. She's been ill for weeks, maybe even months now. If it has something to do with that place–”

“I'm just saying,” Skizz interrupted him, “those passages could've been there equally as long. None of us took ‘em then, because we didn't know. But they could've been there all along.”

Impulse opened his mouth, glanced aside, searched for answers. Still, he couldn’t conclude anything. Instead, he sighed.

“They could've,” he conceded. “They also couldn’t have. We'll never know for sure.”

They traveled away from the elven castle; away from Gem, back to the alien landscape that Pearl was constructing. She had disappeared by now; she still had things to do, but that didn’t mean this environment was off-limits for those who passed by.

“Dippledop?”

Impulse turned his head to his friend. He still looked shocked by what he’d seen.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“When Gem appeared as that wizard and was doing all those things, back in the ancient city… she had something in her hands, didn't she? Like a glowing shard, or something?”

He looked at Impulse, hoping that he would remember that as well. The wizard version of Gem had not actively been trying to hide it, but she was holding it in her hands for a while and much was going on, but it had caught Skizz’s eye for a while. He hadn’t paid much attention to it, but he remembered something crucial that might make this detail a little more curious.

“I don't quite remember, sorry,” Impulse responded. “I was overwhelmed with the whole situation.”

“You and me, both,” Skizz said. So much was happening at the same time, it was a miracle that Skizz had seen it in the first place. “No, but I saw her holding something in her hand. A glowing echo shard. I have something similar.”

“You- wait, what did you find?”

Somehow, Impulse was surprised to hear it.

“Yeah. I found a shard just like hers, dude.” Skizz reached into his back pocket and pulled it out. It was barely bigger than the palm of his hands - an echo shard, clear and true, but this one was different. It shed a soft blue-ish glow, easily mingling with Pearl’s alien plants. A strange little trinket that made it difficult to look at one another, for it drew their attention effortlessly.

“I was about to tell you about it in our skyblock world, but I think the subject got changed or something. I found this little guy in a chest, hidden away in a corner. Totally not where you'd expect it.” Skizz chuckled, though it didn’t hold any of the usual heartiness. Every now and again, he glanced at his buddy, but without fail, his gaze glided back down to the shard. “It's strange. I wasn't looking for chests, I was out gathering sculk for Seymour. It wasn't really anywhere near where I had to be and yet I passed by there. I found this thing there. It's weird, isn't it?”

Impulse shook his head and forced himself to look at Skizz. The draw of that shard… it wasn’t normal. The sight of the shard alone and the way that Skizz was looking at it was enough to make him deeply uncomfortable, to a degree which he had never felt before.

What if he held onto the shard?

Impulse expelled the thought as soon as it had snuck into his mind. He really shouldn’t be thinking like that.

“I don't think it's supposed to glow like that,” Impulse said, pulling his gaze back to his buddy.

“It's really not,” Skizz agreed with him. “I saw some normal ones when I first raided it… yeah, I think I took all the useful stuff from those chests, including that swift sneak I was talking about. The point is, I never found another glowing shard like this one. The others were normal.”

“Do you think it's dangerous?” Impulse said. Already, he tried not to lean in too closely, tried to hide his nerves. How could he be so nervous when Skizz was so relaxed in the moment, holding that tricky little shard? Skizz shrugged in response.

“Don't think so. It feels… weirdly enough, it feels nice. It doesn't do anything, but it isn’t anything bad, either. I can feel that, whatever it is, it's not evil.”

Not evil. But it still felt nice to have, and Impulse hadn’t wanted to hold it until he saw it and its existence alone made him extremely uncomfortable. As far as Impulse was concerned, it hadn’t yet earned his trust. It probably never would.

“Well, it's giving me bad vibes,” he said. “Please be careful with that.”

“Always, dude,” Skizz said with a grin, and he put the shard back where he got it from. His back pocket. Probably one of the worst places to keep such a thing. Why was Skizz so careless in this regard?

He should find a way to let the wizard Gem know that this shard existed and that Skizz had it. In the meantime, he should try to take his mind off of it.

“So… wanna see what the hermits have been working on?”

Skizz’s eyes widened instantly. “Absolutely, I would!”

Chapter 30: (10.3) Recall

Chapter Text

Joel could stay with Grian.

Why wouldn’t he be able to? Skizz already was allowed to remain on Hermitcraft when he asked, so it would be hypocritical if Xisuma didn’t fulfill that request - just another problem to add to the pile. That, and Grian wanted to be around to keep an eye on him.

He was different. Grian could immediately see it and it became more and more apparent with each moment that passed. The Joel he spoke with and was looking at was not the Joel he was friends with. But his friend was at home on Empires, suffering from some sort of flu that had felled him, while the Joel that followed Grian and Scar back to Hermitcraft was completely healthy.

Perhaps healthy, but not quite sane. Despite the differences, the similarities were striking. Joel glanced at everything with a strange sense of hostility and curiosity, ever on guard. Grian recognized that this Joel was on guard, ready to lash out should he need to. Ever suspicious of everything and anything he would come across.

It was a strange sight, nonetheless. They showed Joel where he could clean himself off - under the sun, the dirt that coated his old, dusty, torn outfit became ten times more visible. Grian offered him a spare set of clothes and a chance to refresh himself. Ten minutes later, Joel stepped back out. His hair was still a bit of a mess, but at least it was a mess that had been combed through once. The dirt was too old to be completely removed from his clothes, but he managed to clean parts of it off. Grian's spare clothes were left in the room, as Joel still preferred his old faded royal-looking costume, though he had taken off the gloves and left the bag with trash aside. The green streak in his hair, normally vibrant, was still a duller color than Grian had ever seen and the bags under his eyes were not easily concealed.

“So…” Joel sighed as soon as Grian stood in front of him. “What the heck is Hermitcraft?”

Grian gave the best explanation he could. He started broad, but Joel started to ask questions about very specific details and people, forcing Grian to backtrack and keep adding to the mess of an explanation. It both seemed to satisfy Joel and frustrated both of them that Grian could not get to the point he originally was going to get to because of these deviations.

It also didn’t help that Scar appeared about halfway through and greatly distracted the both of them.

Despite everything, Joel received the information he asked for and discarded anything he did not care for. He made it very clear when something bored him and when something interested him, and that interest waned and sharpened throughout the conversation. Grian could not count the amount of times Joel interrupted an explanation with a question about something completely unrelated, rolling his eyes at Scar’s strange answers. His questions usually revolved around the people who lived on the world rather than what they built - their personalities and relationships with others. He was particularly interested in Gem and Pearl and seemed to interrogate Grian and Scar about them, but was satisfied with their answers eventually.

Joel leaned back in his chair, and Grian glanced at Scar. He found Scar’s gaze and held it for a bit. There was little Grian could communicate this way - knowing Scar, he’d probably misinterpret it anyway - but he could at least glean what Scar thought about this situation. He seemed oblivious to the subtler signs that Joel displayed, beyond the loudness and visible aggravation. If Scar noticed the silent suspicion and the burgeoning sorrow that Joel attempted to hide behind his volume and multiple questions, Grian could not see it.

Something wasn’t quite right about Joel. Something that Grian clocked, but wasn’t sure about. If his words from before were anything to go off of, this Joel had been alone for a long time. Grian could normally correctly guess what was going on

Joel glanced from Grian to Scar and back to Grian.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Joel said in a monotone. “We’ve shared everything with this man, why doesn’t he speak about his home? Why doesn’t he share?”

Scar gasped and turned to Grian. “How did he know that?”

Because it’s obvious that was where Joel would take it. Grian kept that to himself.

“We’re curious,” he said. “You can hardly blame us.”

“I figured you’d start talking eventually,” Scar added with half a shrug.

Joel chuckled for just a second.

“Is that what your friend would do?” he wondered out loud and shook his head. When neither Scar nor Grian responded as soon as Joel expected, he continued to speak. “If you want to know so badly where I come from, it’s my kingdom. My place, my people. My home. Mezalea.”

The tone started hostile, but as he started to speak, it softened. At the mention of his home, his shoulders dropped a little and his gaze wandered away. A painful subject, now caught up in memories he brought to mind at the barest mention of his home.

“Oh, so you were a king in that world!” Scar responded in a tone that was more cheerful than the situation warranted. “Ren’s our king now, how did that work out for you?”

“Great!” Joel responded. It was difficult to tell whether he was sarcastic or if he meant it. He gave Scar an annoyed glare. “Just wonderful. I had the best life, the best people, the best wife and brother-in-law and alliance. Everyone worried about some sort of stupid demon that doesn’t exist, but that’s something completely different.”

He trailed off. Neither Scar nor Grian immediately spoke, wanting to give Joel the space to continue talking if he wanted to. But Joel stopped and didn’t want to elaborate on the nature of that demon, of his family, of his life.

“What happened out there?” Grian wondered. Perhaps he’d already asked, but that was in captivity within that kingdom, and Grian had been more concerned with getting out than listening to Joel. “The place was in ruins, where… where was everyone?”

Joel blinked a few times, staring at Grian incredulously.

“Are you really that…” He took an exasperated breath. “Apparently, yes, if I’m having to explain it to you again. They’re all gone.”

Scar frowned. “Gone?”

“Gone. Dead. Left,” Joel snapped at Scar. “At least, half the population left. Those who stayed, died. How could they not - all springs dried up and the Matral Palace had cracked. Broken beyond repair. Their hopes were destroyed before they even had the thought of the chance to rebuild.”

“Oh.”

Grian could only look at Joel with pity and sadness. He’d said before that everyone was gone, and Grian had felt for him then, but it had been overshadowed by the need to escape. Now they sat across from one another, and Grian and Scar could listen properly, they could absorb all that Joel was talking about. That crippling loneliness shone through every word he spoke and hit Grian harder than he anticipated.

“Joel, I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” Joel responded. “In the end, it was only me. It… is only me.”

Joel shook his head, a grimace on his face. He could barely look at Scar and Grian while he continued to speak. “My wife forgot about me. That was fun. Didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Brother-in-law disappeared on us in the middle of the crisis, so he must’ve died somewhere. Ran like the coward he is. Sometimes. Oh, and Pix disappeared months before without a warning, so he’s probably dead too. Gosh, I’m really the last one, huh?”

“Pix?” Grian asked. The first name Joel mentioned that wasn’t himself - and a familiar one, at that.

“Pixlriffs,” Joel responded. “The Copper King. You wouldn’t know him.”

“But we do,” Scar said. He turned to Grian. “I mean, he was with Gem, right? With her and the others down in that very weird ancient city?”

“Wait, he lived?” Joel said.

What Scar said had gotten Joel’s attention. He glanced from Scar to Grian and back again, leaning forward and with renewed curiosity. His voice lacked any of the guarded suspicion that was a common undertone in his voice until this point, instead genuinely curious to know about Pixlriffs.

“He’s alive,” Grian explained. “He’s been commuting between empires and his personal world for as long as the shared world has existed.”

“You’ve lost me again.” Joel sighed and he leaned back. “Pix is alive and he’s been… you keep speaking about worlds, plural. How does someone even ‘commute’ between worlds? How would that even work? Are there multiple worlds?”

“With the world portal,” Scar said in his most casual tone. He might have hoped that would explain it, but Joel could only stare blankly at him with a gaze that grew more confused the more Joel tried to understand with the limited knowledge he was given.

“Scar.” Grian leaned in closer to his friend. “I don’t think he knows about that.”

Which would open up a whole different can of worms. If Joel didn’t know about a world portal - something everyone, even new souls, knew about - what other basic knowledge did he lack?

“Exactly!” Joel exclaimed, and he turned to Grian specifically. “Why are there multiple worlds? What does a ‘world portal’ do? Does that bring you to a different world, or what? Is that what that purple jagged streak was for, was that a portal, too?”

“No, it… that rift is something completely different. A world portal has a frame, like a Nether portal, and brings you to a universal hub within the Void.”

Joel physically recoiled at the thought of stepping into the Void. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It’s quite safe,” Grian instinctually responded. “I mean, I hardly remember what happens when someone travels between worlds, but within this hub is a world portal to pretty much any world you can imagine. If you hop through the portal, it brings you to another world. We’ve labeled them on the Voidhub side and there are other protections in place that I’m not really familiar with, but that’s how you travel from one world to another. Most of them are private and is where just one soul settles down, but some - like this one - are inhabited by multiple souls.”

As Grian explained it, he could see Joel’s hesitance to trust it. Grian himself would also hesitate to trust it if anyone ever explained it to him. The Void, after all, was a scary place where nothing existed nor anything could survive. Anyone would rather die to anything else and though it was uncommon, falling into the Void was still the most feared death. It was the most difficult to recover from and took too long to respawn. Even then, during the process, people were only partially aware of what was going on and could feel that tug of the Void, the promise of peace within absolute nothing. Perhaps people don’t consciously consider it, but they can still feel that emptiness cling to them for the first few days after respawning. Almost as though the universe itself told you ‘see you next time’.

Despite the differences, Joel’s distrust of the Void was extremely valid and relatable. Perhaps he, too, had died in the Void once.

“And… it doesn’t lead you to the Nether or the End?” Joel asked about the portal. “It just straight up sends you to the Void until you find another portal?”

“Well, no. It’s a safe space within the Void. You can travel across-”

“The Void is never safe, why would you rely on such a dangerous place?” Joel interrupted Grian as he shook his head. “Why would you even want to go to a different world? Why would you ever want to create one of those?”

“They come with the world,” Scar said. “Didn’t you have a world portal in your world?”

Joel frowned. “Why would we have had one?”

“Because every world has one.”

“Not mine. No one made a world portal.”

Scar nodded curiously. “That’s so strange.”

“It's better than walking through a portal and straight into the Void,” Joel affirmed. “Anything’s better than that, honestly.”

“Hold up… so you were alone?” Grian said. His mind was racing, hoping he would be wrong. “There were no other worlds you visited or settled? It was just your world, and that was it?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Joel responded. “Again, why would someone leave home? The world’s big enough as it is, you can just expand out there instead of crossing the literal Void.”

Scar opened his mouth to say something but closed it again and looked at Grian for guidance. Grian, on the other hand, was just shocked. Perhaps it was even more shocking than the revelation that the Joel sitting in front of him was not the one Grian had known for a long time. The Joel who grew up in Mezalea, who lost so much and still survived for a long time, did not live in a world that had a world portal.

It was hard to wrap his head around, to live in an isolated world, to have nobody but the people you saw on a regular basis. But it was different, too - he spoke about his people, the citizens of Mezalea, as though there were more. As though there were others. But the souls that could respawn were few and far between, compared to the villagers that inhabited these worlds. Joel did not speak about them the way Grian knew that Joel would normally speak about villagers.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in Grian’s stomach. Something was wrong with Joel’s original world beyond a missing world portal - something that Grian couldn’t quite place - and he hated that he couldn’t figure it out.

“Well…” Scar said, clearing his throat. “Do you want to see our world?”

Joel thought about it for a second before he responded.

“Just keep me away from that world portal.”

Chapter 31: (11.1) Old friends

Chapter Text

Hermitcraft, especially in later years, had always been described as being larger than life. Beyond allowing Pix and Sloy regular access for their journalistic endeavors, it was a closed-off world. Nobody entered the world without any member vouching for them. Though Xisuma, Hypno and Joe were laid-back, they valued the privacy of their friends. They were Hermits, after all, and Xisuma wished to respect each member's wishes to have a safe haven here, away from everything else.

However, when the wizard Gem asked for entrance to visit her other self through the legal means of the world portal, Xisuma was more than happy to grant her request. Accompanying her was Sausage, with a bouquet of sunflowers and other colorful flowers, as well as Lizzie and Jimmy.

The latter of the group were going to visit Grian. It had been a while since they had seen their friend and perhaps he could give his point of view on the situation. In the meantime, the wizard Gem and Sausage would go to where Gem had decided to build her base and see how she was doing. They had heard that she had gone ill and the wizard specifically wanted to see if this mystery illness had nothing to do with everything else that was going on - including the existence of both the elf and the wizard in a world where the existence of an exact copy of a soul was impossible.

Xisuma gave them directions and loaned elytras to travel through the ever-imposing and beautiful Netherhub. Lizzie and Jimmy split off to go visit Grian at the beginnings of his base, while Gem and Sausage directly went to the portal that leads to the self-proclaimed ‘soup group’ and where Gem was building her castle. Stepping onto the dwarven bridge, they then flew to the partially finished elvish castle. On the threshold, just exiting what little of the castle was already built, stood a woman in a hardhat and a green overall.

Gem and Sausage landed at the front porch, as the woman walked down. They instantly recognized her as Pearl.

“Hi there!” Sausage greeted her like he had come to visit a thousand times already. He raised the bouquet and lightly waved them as the cleaning lady approached them.

“Oh, hi!” Pearl greeted Sausage and the wizard Gem with similar enthusiasm and a wide, careless smile. “What brings you over here? Did you go via the world portal this time?”

“We did use proper means,” Gem confirmed with a nod.

“She wanted to see… well, herself, and I wanted to come visit, too,” Sausage helpfully added. He showed the bouquet after a second. “I got her some flowers.”

“How is she?” Gem then asked Pearl. Her tone was less cheerful than Sausage’s, already bracing herself for the worst this world could throw at her. Upon noticing this tone, Pearl’s initial smile grew more sober. It was still present, though, for as long as the visitors remained in her presence.

“Not gonna lie, it might be best for her to have just one visitor at a time,” Pearl said. “When I left her, she was sleeping. Even then, it might be better for one person to go in.”

“Alright,” Gem said, giving a nod in response. She turned to the person to her right. “Sausage, do you mind–”

“No, not at all!” Sausage immediately said, taking a physical step backward. “She is you, after all. Go ahead and visit her.”

Gem looked at Sausage and Pearl and back at Sausage and back at Pearl. Her gaze lingered as her thoughts did, her mind racing and staying on the both of them. After a moment of what might have been reflection, she took a breath and straightened her already straight back.

“Behave yourselves, you two,” she said.

“Of course!” Pearl said, the grin creeping back on her face. Gem activated her elytra - with a quick little magic trick, she shot upward without having to use rockets - and flew into the base, looking for the elf's location on her own.

Pearl turned her head to Sausage and folded her arms, her gaze gliding to the colorful bouquet. “Sunflowers, huh?”

Sausage looked down at the bouquet. When he looked up at Pearl again, he nodded fervently.

“Yep! Only the best and most vibrant I could find.”

“What made you choose those?” she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. Sausage responded with a likewise genuine, excited tone.

“Oh! Mostly because Gem’s got a sun theme going on over on Empires. I figured she’d like it, from her Empires friends. She hasn’t been there in a while, we’re all starting to miss her. Plus, it’s a little more difficult to find something elven-coded that she might enjoy here. It might not be as easy to find something simple and beautiful that can cross the borders.”

Pearl nodded while Sausage gave his explanation, and she smiled at the sunflowers.

“It’s a good choice,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll like them.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so!” Sausage said. “Though sunflowers aren’t a problem, X and fWhip allowed me to travel out of and into worlds with ‘em. No ancient city shenanigans, just potential contraband smuggled in the correct way.”

He had spoken with a straight face, with no hints of sarcasm or jokes. And yet, after a silence that lasted two seconds, both he and Pearl burst out laughing. The heartiest laughs filled the air, as though two friends were joking together, and enjoying each other's company.

This was nice. Sausage looked at Pearl and laughed with her like he had done nothing else in the world. Her smile was so easy, her demeanor disarming in a way that Sausage could not have anticipated. He found that despite the circ*mstances of his visit, he could not wipe that smile off of his face. It was just good to be around Pearl.

Then his eye fell on the constructed landscape at the other side of the river.

“Oh, is that your place?” Sausage wondered out loud. He stared at the burgeoning lands in wonder.

“Yeah,” Pearl said. “That's my alien landscape.”

Sausage gaped at it for a good few seconds, his eyes widened the entire time. Pearl stood beside him and smiled throughout. Perhaps she stood too close to him, but he either did not notice or he did not mind.

“I gotta say, this is beautiful!” Sausage exclaimed.

“Thanks! It’s not finished yet–”

“Neither is Sanctuary, but that doesn’t mean that it’s ugly,” he waved away her humility. “Pearl, this place is amazing! Are you gonna build something tall here, too, or just all terrain?”

He pointed toward the middle of the now relatively flat cultivated lands on the rolling hillsides with little defining features.

“Nah, I’m planning on adding some height to it.”

“Lovely.”

When Sausage turned his head, he caught Pearl looking at her base. Yet, he was more lost in thought. The way the light caught her hair and how it swayed in the wind. A grassy scent filled his nostrils; a fresh smell that seemed to accompany her. One that almost made him wonder what she'd look like in a lighter shade of green, with some of the sunflowers in her hair instead of the hardhat.

Sausage held onto the bouquet with both hands, holding it in front of his body.

“Pearl?”

“Yeah?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re easy to be around?”

The silence that fell did not feel forced. Sausage patiently waited for an answer while Pearl took three seconds to respond.

“Well, whaddya mean?” she asked him.

“I mean we haven’t had many interactions - I mean, I knew you existed, you’re a friend of Grian’s and I’m friends with friends of Grian and I’ve heard about you - what I’m trying to say is, we haven’t spoken much and it feels like I’m talking to an old friend.”

“That’s a lovely compliment,” Pearl responded. It only came a second too late.

“Is that a weird thing to say?” Sausage asked. He hoped he didn't unintentionally alienate this wonderful person in front of him. Perhaps he read too much into the pauses she left, but she immediately reacted to his question.

“I don’t think it is,” Pearl said. “You are also easy to be around. I absolutely love your kindness and energy.”

“Oh, thank you!”

They chatted without a worry until it was Sausage's turn to visit the Gem who'd fallen ill.

The room was bare.

Perhaps that was the most poignant about this space: it was bare. The walls were constructed around the platform within the tower, reaching ever up to a non-illuminated ceiling. Despite the nice birchwood palette, it lacked the life that Gem instantly wanted to add. It lacked everything that would upgrade it and turn it into a beautiful room.

This was aggravated by the elf asleep in her bed.

The wizard cautiously stepped forward. She clutched her staff, her knuckles growing whiter with every step until they were as pale as the woman in bed. Her red hair, once vibrant, had grown duller and still contrasted with her pale skin. Her forehead gathered sweat and her face betrayed unrest, even in unconsciousness.

The wizard Gem has long tried to fight the effects of time. While she continued her research in less than ideal circ*mstances, far away from her tower, she wanted the survivors to find a beacon of consistency and stability. Though she hadn’t been born into a race that granted her longevity beyond human lifespans, even the weakest illusion magic was enough to mask the wrinkles and her graying hair. Infrequent public sightings and using her staff as a cane long before she needed to made it even easier to mask her growing limited mobility. Yet, her mind stayed as sharp as it always had, though her stubborn nature never waned.

Perhaps she was jealous of the elf’s youthful visage. Perhaps it only made this sight all the worse.

The wizard sighed. The woman in the bed was never supposed to exist. Gem had wanted to go to a world without pain and suffering, with the memories of her friends as their best selves. A little too idealistic, she realized now, but it had been her plan. A complicated spell that backfired massively. Now, only the images of her friends lived on in caricatures that were too familiar, who lived in worlds scattered across the treacherous Void not even the wizard dared touch, and a version of herself existed, too. One who should never have.

One who did exist, and now seemed to suffer the consequences of the wizard’s hubris. What else could have afflicted her, and only her, to such a severe degree?

The wizard Gem sat next to the girl. Silence reigned while she thought all the things she wanted to tell this elf. She shared stories of home, before it all went wrong, and stories of her friends, and asked what the girl’s friends were like and that she hoped she enjoyed this life.

When Gem looked away, she noticed a small piece of paper on the bedside table, alongside an empty bowl of soup. Curiously, she picked it up and unfurled it. A small note, addressed to nobody in particular and written in familiar handwriting she could not place, nonetheless sent a shiver down the wizard’s spine.

She knows little; just enough to know the reason for her affliction. We’ve tried to help but no traditional medicine works. She already lasted so long, so bravely. The repetitive nature of this dilation takes its toll, however. I’m afraid she won’t last long otherwise.

Gem turned her gaze to the pale young woman in the bed. Without further thought, she pocketed the note - it couldn’t have been written for her, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was addressed to her.

She gently touched a cold, sweaty forehead. Healing magic had never been her strong suit, but a good Headmistress must be versed in all types of magic. She sends her elven self a reprieve from the pain, and asks her body to share what ails her. It takes the relief, and the young girl audibly sighs. It responds with mixed signals and inconclusive data. It’s a fever but it’s not, it’s an infection but it’s not, it’s the Void wrapping its eternally cold and dark blanket around her to claim her but it’s not. The one thing that it is that the body can communicate, is that it is terrifying.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more,” Gem whispered, at a tone that wouldn’t break the atmosphere. Though the young girl could not respond, the wizard knew that she was grateful, even if scared. She wiped some strands of hair to the side. “We’ll find a way to help you.”

The words always rolled off her tongue so easily. It did not diminish the value the wizard placed on them. With everything that was going on and everything that was wrong, she knew she had to make some time to figure out why this version of herself suffered and how to best help her.

Chapter 32: (11.2) Dangerously familiar

Chapter Text

With Skizz now able to confidently make his way around the world, he decided he wanted to visit some friends he’d made during Grian’s life games. It gave Impulse a moment of peace and quiet - because, even though Skizz was a welcome distraction to all the work he had to do, work still had to be done.

That work brought him back to the beginnings of Deepfrost Citadel. Not only had Tango borrowed some materials, he’d also decided to grab two shulker boxes on the way out. Now, Impulse wanted to see if they had been put to good use - and to see if he could get them back, to store his own stuff in and add to his ever-growing chest monster where he would construct his storage system. That would be the next on his list, he decided - the sooner he would get organized, the better.

The journey to Tango was short and lead him away from his friends, and over to the taiga in which Tango had decided to build his game. He’d cleared out an entire hill, carving out where he wanted the snow that would surround the citadel to be placed. Two imposing towers already been constructed, one of which wasn’t quite sitting onto land but rather seemed to be floating. Impulse flew over the towers and the wall that connected them, behind which he knew Tango had his own temporary base and where he knew he had the highest chance of finding his friend.

“Tango!” Impulse called out in the space atop the hill.

“Over here,” Tango responded from Impulse’s right. He walked from the side of the newest tower, newly built, and walked back to his chest monster with some leftover materials.

“This tower's huge,” Impulse told him with a proud smile on his face. “Can’t wait to see what it’ll become once it's finished.”

“So do I,” Tango responded as he put the stuff away in the first shulker he came across. “Where’s Skizz? You didn’t lose him, did you?”

“Nah, I think he’s saying hello to Ren right now. He wants to speak with all the hermits.” Since Skizz had arrived, he had only gotten a tour from Impulse and spoken to the hermits on their path - such as Tango and Pearl. Now Skizz knew the lay of the land a little, he could strike out on his own and have a chat with his friends. It allowed Impulse to continue to look after Gem and to have some me-time as well. “As for me, I was looking for–”

“Your shulkers are over there.” Tango motioned vaguely in the direction of two shulker boxes without looking up from the chest, sorting the contents. “Might want to clean them out, though, sculk sticks everywhere.”

Impulse walked to his shulkers. “You filled ‘em up all the way, huh?”

“Yeah! I needed it.” Tango pulled his head out of the chest and gestured to the barely bare hill with just a chest monster and two imposing evil-looking towers that had accents of sculk that Tango must have collected with Impulse’s shulkers. “It’s not gonna be nearly enough, but you know. It’s a start.”

“Better set up a farm, then. It might make that part easier.”

Tango chuckled. “Yeah, it might.”

Impulse collected his shulkers and turned to Tango, again hunched over the chest, rummaging through it. His mind must already be on his creations again. Impulse didn’t want to interrupt him too much - it was best to leave him to his devices - yet a bit of contact with others couldn’t hurt, either.

Something caught his eye. A glimmer, on the ground, from where Tango had gone. Impulse walked over and instantly, his heart dropped at the sight.

An echo shard, gently glowing. The light of the sun had caught it and made it shimmer, yet the echo shard seemed to eat a little of the sunlight that found it. Still, it glowed with this otherworldly blue glow that was so distinct.

Impulse frowned and looked back at Tango, who hadn’t noticed. “You got one of those, too?”

“What?” Tango turned and looked at the shard. His face seemed to go paler and he hurried forward, to where Impulse stood next to it. He quickly snatched it up from the ground and put it in his pocket, acting as though Impulse was reaching down for it as well. Impulse, however, just watched Tango pick it up in a way that suggested he did not want Impulse to have it.

“Yeah, yeah, I got one, too,” Tango responded absent-mindedly, barely able to look at Impulse while he shuffled back to his chests.

“Okay.” Impulse said. A few seconds of silence followed, but Impulse knew he couldn’t just let that slide. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine.” Tango sighed deeply. He mustered a smile on his face, to aid the illusion that he would be okay. “A little stressed, with the amount of work I’ve got ahead of me… but hey, we’ve all tackled projects that seem impossibly big. In a week or two I’ll be over it, I’m sure.”

“You’re sure,” Impulse parroted the words. He did not believe his friend for even a second. “Skizz has one of those as well.”

“Oh, does he?” Tango asked. “What does he think about it?”

“He likes it.” Perhaps a little too much to Impulse’s liking. “Okay, he didn’t phrase it like that. He doesn’t think it’s evil, but I can’t shake it. There’s something wrong with it.”

‘Something wrong’ didn’t even cover the load. It was vile, evil, wicked - something that Impulse couldn’t put any words on that would cover all of it. That thing was beyond wrong - how do you even describe something that defies all explanation and only conveys its purpose through the emotions of those who come into contact with it?

“What, because it glows?” Tango said, almost sarcastically.

“Exactly!” Impulse exclaims. “Why do these ones glow? Why don’t the others?”

It was not the only problem Impulse had with these shards, but the fact that these glowed while all others did not signaled to him that this was strange. If it were a common occurrence across many different worlds, he might have been okay with it. Unfortunately, it was not, so Impulse was more on guard around these.

Impulse took a deep breath. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t like ‘em. And I don’t like that you have one just sitting in your pocket right now.”

Tango looked down at the pocket in which he put the shard. It barely peeked out from over the rim, its glow even more visible. “It’s not doing anything.”

“Not that we know of. It could be dangerous.”

“How would you know? You’ve never held one.”

“Because I don’t want to!” Because the thought of even holding one, if only for a moment, creeped him out to the point that it made him wonder how Tango and Skizz and Shelby were able to hold onto their shards. The longer he thought about it, the more he started to believe that these shards have somehow put spells on their keepers, even if that sounded completely nonsensical and couldn’t be the case.

Shouldn’t be the case.

Impulse folded his arms. “You sound an awful lot like you’re defending having one.”

“No, I’m just saying that it can be harmless,” Tango said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Harmless? Shelby had one, too. She was all sculked up. All corrupted.”

“And Skizz isn’t,” Tango replied, “so that means it doesn’t necessarily have a correlation. She could’ve done something else that caused it.”

She could have. Or it truly was the shard. Impulse feared what it could do to the others. In the case that the shard was the cause of the corruption, he didn’t want to one day see two of his best friends in all the worlds and see them all corrupted and under a layer of sculk, like Shelby. She wasn’t looking too great already. Though Skizz and Tango hadn’t changed yet and there may be no correlation, Impulse was afraid all the same. A fear that Tango picked up on.

Tango pulled his hand out of his pockets and looked at his friend. “Impulse, I’m fine. I feel fine. I just happen to have found one of those shards, too. It’s not doing anything to me.”

“Do you really believe that?” Impulse wondered. Perhaps Tango didn’t see how he hurried to pick up the shard at the earliest sign of a threat.

“If it were the case, I’d feel it and you’d see it, right?”

Impulse nodded slowly, still cautious. “Yeah… I see it.”

“Exactly!” Tango said. “Now, like I said, you should wash out those shulkers. Make sure not even a spec is left in there. It’s quite clingy and we don’t want it to contaminate other things.”

“You don’t say,” Impulse said flatly. Tango already stopped looking at him, his attention taken by the next thing he needed to get ready to even start the construction of the next tower. “If you ever want to talk about it–”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll contact you,” Tango said dismissively, his face buried in one of the shulkers lying around.

“Alright. See you.”

“Bye, Impy!” Tango called out as Impulse flew away witty the two shulkers. He looked up to see his friend fly away - with enough distance between them that Impulse could impossibly see the concern that had crossed Tango’s face.

Tango cursed to himself. Why had he thought it was a good idea to play it off as no big deal to Impulse? He knew his friend well enough to know that Impulse did not believe him.

He’d been correct. The shard wasn’t doing anything to him physically yet. Still, it already created such a dependency within Tango that it made him worry that Impulse would take his shard. Even though he made no attempts to pick it up.

Something sinister was indeed going on.

The shard came from the ancient city. Perhaps a visit could clear up some things.

Chapter 33: (11.3) Not them

Chapter Text

“Joel… we’ve got some visitors coming over.”

Joel barely lifted his head when Grian mentioned it. It seemed that lately, every day he and his friend had some friends coming over.

“Oh, do we?” Scar said, his purring cat on his lap. Somehow, he was never not surprised to learn that someone would be visiting them. Perhaps he should pay more attention, considering that most of the visits from Hermits who wanted to see Joel or wished to speak with him came over to this theme park he’d been building.

After seeing the beginnings of what it was supposed to be, it looked a lot cozier than a cave in the ground with a weird robot that always seemed to look weird at Joel. The Mezalean king did not like that robot-face and still had some standards to uphold, so he opted to stay in one of the spare rooms of this ‘Scarland’. Which was where people would visit him and ask all the same questions they had asked a million times before. How could they expect a different answer when they should have realized by now that they would always stay the same?

“Okay. Like that hasn’t happened all day every day since I arrived,” Joel said in a deadpan. “What do I need to know about them now?”

Another thing that Grian assumed was that all the visitors were distinctly different. Beyond a man named Joe Hills, the others have yet to prove their differences from one another. Yet, the look in Grian’s eyes suggested that he once again believed this was something that Joel cared about.

“These people you might already know,” Grian said, some hesitation in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “They’re coming over from Empires. It’s… It’s Lizzie and Tim. Or rather, Jimmy.”

Joel’s heart dropped. He’d thought nothing could hurt him after stepping through the rift. He left that terribly broken world behind him, and with it those he’d cared for the most. The mere mention of those names were enough for his mind, slowly healing from all the turmoil, to come back crashing down. He stopped, stared at Grian as the names echoed in his mind, tore open old wounds and started to dig all of the trauma of the initial hours of the Rapture back up.

“Lizzie and Jimmy are coming?” he said in a smaller voice than Grian and Scar had heard since Joel arrived here.

Grian and Scar glanced at each other. They held each other’s stares for a while before they looked at Joel again. The concern they had for their friend from another world was all too apparent, and yet Joel completely missed it.

“Yes, they are,” Grian said in a tone to match Joel’s. “Don’t… they’re not from your world, Joel. They’re from Empires, where the version of you lives that we know. It’s–”

“Complicated?” Joel finished that sentence and he huffed. “Like you haven’t said that before.”

“I just want to manage expectations, okay?” Grian said. “If I were to go to a different world where everyone I know is slightly different, I’d also want a heads-up if someone was coming who I knew in my own world.”

“It’ll be fine, Grian,” Scar interjected, petting his cat. “We’ll be here, too, right?”

They would be there. Joel wasn’t sure if wanted them to be around or not, because it would make no difference. The same people would still come to visit, and they would still come to speak with him, and Joel still would have no idea how to handle it.

Yet time passed by incredibly quickly - that, or Grian had only given him minutes before the guests would arrive. The silhouettes of two people in the sky approached the ground, slowly making their way down for a safe landing with that elytra.

Joel watched silently, his mind empty as he stared. The silhouettes grew larger until he noted the humanoid forms and recognized their features. They landed next to Grian in the main street and greeted their old friend. All the while, Joel said nothing. Could not say anything as his mind tried to reconcile what he saw with what he knew to be true.

This is wrong. It was the first thought that popped into his mind. This was so wrong. Jimmy, his brother-in-law, may still have that wide smile and enthusiastic nature and blond hair, but that was it. He was almost too clean - no small layer of slime coated him or his clothes, no specks of dirt inevitably clung to it. The color blue did not fit him at all - rather, Joel missed the greens of the Cod Empire. The fact that Jimmy spoke so freely to whom Joel had considered strangers without wearing the Codfather head was an enormous breach of protocol that the Codfather would not have stood for. He still remembered when he saw Jimmy’s face for the first time, a sight entrusted to him as a long-term ally and friend.

Lizzie… she was breathtaking, as usual, but also so very wrong. She looked the way she had when they first met - dressed in a cute sailor outfit, beautiful pink hair that was always perfect. Yet, after all she’d gone through - after her transformation and acceptance of her role as the Blue Axolotl - he couldn’t shake the image of his magnificent 10 foot tall goddess wife. He missed her gills, her blue skin, the fins, the majesty with which she marched around and the cunning she displayed towards her enemies. An image he did not want to lose, and yet there she stood, looking exactly what she looked like before they had married.

When all her memories washed away from her and she left Joel heartbroken within the ruins of Mezalea, she looked like this, too.

He did not pick up on any of their conversation with Grian. Instead, he was barely able to snap out of these thoughts as Lizzie and Jimmy approached him.

“Hello,” he stammered out, unsure whether to look at Jimmy or Lizzie. His eyes darted from one to the other constantly. The smiles they wore when they spoke with Grian were still present, though they were a bit more subdued now, as their concern started to shine through as well.

Suddenly, he became too aware of his shoddy appearance. He had cleaned himself up since arriving in Hermitcraft, but that did not mean he considered himself presentable in any way. His hair was still a little too long, the green streak in his hair too pale, his royal Mezalean garments in the wash. He straightened his back and hardened his gaze in an attempt to keep himself together and appear presentable, but how could he look presentable when he was wearing one of Grian’s red sweaters, which were a little oversized for Joel’s smaller stature?

“Hi Joel,” Jimmy said, trying to remain positive. “You look… a little weird, to be honest.”

“You, too, Jim,” Joel responded, his gaze drawn to Jimmy’s codless head before he turned to his wife. “Lizzie… you look great.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You, too.”

She didn’t mean it. She couldn’t mean it. How could she when he looked like this? Beyond the concern in their eyes, Joel also identified another emotion within hers. Sorrow. Nothing that Joel could blame her for - he was certain that, though he tried to maintain neutrality, he stared at her and her brother with a sorrowful look, too.

“We’ve, erm…” Jimmy cleared his throat before he continued to speak. “We’ve heard about your situation and we wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. Especially with Joel - our Joel, sorry - not feeling too great recently. But you seem healthy.”

Healthy. Perhaps. If that’s what Jimmy saw, he was sorely mistaken. Joel did not feel as healthy as he may seem. His joints were a little too stiff, his back ached from time to time. An old wound that has never correctly healed and grew into a scar now tingled every time the temperature dropped below being pleasantly warm. Time was catching up with him - the white and gray hairs that had started to appear were meticulously removed to keep up appearances, to lie to time itself and ignore the future that rapidly rushed towards him. Everything else he attributed to a harsh life in the middle of an apocalypse with barely enough resources to survive.

“You’re not alone here,” Lizzie said - she must’ve noticed Joel’s mind wandering off. “You can always call and visit us, if you want. Or you can come with us.”

His heart almost stopped at that suggestion. Yes.

No.

Which instincts would he trust?

“Are you okay?” Jimmy added.

“...No. I’m not.” Joel sighed and he slouched again, releasing the persona of a competent king. He could not keep up appearances in front of them. “You’re… you’re not them.”

“Of course we’re not,” Jimmy said. “We’re our own people.”

Why would he phrase it like that? It was the truth, yes, but Joel would have preferred if Jimmy hadn’t used such a disgustingly casual tone. Joel had noticed that too, yes. They were not what he remembered and they could never be. The Lizzie and Jimmy in front of him were not his beautiful wife and great brother-in-law. They were merely cheap replicas made by someone who had no idea what made them so unique and special.

“Joel.” Her voice rang out - pulled him out of his thoughts once again, as it always did. The kindness and softness with which she spoke almost broke him. “I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know what hurt you so much, but you’re here now. You’re with us.”

You’re with us.

“That’s it, really,” Joel said, fighting against the tears. “I’m here now.”

“What happened?” Lizzie asked.

“So much pain. So much sh*t.” He shook his head. Joel had always been quick to dismiss his own unfortunate situation in favor of focusing all of his energy on surviving. Without that convenient way to flee from his emotions, he broke under the gazes of the poor reflections of his family. “You left. Both of you, you just… Lizzie, I pleaded with you to stay, but you walked away a stranger, and Jim… you vanished. You were just gone. Both of you.”

A shaky breath punctuated his pain. “There was nobody. Everyone had either left or died. I wish I could have left, too. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because what if either of you returned for me? What if you remembered me? So I stayed. I was alone.”

That final word unleashed all the sorrow he had cooped up inside. He barely realized he had been slowly losing the fight against his emotions, the realization smashing his sparsely mended heart into a million pieces again. Instinctively, he stepped towards Lizzie to hold her and nearly crumbled into her embrace, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her embrace… he’d missed it too much. He held her tenderly and allowed himself to drown in her words of comfort. Jimmy stood by his side, too, a firm hand on his back that regularly patted it and added words of encouragement. Even then, in a moment of comfort, that nagging voice in the back of his mind destroyed what little comfort he gained. It’s not them - they are not the Lizzie and Jimmy we know.

Joel stayed in her embrace for a little while longer before he pulled himself together. The following conversation was short but sweet, discussing all sorts of things that did not ultimately matter. Joel asked them about their lives and whether they were happy with what they were doing. The few times Jimmy or Lizzie tried to ask him for details about what had happened, Joel declined to comment further. They did not live through the tragedy he had experienced, and he would not want to put that burden on them. The one thing he was glad to learn was that the other version of Joel still had caught Lizzie’s eye and that they were married. Though everything else was radically different, Lizzie still called Joel her husband, and that was right.

The one thing that was right about all of this.

At long last, Lizzie and Jimmy had to leave and their conversation ended with Joel declining their offer to come with them to Empires. He remained in the main street of Scarland while Lizzie and Jimmy donned their elytras, said their goodbyes to Scar, and flew off with Grian to where the world portal was located.

“You know,” Scar said when he stood next to Joel, watching their friends leave. “I really thought you’d leave with them.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Joel said flatly.

“Why not? I could see you’re getting along.”

“It’s not them.”

Chapter 34: (12.1) That which you can't shake

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was fitting that the ancient city could not easily be reached. No straight tunnel, no grand staircase from the surface that reached below deepslate levels into the depths of the earth. Not even the Goblands, with their extensive GobRails, reached as far as the nearest districts of this ancient city. From the closest station, it was still a long walk through tunnels with torches that were spaced apart just enough to keep mobs from entering and wandering these tunnels. Less determined people would wonder whether all this effort was worth it.

Pixlriffs could have used the tunnel found in the swamps of the Evermoore. The swamps, however, were impassable and guarded by the wizard. Nobody was allowed to go until the mystery had been cleared up, after all. Still, he could no longer ignore the tug. He’d seen it once, now he had to see more. His curiosity was going to be the death of him someday, but hopefully not because he needed to see more about the city at the center of the greatest mystery of his lifetime.

The atmosphere in the city was strange, as it always was. To walk through a settlement covered in sculk – covered by the absence of light, blanketed in bioluminescent darkness – is something indescribable. Not even the caves dared echo the cautious footsteps and softly-spoken words of those who entered. Blue soulfire torches illuminated the paths and bathed everything in an eerie glow, casting shadows larger than normal torches would. All the wood rotted, all the stonework likewise corrupted, and yet the air was still clear. So silent, yet so vibrant. A contradiction come alive at the edge of reality.

Pixlriffs could not simply stop walking forward or taking it all in. To stand mesmerized by the glory and sinister nature of this place was an opportunity long past. Now, Pix strode down the side roads until he reached one of the main streets that lead to the side of the portal frame that stood in the middle of the city and dominated the skyline.

He couldn’t not be curious. Within Empires, he branded himself as an archaeologist and historian. Just as fWhip was literally a goblin in this world, Pix’s interest in history had grown since he agreed to settle this world with his friends. It was a tug in his chest, one that had already made him venture downward. The creation of the Machine had sated it, but the discovery of this strange ancient that either did not exist or existed within a minimum of three different worlds had reignited the spark. His curiosity now barely contained as he walked towards the portal frame.

Did he come for answers? Did he seek something else hidden below the sculk? He told himself this could provide the opportunity to find out more about Shelby’s condition, yet his heart acted on more selfish reasons. The wizard’s words still resonated within, and he had almost grasped its meaning. Though it was out of reach again, the city may provide answers.

What a flimsy excuse.

Perhaps he expected to have the city to himself, perhaps not. Even so, he had been caught in his own thoughts when he noticed another walking down the road. A dark robe covered most of his body, and a shock of icy blue hair peeking out from under the hood was enough to identify him.

“Tango?”

Tango’s head turned to the sound of the noise; the volume of Pix’s voice was dampened by the inherent absence of sound. Tango spotted Pixlriffs instantly, a person standing amidst the darkness of the sculk. His initial shock of being spoken to in a place where nobody is supposed to be faded as he waited for Pix to catch up with him. They’d never really spoken to each other, but they had been aware of each other’s existence, if only through Pixlriffs and his friend Sloy’s journalistic endeavors.

Of course, now their worlds were connected through this ancient city, it was all the more likely to run into someone who lived in another world. Even on Hermitcraft they had forbidden people from visiting the city, so at least both of them were breaking the rules.

“Hi! Pix, right?” Tango greeted him. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

“Not really,” Pix admitted. No matter what he had done, his path may always have led to the ancient city. “I’m a historian on Empires, so this location… it’s always been interesting to find these remnants in our separate worlds. To find one that connects our worlds is even stranger.” He paused for a moment, looking up at the portal frame. “Makes me wonder what came before and who built this.”

“You tell me,” Tango said, “’cause I haven’t got a clue.”

What did come before? Nothing, as far as anyone knew. The origin of these ancient cities had always been a mystery – one that some souls latched onto more fervently than others. Pixlriffs had been mildly interested before, yet never fully appreciated the mystery until he became a historian within Empires.

It is commonly believed that the universe and world and Void between as they knew it has always been and will always be. A known ‘they’; the souls who know to travel between worlds using the Voidhub, how to settle these worlds, how to create and die and be reborn and become master craftspeople in their own right, only to fade when their time truly had come – returning to the Void from whence they came.

Yet, these worlds constantly evolved. Worlds are born and die just as easily as souls do. Souls migrate to newer worlds with new biomes, new features, new technologies nobody had ever heard of and new structures nobody had ever seen before. It started with the strange ocean monuments, the temples deep in the jungles and deserts, the mineshafts – and, more recently, the ancient cities and trail ruins. Signs of civilizations that came before. A handful of souls believed their predecessors left clues to their existence and left a permanent mark on the worlds that existed within the Void. Yet, nobody could tell why they only started to show up recently and why they hadn’t always been a part of this world generation. After all, most souls remembered a time when deepslate and ancient cities did not exist. Only the oldest souls that hadn’t faded remembered when no seemingly soul-made structures were a part of their limited worlds.

Perhaps that was the aspect that drew Pix in the most – knowing something must have built this. Already his gaze was drawn to the stonework with the urge to carefully deconstruct it to unearth its secrets. It gave Pixlriffs something to mull over. As novel as they were, no other world had reportedly had any trouble with ancient cities or had seen them be connected to other worlds. A mystery, unique to their own worlds, was not something Pix could leave by the wayside. And then there was that tug that guided him further ahead…

“So, what brings you here?” Pix asked as they continued their trek to the middle.

“Scouting for sculk, mostly,” Tango replied. “Deepfrost Citadel isn’t going to build itself, however much that would help.”

“You’re building it completely out of sculk?” Tango would need a lot of shulkers. Though they could fit a lot more sculk - or any other material - than their dimensions would betray, many shulkers full of sculk was a lot. Pixlriffs’ mind wandered to the ravaged patch of sculk that Skizzleman claimed to have cleaned out for the construction of his Warden statue, and how much Tango would need.

“No, not exclusively. Just a few touches here and there. To make the citadel pop a little.” Tango nodded, more to himself than the guest. “Curiosity drew me, too, I guess. This place is weird.”

Weird did not come even close. Otherworldly, perhaps. Alien.

Weirdly comforting and sorrowful.

A shiver ran down Pix’s spine.

“If you want to stick around, I could use a companion,” Pix told the dungeon master.

“Afraid of drowning in silence?”

“Something like that.” To drown in silence, to be swept up in the darkness, to see the universe unfold before his eyes and lose what little sanity he had left after his wanderings. A notion so familiar and estranged that he was glad to have the company of someone to keep him grounded.

In hindsight, he should not have undertaken this excursion to the ancient city on his own. It was difficult to convince someone to come along, especially if they knew where the journey would lead. With a companion such as Tango, however, the darkness would not be able to swallow him whole. Perhaps the same thought occurred to the dungeon master, since what little unease Pix gleaned from his posture melted away as soon as they decided to approach the middle of this imposing city together.

The closer they came to the middle, the more that unsettling feeling in their chests grew – the more familiar it became. Climbing the stairs to the plateau on which the portal frame rested, they passed by debris and ruins that had already fallen. Those pieces had been completely engulfed by the sculk on the walkways below. Some of the stonework beneath their feet crumbled and cracked as though it should fall away, but it remained stable. The soulfire flames underneath the portal lit up the immediate surroundings and cast their cold blue light on everything it could reach. Similarly, the countless candles that lined the stairs and stood at the base of the portal frame flickered and provided little light, yet never stopped or lost their wax.

Neither dared to step more than twenty paces away from their travel companion, though they did not stay together. Somehow, their proximity to the center shattered their confidence, yet made them feel more at ease with their surroundings. Pix’s attention was instantly drawn to something invisible from the lower street levels: a small, sculk-ridden altar that sat in front of the portal frame. A medium-sized person could comfortably lie on top of it, and though the sculk had gnawed at it, the stone caught his interest.

He had come to unearth secrets, and so he did. The stonework on the altar did not match the deepslate he had seen elsewhere. With an uncorrupted piece of stone, he scraped away the sculk veins that covered it and obstructed his view. Along with it, he removed the aeons of dust and grime from the top of the ancient altar. Below, a pale kind of stone peeked out that was not native to the caves. Even within the warped soulfire light, Pix instantly recognized it. One stroke with his finger across the now exposed smooth sandstone surface confirmed his suspicions.

And notes. Pieces of paper and parchment lay scattered around the base of the altar. The ink on these brittle pages had faded, leaving only a few words legible. In these samples of handwriting – painfully familiar handwriting – the author bemoaned the state of their world and their old friend. The frantic handwriting hinted at the author’s state of mind; mad, insane from their time spent in the ancient city.

Pix’s mind and vision swam for a moment. He gripped his head, as though something had snuck up on him and smashed his head with a heavy blunt weapon. The papers dropped to the floor as Pix stumbled away from them. He no longer needed them – they already told him everything he needed to know. Most of the knowledge locked away, yet inside his mind all the same. Whatever those papers were, they had an unfavorable effect on him.

Unfavorable, but truthful.

He turned to Tango, to distract himself. Tango, likewise, was caught in a world of his own. He stood at the edge of a particularly thick patch of sculk, lined up perfectly perpendicularly with the portal frame. He, too, clutched a crumbled piece of paper in his hand. His knuckles had grown white, but Pix noticed the small patches and veins of that same bioluminescent darkness that permeated the ancient city, now also crept up on Tango’s hand. Tango’s gaze was fixed on the sculk on the ground, lost in thoughts that Pix had no access to.

“Tango? Are you okay?” Pix asked, to try to bring Tango back to the real world. Also to keep himself grounded, lest he be lost to the inevitable draw and ever-present tug to the ancient city.

“What? Yeah…” Tango linked a few times, looking in Pix’s direction. He sounded a bit woozy, as though he had been particularly deep in thought and still reeled from what he was tormenting himself with. He crumpled the note further and tossed it aside without looking at it. “I just… I think I found something here.”

His now free hand, slightly corrupted by the sculk, dug into one of the deep pockets of his long and heavy dungeon master cloak. Pix followed it with his gaze and noticed the tip of what could only be an echo shard. He only spotted it because it glowed softly, as it barely peeked out from the pocket. Another shiver ran down Pix’s back.

“Keep an eye out,” he warned the hermit. “And keep your distance to the sculk. Shelby’s got one of those shards as well. It’s not doing her any good.”

Tango nodded absent-mindedly. “Noted.”

One moment. Not of silence, but the absence of sound. Wherever they had been looking, their gazes were drawn up until they looked at one another. Simultaneously, they slowly turned their heads and gazed up at the portal frame.

Just a portal frame. Nothing rested within, no energy that was typical for a world or dimension portal swirled within. Yet, the frame still stood here. Built out of deepslate or something stronger, reinforced to the point where this technology was unknown to both the historian and the engineer. The frame lacked the portal, yet neither could withstand the call from beyond the gaping dark maw. As they stared, all kinds of contradictory feelings descended upon them. The most unsettling of these was a sense of peace that overrode the panic, fear, despair, deep-rooted fury and seething rage.

Peace – such as one felt when they were doing what must be done, because they were doing what they have always done, and the Void watched emotionlessly.

“I should get back to Decked Out,” Tango stammered.

“I’ve got some artifacts that need to be labeled,” Pix said in a similar tone.

They turned their back to the portal frame and walked away. Without the other, they weren’t sure if they would even be able to make it down the stairs, past the candles that still burned despite everything. In silence – no longer the absence of sound – they walked until they reached the very edge of the ancient city and almost walked head-first into the cave wall.

Tango set out for the tunnel that would return him to Hermitcraft, while Pixlriffs headed back to the last stop of the GobRail on Empires. All the while, as Pix walked and reflected upon what he found, he shook his head.

He shouldn’t have come to the city.

He shouldn’t return, if this was the effect it had on him.

He couldn’t want to return.

He shouldn’t want to return.

Chapter 35: (12.2) That which ought to be explained

Chapter Text

Shelby languished in the swamp.

She insisted she was okay. Her weak smile attempted to convince the wizard who'd struck up her tent in the Evermoore that she was feeling alright. She often wandered close to the tent without explanation, and three nights in a row, the wizard Gem awoke in the morning to find the witch asleep in the dirt right in front of the tent. It was a strange sight, to not only watch Shelby lose her vitality, but to see the ever-shifting, sparkling dots within the sculk that clung to her diminish as well.

The most Shelby spoke about was the shard. She was happy to leave it in Gem's custody - it was still nearby, she could always check on it, rather her than anyone else - but always came back to it in conversation. Her hand reached into a pocket multiple times a day to grab something that wasn't there.

The wizard had made a suggestion. Perhaps they ought to leave the swamp for a little while. The wizard had no idea whether the location or the shard was the culprit; the mists still whispered all sorts of creepy, unsettling things in their ears and the shard refused to easily give up any secrets. Even so, what secrets the wizard had managed to extract from it were unsettling in their own right. Either the swamp or not having the shard slowly turned Shelby into a husk of herself - and they should combat that as quickly as possible.

For the wizard, returning the shard was not an option. She hadn't told Shelby yet that something ancient was embedded within it and that she would not be giving it back. So, leaving the Evermoore - if only for a little while - was the only option.

Gem's first instinct was to contact Sausage. He had been helpful as the king of Mythland, even though he made one major mistake. Here, as the guardian of Sanctuary, he seemed unaffected by any evil that may seek to influence him. The wizard had barely explained her conundrum when Sausage already offered a guest house for Shelby and Gem, with the promise that their houses would either be neighboring houses or were at a walking distance away from each other. And, Sausage promised, there was no ominous fog with creepy whispers anywhere, a Sanctuary guarantee.

Hopefully, it was just the fog that sapped Shelby's strength and weakened her. Hopefully, a brief stay in Sanctuary would be enough to reinvigorate Shelby. If not, the alternative would be the one thing that Gem would refuse to do.

It hurt her. If it wasn't the fog, Shelby's separation from the shard caused this. And though it broke Gem's heart to see her wilt like that, she could not in good faith return the shard to her. The ancient magic within the shard - what supposedly made it glow - seemed to power it. Whatever its purpose was, Gem had not been able to ascertain it, but she did not want to find out. However cruel it may sound, she would rather see Shelby die than see her succumb to the shard and be turned into a sculk monster.

They traveled through portals across the Nether roof - another strange experience for the wizard, who only ever was familiar with the untamed forests and wastes of the Nether itself. From the Nether roof to the midday sun shining down on the jungles of Sanctuary. From the top of the hillside, they could see the colorful homes of the town as well as the castle currently being erected close to where they stood.

“This is going to help, isn't it?” Shelby wondered out loud. Gem could tell that she said it more to quell any of her worries than it was a genuine question.

“It will,” Gem told her. “This will help.”

Even if it didn't, she would be one Nether journey away from her home and the swamp and the lingering fog that may attempt to draw her back in. Even then, she would be in the good and capable hands of Sanctuary's finest doctors. And Sausage would likely not allow her to leave if the situation was as bad as Gem imagined it might one day be.

The wizard accompanied the witch in the direction of the castle - Sausage apparently liked to be involved with the development of all the new buildings, so it would be a safe bet that they might find him there. However, as a foreman would tell them, Sausage had left to go show the town to a guest. Wondering who that guest may be, the ladies turned around and walked down through the bamboo forest.

They didn't have to walk down all the way - they heard the guardian of the land approach before they caught sight of him. He spoke enthusiastically and loudly, his voice carrying to his newest visitors. Once they turned the corner, they could see whom Sausage was accompanying.

Gem stopped in her tracks and looked at Pearl. She had learned so much from her one week in Empires - especially that appearances in one world did not dictate what one looked like in another. Pearl had worn her overalls and hard hat in the ancient city where they had first seen each other, which had made it easier for her to separate these new versions of her friends from the ones she had known.

Here, in Sanctuary, likely having arrived through the world portal, she looked majestic and too familiar. The overalls and hard hat had been replaced with a beautiful green gown and a crown of sunflowers. Her arms were locked with Sausage and she laughed at one of his jokes. Almost, it felt like the Farmer Queen had returned from the dead and made her home with Sanctuary, with her best friend, and had become the madre de girasoles that Sausage and all of Sanctuary worshiped.

She still was not the Pearl that the Wizard had known, but the sight was painfully familiar.

“She used to live with us in your world, right?” Shelby asked out loud.

Gem nodded, not looking away from Pearl. “She did. She was a good friend.”

Is, a voice in the back of her mind insisted. She is a good friend.

No. Was. They’re not the same as Gem remembered them. They were their own people with no connection to the versions of themselves that Gem knew. Just because she wore the Farmer Queen's clothes didn't mean that she was the Farmer Queen incarnate.

The cleaning lady of Hermitcraft caught sight of the wizard and the corrupted witch. She pointed them out to Sausage and together, the friends walked up to her.

“Hiya, ladies!” Pearl said with an enthusiasm and a wide smile that rivaled the sun's brightness.

“Hi,” Gem responded calmly, though her voice was almost drowned out by Shelby and Sausage’s greetings. Yet, it seemed Pearl had heard it, or must've at the very least seen Gem’s mouth move, because she nodded in acknowledgement.

“It's so good to see you,” Pearl said. She turned directly to Gem. “I was actually hoping I could catch you.”

Gem tilted her head. “Really?”

Already, a thousand and one theories ran through her mind. Why would Pearl speak with her beyond having friendly conversation? Perhaps the wizard shouldn't assume the talk would be of utmost importance. Still, her mind returned to the slip of paper she found on the nightstand of her ill doppelganger, in a handwriting she could not place. Stemmed her inability to recognize it from the fact that she hadn't seen the handwriting for more than half a century?

Sausage placed his hand on his chest and gasped dramatically, feigning his indignance as he looked at Pearl. “You wound me! I thought you only came to see Sanctuary.”

“Which is such a beautiful and lovely place, Sausage,” Pearl responded. “You don't need to hear me say it twice, it is absolutely astonishing. But if possible, it would’ve been great to speak with the Wizard Gem during my visit as well.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” Sausage said. He instantly turned to the witch. “Come, Shelby, I’ll show you to your casita.”

Before Shelby could protest, Sausage had locked arms with her and whisked her away. Even before Pearl could thank him for his hospitality thus far, he had already guided Shelby far away from Gem and Pearl, leading her to the small village that was ever expanding.

Gem and Pearl watched them disappear between the copious bamboo stalks that soon obscured their view of them.

“How is she doing?” Pearl wondered.

“She's strong,” Gem responded. The grace and strength with which Shelby walked through life was admirable. The corruption that had taken part of her face and body had not grown, but it had not withered away either - yet, she endured. Gem could see the gnomish cunning and endurance within her, even though she was a full-sized human now. Anyone else might have already caved under the pressure.

“Weren't you studying her echo shard?” Pearl then asked. She turned her head to the wizard, the smile that had been on her face up until now fading. It almost seemed like the actual sun lost some of her power.

Gem nodded. “I did.”

It weighed heavily in her pocket. She had to shape and stretch the internal dimension to ensure that she would not be touching it at all. It was too dangerous to keep in the swamp, so she had to be inventive.

“And, did anything fruitful come out of it?”

“I wish I understood it more than I do.” Gem sighed. “It's magical. It definitely is magical, that's a certainty. But what it does… it's quite elusive somehow. Like it doesn't like me, like it doesn't want me to know. It looks like any other echo shard, but something is stuck within its core. Some sort of ancient magic I don't recognize. I wish I could know what that core is and what its purpose is.”

Gem glanced to the side. Pearl listened well, but there was something about her. As though Pearl had already heard her say this before. But she still listened, without making any attempt to hide that she already knew the theories. With as serious a face Gem had ever seen and a sun whose rays were not as brilliant as before, even though no clouds had moved to obscure it.

What did the note at Gem's bedside say again? She knows just enough to know the reason for her affliction.

“Do you have any ideas?”

Pearl shook her head. “No, I don't.”

“Are you sure about that?” The wizard folded her arms. “Because I think you may know more than you're letting on.”

“And what makes you think that?”

You wrote that message. The one I found at my other self's bedside. I recognized your handwriting.”

She hadn't consciously recognized it, but it made sense and it was true. The only one who could leave such a message in such a convenient place that only Gem would see - it had to be one of the primary caretakers. Pearl nodded solemnly, and she looked at Gem with a certain familiarity Gem wasn't used to from a citizen of Hermitcraft.

“That's why I wanted to talk to you,” Pearl said in a serious tone she hadn’t used before. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you know?” If Pearl knew enough to write that note, she must know more. “About me, the situation, anything related to this. What do you know? And how do you know it?”

Pearl waited a moment, took that moment to think. She took a deep breath and looked at Gem again, a sorrow in her eyes that hadn't been there before. Or perhaps it had been there before, but she had been able to mask it.

“I know that Sausage craved power too much. He struck a deal with a demon and could only whisper for help before resistance was beaten out of him.”

Gem's mouth almost physically fell open when she realized what Pearl was talking about. For a moment, she doubted and wondered whether or not the cleaning lady could look into her mind and pluck that detail from the depths. But Pearl continued to speak, and tears started to brim in Gem's eyes.

“You were concerned. You and fWhip, but only when it was too late. Only after you've - we've pushed him deeper to that dark side. Afterward, I know you did everything in your power to protect that precious dragon egg… even killing Sausage.”

Atop the wizard's tower in the Crystal Cliffs, Gem and Sausage stood. Where she was strongest and he'd wasted a lot of energy in their battle before this confrontation. Gem had pointed her staff at him when she saw the ruthlessness fade for but a moment. Some weakness, or perhaps some strength, and Sausage broke free of the demon's control to plead with her to kill him. She obliged, for the sake of the world. He toppled off of the tower. They recovered the broken body and returned it home, where Sausage rose from the dead, alive and well, free from the demonic influence.

In this world - empires, they called it - Pearl did not wear her overalls or hard hat. Here, she wore a beautiful green gown and a crown of sunflowers, reminiscent of the late great Farmer Queen. Or perhaps reminiscent was too soft a word, if this was her.

“Pearl?”

A cautious, reassuring smile appeared on her face again. At the same time, the sun gently caressed Gem's skin with mellow rays of light and warmth. There cannot be a correlation, Gem's rational mind attempted to tell her, but she could not focus on that. Not while the mother of sunflowers, the Farmer Queen of Gilded Helianthia herself, stood in front of her.

“I remember, Gem,” she said. “I remember it all.”

Shaking. When had she started shaking? It didn't matter, because the next moment, Gem stepped forward and fell into Pearl's soft embrace.

“I'm sorry,” Pearl spoke as she held her old friend. “I'm so sorry. You've lost so much…”

They stood there for as long as the wizard could bear to hug her friend. But it couldn't last, and she pulled away. For all the mysteries of the universe that she had unearthed and solved, Pearl's presence was the biggest enigma yet to be solved.

“How?” Gem asked - her mind was stuck on the question. “That… How? You're the first who–”

She cut herself off. Pearl was the first to comfort her. Joel - the Mezalean King - was living on Hermitcraft as well after a freak accident with a rift in someone's basem*nt, but he had refused to see her. He still refused to see her. Though Gem desperately wanted to speak with him and ask him what happened in that ancient city and how Joel survived that lethal monster attack, she did not want to force him into anything. Now, Pearl was here and willing to speak - someone who knew what their home used to be like.

But she died during the Rapture. Pearl, what happened to you?

“It's a bit complicated,” Pearl said. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“Both.” They both could provide insights into what was happening. “How complicated are we talking?”

“Quite.” Pearl glanced at the road, as though Sausage and Shelby may show up again in a second. The silence confirmed they were alone and Pearl looked at Gem again. “Short version: I'm a goddess and we messed up big time.”

Gem nodded once, taking in the words. Her rational mind was ready to dispute the first claim, but she had felt the warm sun on her skin when Pearl smiled and noticed its absence when Pearl grew serious. Weather is capricious and it was extremely difficult to control, even with magic. Besides, that familiarity was enough to convince the wizard. Once more, a million questions were sparked.

“And how long will the long version take to explain?” the wizard wondered.

“Usually an hour or two, including your questions.”

“Let's get started, then.” With so many questions, so little time, such a tragedy waiting to happen, Gem could not sit still. “What happened? What started all of this?”

Pearl responded swiftly, as though she knew Gem would ask that question.

“I don't quite remember where it all initially started… but a catalyst was your attempt to create a new reality.”

Chapter 36: (12.3) That which can't be ignored

Chapter Text

“So, why don't you want to see Gem?”

Joel turned his head to Scar and shot him a confused glare. He hadn't asked to be babysat by that disaster of a person in his ‘base’, nor to be questioned by that same person. Scarland was going to be pretty one day, he supposed, but he failed to see the beauty right now.

“Why do you care?” he asked Scar.

“Well, if I was separated from my fellow Hermits in a strange land, and I suddenly heard that - I don't know, Keralis was spotted somewhere else - not too far from here, actually -, I'd want to go and jump into his arms as soon as possible.”

Scar opened his arms, to mime getting ready to hug someone and to give his speech a little bit of extra punch. Joel was unaffected by this blatant display of optimism, which he lacked in his life since the Rapture happened and he lost his beautiful wife.

“Even if that Keralis hurt you?” Joel shot back at him. He had no idea who Keralis was - likely a Hermit.

Scar frowned and lowered his arms again. “Gem hurt you?”

“She's magical, Scar,” Joel explained, as though everything he was saying was so self-explanatory - as though Scar was supposed to be aware of all the drama of Joel's home world. “She can do magic beyond your wildest dreams. She's also the greatest liar and hypocrite. She chose to flee over helping her people escape during the Rapture. I've heard stories from the Crystal Cliffs - she abandoned them. If she had stayed, she could have saved lives. But she didn't.”

Scar nodded, seriously listening to what his new old friend had to say. Joel could see that Scar only understood about half of what he was complaining about, but he at least understood the most important bits: namely that the wizard could never be trusted.

“She never told me that,” he said, fully believing Joel's words.

“Of course she wouldn't!” Joel exclaimed. “I'd be ashamed, too, if she can even feel any shame. She recklessly abandoned her people in order to keep her family safe. My people are my family, too.”

His family, whom he would never abandon. He could still see Lizzie in front of him - smaller, weaker, no memories to speak off. A family had kindly taken her in, they were set to travel further away from the depths that were once the ocean. With the lingering taste of seawater on his lips, Joel had begged her to stay. It took him every ounce of willpower and strength not to run after them, toss away his crown and earn her love all over again. But so many rulers had gone; Pixlriffs had gone missing months prior, Pearl burned along with her kingdom, Scott was found dead in a pool of his own blood, Jimmy left his cod head behind and the Grimms twins decided to flee instead of staying and helping. Someone needed to stay. Someone needed to be the face of hope when no other ruler was. Unfortunately, that role befell him and he begrudgingly took it.

Joel did not need to see the wizard who left her people to suffer and die.

“So no visit from Gem for you?” Scar had the audacity to ask.

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright. I'll send her away if she comes along again. She won't see you as long as I'm around.”

Joel blinked once, and then twice. With Scar's attitude, he'd believed the man would advocate for reconciliation. This support was a welcome surprise.

“Well, thank you,” Joel said in a less hostile tone than before. He tilted his head. “You know, you're quite alright.”

“Thanks!” Scar responded.

“I’m back, fellas,” Grian said from behind Joel.

Joel immediately turned around grabbing onto the hilt of a non-existent sword and swinging it behind him.

Grian only took a step back but barely flinched. He looked at Joel, who instantly realized he was not in any danger at all - and at Scar, who saw him gliding down the main street with his elytra and whom he thought would have warned Joel.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” Joel said, taking a deep breath.

“Glad you could make it, Grian,” Scar said. “We were just talking about how Gem is a war criminal.”

Grian frowned, an incredulous look on his face. “What?”

“Not our Hermit Gem, the older Wizard Gem is. She's definitely a war criminal,” Scar clarified in the same casual tone he'd used before.

“What's that?” Joel asked, nodding at Grian's pocket. It must have made him immediately remember why he came here and pulled out the item. A small crystal, similar to an amethyst shard, but darker in color - or perhaps it absorbed all color around it to make it gently glow an electric blue glow. A strange item indeed, which instantly snared Joel and Scar's attention.

“Well,” Grian began, “I've been to the ancient city and–”

“The ancient city?” Scar interrupted him. “Isn't that forbidden?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you ask me to come along?”

“Because I wanted to go stealthily and not draw any attention to myself.” Grian enunciated the last six words of that sentence, looking at Scar with an intention that naturally seemed to fly over his head.

“I can be stealthy,” Scar asserted.

“...Anyway, I found this.” Grian spoke after a moment of pause and held the shard a little higher up for a second. Scar leaned in a little closer, enthralled by this strange shard, while Joel was satisfied to observe it neutrally from a distance.

“What is that?” Scar wondered out loud.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Grian said with the utmost confidence. “I mean, it looks like an echo shard. But it just glows a little bit, so I don't know what to do with it.”

Scar held out his hand expectantly, only barely refraining from just grabbing it out of Grian's hand. “Can I have that?”

Grian looked at Scar for a second with a rather neutral look before offering him the shard. “Sure.”

Scar took the shard and investigated it from up close, his eyes less than half an inch away from the crystalline surface itself.

Joel watched Scar inspect it for a second before he turned back to Grian. “Sorry, but where did you say you found this?”

“In the ancient city,” Grian said. “You know, the one that's seemingly connected to other worlds. Found it right next to the portal frame itself, clenched by skeletal remains.”

Joel stared at him blankly. “Connected to other worlds?”

“I'm pretty sure we've told you this before,” Grian said, and then in the same tone: “Scar, don't eat that.”

The shard had already been close to his face, but Scar had brought it dangerously close to his mouth. He was just about to give it a good lick when Grian spoke and he had to pull it away from his face.

“Why not?”

“Just because Impulse ate them last season doesn't mean you have to do that, too,” Grian scolded him with the energy of a tired father. “Also, Impulse used actual ingredients for his crystals. This one I plucked from a skeleton in the middle of an ancient city. It's not safe.”

“Can I have a look at it?” Joel then asked, breaking up the scene.

“Of course you can!” Grian said with the same energy as before, looking at Scar. Another second or two passed before Scar gave the shard to Joel, who took it.

He stared at it with the same indifference he'd often seen on fWhip's face when it came to the topic of the divine. He acknowledged the divine, but did not believe in them the same way that Scott, Pixlriffs, or even Sausage did. Even then, fWhip for some reason believed in that hoax of a demon, but that was something else entirely. Joel just imagined his face was similar to fWhip's would have been when Scott and Pix were caught in yet another theological debate.

He attempted to keep that facial expression. Though Grian and Scar had been friendly all week and helped him, they didn't get it. They did not get him and constantly likened him to the weird version of himself that he was not. Something in the back of his mind asked him not to trust these two in this case, as he held the shard in his hand.

This shard… something about it felt familiar. Something about it was strange yet knowable.

Yes, Grian had explained the whole ancient city situation to him. Though Joel had actively not been paying attention, he still caught bits and pieces. Somehow, the ancient city in Hermitcraft, and Empires, and this one guy's solo world were the same ancient city that acts as a nexus and some other weird sh*t was going on. The one thing Joel wanted to know about was a possible connection between Hermitcraft and his home. There was none, Grian had said. That rift was an anomaly. It has no reason to exist.

Something had pulled Joel to the portal. He saw it in the middle of the ruined mesa, and came closer to study it. Something pulled him forward; something drew him closer. Something beckoned him to the other side and separated him from his home.

That pull was such a unique experience, he'd recognize it anywhere. Right now, he recognized it within the shard. Nothing more than a faint signature of something greater, yet it was clearly present.

He was no wizard - no, he left those tricks to the haughty headmistress herself - but he knew deep in his heart that he had to try something.

After everything he endured, he was owed the attempt.

“So… what do you think?”

Grian's voice cut through the silence and shattered Joel's thoughts.

“It doesn't mean anything to me,” Joel said with all the indifference he could muster. “Just a weird glowing shard.”

“Are you sure?”

Joel looked up from the shard and straight at Grian.

“Would I lie to you?”

“Yes. You would,” Grian responded without missing a beat. The answer came so smoothly that Joel rolled his eyes.

“Maybe the stupid god version of me would, but that's not me. I have no reason to lie about this whatsoever.”

“He does have a point. They're quite different,” Scar said, nodding at the arguments that Joel made. It only made Joel like him more.

Scar leaned in closer to Joel again. “Can I have that back?” He eyed the shard, still in Joel's hand.

“Wait, no.” Grian's eyes widened. “Don't give it back to–”

“Here.” Joel tossed it at Scar, who expertly caught it. Grian's exasperated sigh was more than worth it.

Chapter 37: (13.1) Doubts about the past

Chapter Text

Jungles have always been vast and dense, many trees obscuring both their vision and the way forward. Though Pix would rather be back home, between the ruins of his ancient capital, he scouted the jungles behind Sanctuary. Perhaps there will be one , Sausage had told him, but I’ve already looked extensively and hadn’t seen any .

Still, Pix was going to take that chance. This was a jungle, after all, which meant that a jungle temple could be hidden beneath the canopy.

He wasn’t sure why he was drawn to the idea of a jungle temple. Perhaps his archaeological instincts were tingling, telling him to discover the location and preserve it to the best of his ability. Perhaps something deeper asked him to come over here and find it. Must be the archaeological urges, he told himself as he methodically searched the jungle for any kind of sign of civilization.

There! Between the lush green leaves, he spotted some cobblestone in the distance. Pixlriffs adjusted his course to go toward the cobblestone structure. Five minutes later, he stood in front of the familiar shape of a jungle temple.

He stood at the entrance, looking in. Birds chirped behind him, flying away as an ocelot jumped out of hiding to catch them. He paid them no mind, for his full attention was on the temple itself. Covered in vines, moss protruding from the cobble, time transforming the location into something dangerous, if you didn't know how to deal with the traps.

Here. He was here now, yet his curiosity hadn't been sated. He looked at the temple with hollow eyes and the temple seemed to look back at him. Why did he come here?

If he'd truly wanted to preserve the location, he would've brought enough glass with him. He didn't have a single pane on him.

Pix walked into the building, masterfully disarmed the traps that he knew of. With the temple disarmed, he could walk around freely without fear of being harmed. He took all of the loot that he knew was available, and still something tugged at him. He was missing something - something that he knew he was missing, something that he had come here for. Something currently unknowable.

Not for long.

While he wandered through the limited halls of the temple, he kept returning to one part of the wall. Outside, on the ramparts, one piece of wall that was completely the same as any other part of the temple. Nothing stood out about this section, and yet he gravitated towards it all the same. He placed his hands against the stone and felt the history behind it, heard the hum of history in his ears. This location was significant somehow; this part of the wall was significant.

Or perhaps whatever lay behind was significant. He took one step back, tried to visualize the lay-out of the temple. How odd, for one piece of the temple to be clearly small room-shaped and yet have no point of access, like the other rooms. The one mystery of the jungle temple that he must not have known about.

That he must have unintentionally glossed over before.

Again, he reached out - not to touch, but to search. He closed his eyes, allowed his instincts to find whatever his heart was searching for. It followed the grooves until it found a button. He pressed it, sounding a soft ‘click’ followed by stone being drug across stone. Pix opened his eyes and just noticed how the stone wall slid into the ground, revealing a staircase down.

A shiver ran down his spine. Whatever he was searching for must be located below. He stared for a few seconds and stepped down.

It wasn’t a long walk. Just one small stretch of staircase, that led into a small room he had never seen before, yet felt eerily familiar. Dark stone tiles, red carpet strewn about. A throne of gold and scarlet stood in the middle, untouched by time, and the strange potted Nether fungi somehow had survived, as well. Pix’s gaze, however, was drawn to the banner that dominated the space; an all-black banner with crimson stretches that implanted the idea of a grinning demon into the mind of the beholder. Who knew such a banal piece of dyed cloth could emanate such evil?

Pix ran away, could not leave the room quick enough.

A storm grew within his chest, raging and destructive. Two ideas, two mindsets, clashed with one another for the right to come on top and dominate his beliefs. His archaeological instincts wished to stay, to take this room apart brick by brick and discover its presumably dark purpose - a discovery that nobody else had made, or else it would have been common knowledge by now that a jungle temple has such a room hidden within its walls. On the other hand, he innately knew what this meant. He knew what the banner represented and a fear he didn’t know he possessed gripped his heart and squeezed it tight, unwilling to let go. He knew what it meant, a name bubbled up inside his mind - Xornoth .

A forbidden room, a forbidden name. Pix was not supposed to know. He was not allowed to know, or remember. As though the act of thinking about this - the act of attempting to forget - was a slight against the universe itself. To know, to try to forget, was a sin that cannot be washed away. This maelstrom alone made him more than dizzy. The more it pressed on his mind, the more he lost track of time and space, the more he tried to ignore it, the more it refused to be ignored.

Forbidden knowledge. He dug too deep and now he suffered the consequences, unable to rid himself of that which he was never supposed to even know existed.

Pix flew home. Too distracted to really know where he was, how long he's been flying, where he was going. Too distracted to even care whether or not he was going the right way.

He came home. The backside of the angel that watched over the catacombs pulled him on the right path again. He descended, flew inside the catacombs, traveled to the lowest levels. Opened a doorway to continue traveling through dark caves, to go to where his mind subconsciously took him.

The Machine. Nameless, for “machine” was all it ever needed. He stared with an empty gaze as he turned it on. The spiders dropped into the hole, died upon impact onto the stone. It took a while before that was processed; a pillar of sculk, slowly pushed to the surface. A cruel machine that intentionally killed hundreds of spiders to create this sculk - to create this resource that only ever existed to make someone stronger upon harvest.

Why had he created this?

He’d never worked with sculk, was the simple answer. For as long as sculk has existed within the worlds - the first few days after people realized this existed were wild -, Pix had wanted to do something with it. Within Empires, with his friends nearby, it seemed best to do it now. Because, if he didn’t do it now, he may have to wait an arbitrarily long time to create this one farm.

Somehow, that didn’t answer the question. Why did you create this?

Because nobody else had claimed it; Empires ran on one person claiming a farm, and nobody wanted to work with the sculk. It had been easy to claim, and an interesting building exercise.

Again, it didn’t feel right. Why did you create this?

A pause. A moment of self-reflection, in the now and then and later. He could still feel the sandstone his fingers brushed past down in the ancient city; it eased him into the answer.

Because I had to. The reasons behind the “had to” were unknowable, but it was a step in the right direction. He had to. Something deep within him willed him to create it. He hadn’t thought about it at the time - why would he even think about it that deeply? - but now it was difficult to ignore. He had an ulterior motive, and wasn't even aware of what that motive was.

“Pix?” a voice behind him said. “Earth to Pix?”

Pix turned around and turned to the voice. He blinked a few times before he recognized who stood in front of him, because he wore a sheriff head instead of a cod head.

“Jimmy!” The surprise to see his friend overshadowed the question of what a cod head had to do with everything. “You startled me. What are you doing here?”

“You invited me over,” Jimmy said. “You know, for the…”

“The froglight and gunpowder trade agreement. Right.”

Froglights and gunpowder - trade items from the ancient capital and Tumble Town respectively. They had always been good friends, but a proper trade agreement would solidify their friendship and alliance, allowing the other to purchase their chosen product in bulk and at a discount. It would make things better for both parties.

Was that meeting scheduled for today?

“Are you alright?” Jimmy asked as he furrowed his brow. “I saw you flying in from goodness knows where. I know you saw me, you were looking in my direction, but you just flew past me. Straight into here.” He glanced around the space before his worried gaze landed on Pix again. “I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes.”

Five minutes?

Pix glanced back at the Machine. It had only felt like five minutes standing here. How quickly had Jimmy followed him down? How long until Jimmy had come and started those five minutes? The Machine had taken some of his attention in the past, but never to this extent.

Never paired with that cursed forbidden knowledge that felt so familiar and that made him feel so strange.

“I’m so sorry,” Pix said and he sighed deeply. “I’m… I was thinking about something.”

“That deeply?” Jimmy questioned. He glanced at the Machine from around Pix - as the Sheriff, Jimmy was a little smaller than the others, even smaller than goblin fWhip. “When's the last time you slept?”

“The past doesn’t sleep, Jimmy, and neither do I,” Pix responded out of habit. He had already spent countless sleepless nights in this world, and many were certain to follow. Especially after the secrets he’d unearthed. It had definitely been a while since he’s had a full night’s sleep.

Jimmy was not pleased with the answer. “But you do need to-”

“I’m fine, Jimmy.”

Jimmy leaned back, almost took a step back as well, giving Pix a weird stare. Pixlriffs, at first, had no idea why Jimmy was so taken aback, until he realized he had snapped at his friend. Immediately, guilt washed over him - he shouldn’t have done that. Why did he even do that? The Codfather was a good friend and close ally of his, and alienating him is never a good idea.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision to snap at him.

Jimmy nodded cautiously at Pix. “Yeah… I can see that.”

He started to turn around, ready to walk away.

“Wait, Jimmy,” Pix said. The Sheriff couldn’t be allowed to leave with a bad image of Pix. Even if Jimmy could easily guess with hindsight that Pix may have had a rough time and hadn’t had enough sleep. Fortunately, Jimmy was willing to stop and allow Pix to defend himself.

“I haven't been sleeping well lately,” Pix explained himself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“No, you shouldn't have,” Jimmy said, as a cautious acceptance of that apology. “I can guess what's keeping you up.”

Once again, Jimmy’s gaze was drawn to the Machine. Pixlriffs did not follow it, for he knew what his friend was looking at.

Pix gave Jimmy a tired, sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious?”

Jimmy waited a second, processing the words Pixlriffs had just said.

“If you're going straight to that creepy sculk-making Machine, then yeah, it's pretty obvious,” Jimmy responded. “We’ve all got that strange city on our minds, but we can’t let it dominate our lives. But that thing is giving me the creeps, so I’m going back to the surface. I’ll wait for you there.”

Pixlriffs nodded. Yeah, it was probably a good idea to conduct their business not in front of the sculk-creating machine. Pix hadn’t even touched it beyond turning it on, but even in the sculk’s presence, it seemed to sap his strength. Or perhaps that was just a phantom of exhaustion that finally weighed down on him.

“I'll be there in a little while,” he told Jimmy. If he could just have a few more seconds to figure this out, perhaps he would know what was felt so wrong with the world.

“I have to leave in thirty minutes,” Jimmy responded.

“Then I’ll be there sooner.”

“Okay.”

The Sheriff turned around and walked away again, to the exit. Pixlriffs watched him leave.

“Jimmy.” At the very last second, Pix called his friend one more time. “I’m very sorry about snapping at you. It’s been rough.”

Jimmy nodded at him. There was no malicious look, no resentment or anger. Jimmy truly was an open book in that regard. Pixlriffs could breathe normally for the fact that his friend was not mad at him.

“I understand that,’ Jimmy said. “It’s been rough and weird for everyone. What I don't understand is that you won't allow yourself to rest. I’ll see you upstairs.”

With those words, Jimmy disappeared around a corner to make the long trek to the surface. Pix turned to the Machine again, drawn to the mysteries of the universe that tugged at him in two different directions and threatened to pull him apart if he wasn’t careful. He stared at the sculk as though it contained all the answers he could ever wish for, even if it only gave him a sliver of strength that faded all too quickly. He wouldn’t want to tempt himself with the promise of presumed knowledge if that, too, would fade too soon and would leave him with more questions than answers.

“I’ll rest,” he told himself while looking at the Machine. “I’ll rest. I just need to figure this out.”

Perhaps he never would.

It would have to wait. First, he needed to attend to his duties as the overseer of the ancient capital and the newly resurrected fruits of natural lights that were in high enough demand. He needed to make this trade agreement. Who knows, perhaps seeing the sun would give him a moment of clarity that could lead to his next breakthrough.

As promised, Jimmy waited outside of the catacombs, his gaze on the statue of the winged angel. At that location, in the warm afternoon sun, they drafted and completed this trade agreement. At the start, Jimmy was still a little apprehensive of Pixlriffs, but all those negative feelings had melted away. With a smile on his face, the Sheriff bid Pixlriffs goodbye and returned to the mesa, where his little Tumble Town awaited.

Pix watched him fly away, but his gaze was drawn to the winged angel. The idea had originally come from the idea that an angel watched over the dead, as they so often did. The likeness of this statue was constructed from stories Sausage would tell; how the jungle and his Sanctuary were blessed by the madre de girasoles . A matron goddess of the sun and harvest, whom he seemed to have great affinity with. Pixlriffs was more than happy to borrow the idea for the catacombs.

Of course, only recently did they realize the madre de girasoles had subconsciously been based on Pearl. Only recently did Pearl visit Empires and show up in what the world decided she should look like, which was a green dress and sunflowers in her hair - precisely the image of the madre the girasoles.

Consequently, the angel that watches over the catacombs is based on Pearl.

The longer Pix stared at her, the more he realized what it represented, even if he didn’t know what it represented when he first built it. Another unknowable factor that influenced him, and which still influenced him - which always ensured that he would know what he knew. A sight that reminded him of everything that was wrong with the world. One puzzle piece, blindly placed, that somehow fits, even though the bigger picture still eluded him.

He pulled his gaze away - he could not allow the burgeoning hate in his chest to fester and infect him.

Chapter 38: (13.2) Present concerns

Chapter Text

“I’m worried, Impulse. I’m very worried”

Impulse turned his head to his best friend in the whole world. They were sitting on the cliffs upon which Gem’s castle would be built - beneath which the Dwarven Keep stood silently. The sun was setting, and Pearl’s alien landscape looked especially nice from up here with this lighting. They didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy the sight - surely, Bdubs would soon sleep the night away again - but they would enjoy it while dusk lasted.

Even if Skizz just vocalized that something concerned him. He looked straight ahead, yet it felt more like he was distracted.

“Whatcha worried about, buddy?” Impulse asked him.

“Tango Top,” Skizz said. “You visited him recently, right?”

“Yeah, when you spent a couple of hours with Ren and Etho.”

“What was he like?”

He wasn’t doing great. He was preoccupied with his latest build - as he usually tended to be, completely consumed by it - but something had felt off. Something that Impulse could pinpoint after years of working together. He tried to pass himself off as distracted by his build, but something else was distracting him. The way Tango reacted to losing his very own evil glowing echo shard and its retrieval had already said enough.

“He really tried to convince me that he was okay. I don’t believe him,” Impulse responded. “He’s got one of those shards, too.”

Neat!” Skizz said, almost on instinct, and he already nodded as well.

“No! Not neat.” Impulse had raised his voice, but instantly shrunk back into himself and cleared his throat. Their different thoughts about whether or not these shards were harmful or not shouldn't get in the way of the conversation. “He’s really defensive about it, too, in a weird way. I don’t like it.”

“I believe you, dude,” Skizz said. No surprises there - he did tend to believe his best buddy.

One second later, Skizz continued in the same tone, without missing a beat: “I’m also kinda worried about you.”

Impulse’s eyes instantly widened.

“About me? What have I done that concerns you?”

With how serious Skizz sounded, Impulse believed he had done something seriously wrong. He wracked his brain, mulled over all of their recent interactions, trying to find that one moment that would make Skizz worried about him. Fortunately, this scare only lasted for less than a second, as Skizz immediately attempted to correct it.

“Nothing, dude! You didn’t do anything,” he reassured his friend. “You’re just looking a little tired. Bit drained. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

Skizz raised his hand and moved closer to his buddy, to place it against Impulse’s forehead. It stayed there for a second or two before Skizz retracted his hand.

“I feel fine!” Impulse said while Skizz stared at him. “I feel okay. Which is still good.”

The answer didn’t seem to placate his buddy. Impulse sighed. “I guess I’ve been overworking myself a little, lately. And Gem not being okay and me and Pearl taking care of her…”

Skizz gasped. “She didn’t make you sick, did she?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” Not that he knew of. Impulse was certain that whatever sickness afflicted Gem wasn’t causing him any harm. He’d asked Pearl, and she said that he would be fine. “In any case, I should–”

“You should stay here and rest.” Skizz placed a hand on Impulse’s shoulder, patted it twice and then stood up, unfurling the borrowed elytra.

Impulse frowned. “Where’re you going?”

“Getting some stuff to help make my buddy feel better,” Skizz responded. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move!”

Before Impulse could stammer out a response, Skizz had already jumped off of the edge and flew away to wherever he believed he could most easily find the stuff that would make Impulse feel better. Impulse watched his friend leave, and a smile crept up his face. He relaxed and waited there, at the top of the cliff, for his friend’s return, feeling lucky to have such a good friend.

The sun over Sanctuary gave the Wizard Gem comfort upon learning all she could from Pearl. Her gaze could not find purchase anywhere, her mind looking for a place to anchor herself. However, her thoughts were still swimming and her worldview turned upside down.

Pearl stood near her, her kind gaze on the Wizard of the Crystal Cliffs. The sun of Sanctuary shone brightly on her and her warm smile, her green dress, and the sunflower in her hair more than reminding the Wizard of her old friend. Though, there was little to be reminded of when she was the real deal. The madre de girasoles, the Farmer Queen of Gilded Helianthia, who stood there silently. Waiting for a response from her old friend.

Perhaps there may not be an immediate response. Perhaps it was not truly necessary. She would need the time to grasp everything she had been told and

“So,” Gem said, slowly. Her mind still rushed faster than her words would ever be able to say. “We… We did this. We made this.”

Pearl nodded. “We did.”

This . An unknowable, unquantifiable something that nonetheless has meaning. One word to encompass all of creation as everyone around them knew it.

One night, the Wizard Gem lost her brother to the sculk that had invaded their world. And, along with him, the other survivors as well. She was the last remaining ruler of their world and she would not stand for it. Magic at her fingertips, she studied and researched and found a way to make things right. Not necessarily to reverse what had happened, but to wipe the slate clean. No more troubles or pain or memories that hurt too much. A simple world without the Rapture, without sculk or the troubles of aging with either. A dream that only a wizard’s hubris and determination would ever consider making a reality.

She had considered the consequences, and yet it hadn’t been enough. Perhaps it was her age, perhaps it was a lack of time she had to spend studying, perhaps it was a lack of focus. But the Universe saw what was happening, and It said no. It tore at her with the power of the Void, tried to reel her in before any harm could be done. Wanted to erase her and her memory from the face of the earth for her trespassing into the territory of the Gods.

Pearl was there. Pearl had been there every step of the way. Without a body and little energy, there’s not much else to do but to watch and hope nothing bad happens. But it did - Gem was going to be undone and Pearl could not let it happen. With a divine hand, she guided the failed spell to a modicum of success - to a splintered universe with splintered worlds that popped into existence as easily as they crumbled, with new folks who appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye and made connections beyond anything that Gem could have ever dreamed of.

They made this. The Wizard Gem, with the help of Mother of Sunflowers, made this. Though it had allowed her friends to survive and thrive within the parameters she herself had set out before the spell was even cast, some wayward thought still crawled around in her head, writhed uncomfortably under her skin.

Despite knowing everything, it all still felt wrong.

“I don’t know these people.” Gem’s face almost turned into a frown. “I don’t know most of these people. I never wanted this to happen. Not like this.”

Not with strangers. In her perfect world, only those she knew would be there in their original forms. She would see no Codfather being diminished to a Sheriff, no Copper King made into an archaeologist. Her brother was not a goblin. And these strangers - these Hermits - did not belong.

“Neither did I,” Pearl said. “But it was this or your death. I couldn’t lose another friend.”

“You didn’t save fWhip,” the wizard spat at her. “Or Joel, or Sausage. You let them die.”

Pearl did not respond instantly. She took a deep breath, though her gaze never wavered under Gem’s glare.

“Fifty years is still a long time,” Pearl explained. “Especially for a god who’s lost her mortal form. I was still gathering strength.”

“But you could have done something,” Wizard Gem said. She started to raise her voice, rising with her anger. “It’s still fifty years of time. Why did you remain silent? Why didn’t you do something ?”

“I already did,” Pearl responded, her voice uncharacteristically cold and distant as she spoke. For the briefest moment, the clouds drifted in front of the sun and cast a dark shadow on the two women. For that brief moment, the Mother of Sunflowers retreated into herself and allowed that darkness to come forth. The next moment, the clouds dispersed and the sun returned, though its rays were not as warm as they were before. In her current state, Gem could not tell Pearl’s mood had slightly shifted.

“I did,” Pearl repeated herself in a calmer, more approachable tone, and she sighed. “Whatever you think I should have tried - I can assure you, I already have.”

“Even–”

“Yes. Even that.” She slowly shook her head. “I have always admired your confidence. Your belief that there is something we can do. It helped me jump into action on more than one occasion. But it doesn’t work.”

“Then you have to try harder,” Gem responded. Her hands clutched her staff, her knuckles now white. “I will try. It will work.”

“So you always say. You’ll try - I know you will, I’ve seen you do it - but it changes nothing.”

Sorrow permeated Pearl’s gaze, the sun’s light seeming to dim even more. “As I’ve told you before, Gem: I have seen everything. I know how this ends because I’ve seen it a million times before. I’ve seen what happens when we ask fWhip for help, or Sausage, or any of our other friends, or the Hermits, or anyone beyond that. It is always twisted to have the same outcome. The portal opens, our worlds are consumed, and the cycle starts anew more aggressively than before. The slate is wiped clean, and nothing is any different than before.”

Gem let the silence hang between them for a little while. She had heard Pearl explain it before, but hadn’t truly paid attention to it - her mind had been too hung up on the fact that she allowed this to continue to happen. Even now, she found it difficult to understand why a goddess like her wouldn’t be able to make any changes. If anything, none of this should have ever happened.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gem responded in as calm a tone as she could muster. “There has to be something we can do. I’ll figure it out. I will.”

Pearl nodded once. “I won’t stand in your way.”

With these final words, Gem considered the conversations one. She walked past her old friend and returned to the village, where she had been given a place to stay for the time being. Yes, she would need to keep an eye on Shelby, but that did not mean she would not be able to figure out a way to ensure that the future - as described by Pearl - would not happen.

Pearl watched her leave with that same sorrowful expression. For she has seen it all before, and though she admired Gem’s willingness to try, she knew that Gem would fail in her task.

She didn’t stop her, though. It’s always good for someone to have hope, especially if Pearl had none left.

Chapter 39: (13.3) The future beckons

Chapter Text

It thrums in Shelby’s head.

Its source was unknown. Despite everything, the voices from the fog seemed to have followed her. Broken free from the confines of the Evermoore, now drifting in and out of earshot, they always whispered in her ear. Never threatening, never raising their voices. Small whispers - on their own, not even something to mind. As many, a force to be reckoned with, that always had something to say, that always implored her to return.

It drove her insane.

The beautiful landscape… During The first few days, it brought her a sense of peace and quiet - it brought her solace. That had long since waned, drowned within the cacophony of those dissonant whispers that ultimately wanted to drive her out and away and back.

Back where? She’d asked on occasion. The whispers did not answer, but she instinctively knew where. A shiver ran down her spine whenever that answer tried to burrow its way into her mind.

“Hi, Shelby!” The voice of Sausage almost made her jump out of her skin; a voice that, for a second, she believed to be one of the many that suddenly decided to yell and greet her. Her heart rate slowly dropped again when she spun around and saw the good protector of the colorful jungle town and its surrounding lands.

“Hi!” she responded. “I’m alright, Sausage.”

He seemed to be taken aback by the response and blinked a few times. “How did you know I was going to ask that?”

“Because it’s all you’re asking about these days.” Every time he started a conversation while she was in his care, he asked her how she was feeling. She appreciated the sentiment every time, yet it became rather repetitive. “I’m okay.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

His lack of response was unsettling. He stared at her, still, as though gauging the quick answer she had given him. A penetrating gaze that seemed to pierce through her soul and the sculk that had been growing all across her.

The sculk… how was it so easy to forget about it? Her vision hadn’t changed much, in her opinion, though one eye had been clouded over as sculk tendrils reached for it. Part of her arms and shoulder were completely taken over, as well as parts of her leg. It did not impede her, though. It had to be bad.

It was all the wizard Gem could ever speak of, whenever they came to the topic. How it was all bad, how it had killed the Sausage, fWhip, and Joel from her world. How it was not to be negotiated with and to be exterminated when it was necessary.

Sometimes, Sausage was obnoxiously loud and the vibrant environment an assault on her sight.

Sometimes, her hand yearned to grasp the shard again.

“Well…” she continued while Sausage continued to stare. “I hope to be sure about that.”

That did elicit a reaction. Sausage nodded, happy with the answer that Shelby had given.

“It is good to have a positive mindset,” he said. “Hold onto your hope, because if you lose that, it’s not going to be great.

“Yeah, it won’t be,” Shelby said with a deep sigh. Hope… was she still clinging onto that? Or had she already lost so much that she could barely hold onto the sliver that had stayed with her?

“Besides,” Sausage continued, “You’re in a safe place here, if that’s something that worries you. Sanctuary is, well, a sanctuary! A hub for all sorts of magics and people who are more than happy to help you and accommodate and all that kind of thing. Because if there’s one thing everyone here knows, it’s that we’re all running from something, so you won’t be judged. Speaking of which, I’ve been talking to some people…”

At that point, Sausage started to rattle off a couple of names of people within the village who he thought would be able to help her. Even if it was just to help quell her fears, to calm her nerves, or to relieve her of her stress, he genuinely believed that every single one of them would offer her some help.

She genuinely believed they would not want to have anything to do with her once they knew what she harbored.

Still, the help was something to look forward to. Because, if the wizard was still too caught up with her research of the shard - she knew something and wasn’t telling Shelby everything - she would have to do with the townsfolk.

–

It thrums in her head.

The night brings no solace. The sheets offer no protection. The whispers, the voices, not any louder than they were before, but they are insistent. They wear her down, call for her in a unified message that she has no defense against.

“Come home.”

A sigh escapes her lips. Her exhaustion betrays her, and her body obeys the commands.

She throws the blankets off of her. Acting on instinct, not truly thinking. It thrums in her head, it’s difficult to think. Any little sound catches her attention. The rustle of the blankets, the planks creaking under her weight, the crickets and other bugs outside, reaching through the opened window.

As it thrums in her head, the sculk pulses with life. Regular, almost like a heartbeat, the otherworldly glow waxes and wanes. Never enough to illuminate her surroundings, but enough to keep her enthralled. Patterns swirl in front of her, seemingly torn from the sculk. Patterns come alive, dancing in front of her.They almost dampen the little sounds that threaten to overwhelm her in the dark, when any noise should not be made.

Her hands dress her. Her feet move to the door of her apartment. One hand reaches for the doorknob.

Her eyes are still closed. It may be best to open them.

The patterns remain, the world beyond blocked. She doesn’t think as she moves forward. the moon looks down on her, the voices encourage her to continue. To go on and return home. Not to the fog, but elsewhere. Another familiar location she must return to forevermore, for that is and always has been her destiny.

A faraway voice pierces through the symphony. She must ignore it; it does not belong to the chorus. She pays it no mind, continues as the voices shush her and quell any doubts that may arise from the intervention of this voice that she should know.

A hand grabs her shoulder. She sharply turns around, grabs the hand in turn. From it, sculk rapidly spreads. It begins to envelop the man’s hand, unable to pull it out of her closed grasp. The sculk reacts even more violently, growing and moving as though it lives, creating tendrils to reel him in and drain him for every drop of energy he harbors within.

His voice pierces through the chorus again. There’s panic, concern, fear. A desperate voice that attempts to break through to her.

She hears it and listens.

Another instinct takes over. She pushes him away and takes a few steps back. Put enough distance between herself and this man as the sculk recedes back to what

The patterns that dance in front of her eyes disappear. The voices grow weaker, yet remain present for they are always present. She starts to realize what has happened and where she is. She’s walking out of the village. She’s going to the harbor to get a boat to… somewhere. And she was just stopped and snapped out of this strange haze that she could not put into words.

Shelby looked at Sausage, who looked at her with a wariness and caution and fear in his eyes that had never been there before. He held the hand with which he had tried to stop her. No sculk remained, but the skin had a dull, gray coloration.

“Shelby?” he said. “Are you… are you you again?”

The truth of what happened settled within her. She brought her trembling good hand to her mouth to cover it, as her mind desperately tried to make sense of why she had done what she had done.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, I–”

“No, no, no, you’re good.” Sausage said. He gulped and cleared his throat. “You’re good. It’s okay.”

Shelby shook her head. “It’s not okay, Sausage.”

How could it be? He was hurting, she had done something to his hand that he still felt. If he wasn’t hurting, she still did something to her. The sculk, attached to her, did something to her, and she had only encouraged it. Or maybe she hadn’t encouraged it, but that didn’t make her any less complicit because it was attached to her. Still, the voices called her home. They hadn’t egged her on, but she instinctively knew that they needn’t do so.

“Okay,” Sausage then said. “Maybe it’s not. But you will be.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s…” he took a breath, took a moment to ponder his next words. “I’m hoping more than knowing. But I - I mean, you stopped. That’s good.”

“Tonight.” Just tonight, just that moment. “What if I don’t in the future?”

Sausage had no answer. She could see it, feel it emanate from him: the need to find an answer or any words that would comfort her and let her know that things would work out in the end. Even after being attacked, he still wished to ensure that she felt safe. She wasn’t sure that was ever going to be a possibility anymore.

Sausage didn’t deserve to try to comfort her. After everything, he should be afraid of her. What did she do to deserve such a friend?

“I’m terrified.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Sausage nodded slowly, and released his hand. It still looked too gray, too stiff. She was certain she’d done enough damage that it permanently destroyed some nerves or something. It didn’t look crushed, but it looked way beyond healthy, too.

“So am I,” Sausage said in earnest. Tonight, she had seen none of his usually goofy demeanor. These three words, spoken in all seriousness, convinced her that she had done something incredibly horrible. Yet, it also proved that when push came to shove and everything was stripped away, terrified of her - yet still here. Yet still willing to help. Still by her side even though she could crush him if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to; why had the thought crept into her mind? None of the voices whispered about it, her own thoughts conjured the image.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sausage continued, slowly approaching. “We can figure this out. We’ve got the wizard around and she’s extremely smart, so I’m sure she’ll be able to help you.”

“What if she can’t?”

“She will,” Sausage said, convinced of his own answer. “Trust me. She will.”

How could someone have such faith that would work out?

Because he did not know the extent of her condition. Because he was lying to himself as much as he was lying to her.

The terror grabbed a hold of her, pushed those tears out of her eyes. She tried to hold back the sobs, but Sausage instantly moved closer. She stumbled backward, to try to keep the distance, but he was quicker. Before she knew it, he gingerly placed his arms around her and wrapped her into a comforting embrace.

Shelby broke and clung to him as though he was the one thing that stopped her from falling over. He held onto her for as long as she needed it while she sobbed into his shoulder.

He kept an eye on the dormant pieces of visible sculk in the meantime.

Chapter 40: (14.1) Compulsion

Chapter Text

It didn’t sound good enough.

With deep frustration, Tango grabbed the sheet of paper in front of him, tore it into a million little pieces and threw it aside. Picking up the pen he’d just put down, he furiously scribbled onto the next sheet.

Was this his thirty-second attempt, or his thirty-sixth?

Did that even matter at this point? The words weren’t coming either way.

That wasn’t true. The words were coming. He knew what words would always flow from his pen if he wasn’t carefully curating the message he was writing out. So he was not just furiously and painstakingly writing that letter for the goodness-knows-how-manieth time, he was also trying not to let the words that would naturally come to him be committed to paper. He refused to recreate the message he had read while he was foolish enough to explore that ancient city again.

On top of all of that, his hands itched.

That was hardly someone else’s fault, even though he would want to put the blame elsewhere. He decided he wanted to wear these thick, unwieldy gloves that barely gave his fingers any space to move around freely. His hands yearned to be free from this prison he’d put them in. Yet, Tango refused to take off the gloves as well.

Better to grin and bear it than to be confronted by what he would see if he took them off.

Another letter, and another, and another. His fingers were cramped within the gloves, his grip on the pen not as strong as he'd like. Because he was focused on that pen and the gloves, he did not focus on his words and they turned into the familiar words he'd seen on the old paper. But whenever he focused on the words, the gloves and his hands and the pen commanded his attention again, and then the words started to slip back to the familiar…

More crumpled papers on the ground.

He growled to himself as the pile of papers around him grew. More and more, each bearing a similar message. If the papers didn't hold one that was mediocre and poorly composed, then the same few words and phrases continued to creep in.

The same few words, over and over again.

The same few words, unknowable yet always forcing their way onto the page.

Tango threw the pen across the room with a frustrated growl. It hit the cold stone wall and clattered onto the ground. It didn’t break; it just lay there. Even if it had, he had some spare pens on him. He still had more pieces of paper than he knew what to do with. He could still write his message.

When did he even decide he needed that many?

For Decked Out 2, his mind told him. To sketch out the levels before he would try to build them. The truth lay buried even beneath the plans and wild ideas for the lowest level of the dungeon crawl.

The Burning Dark, he’d called it in his mind. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, but he first needed to construct the citadel and build the first and second and third levels. Inspired by the ancient cities, it would be a terrifying place to sneak through, to evade the wardens in a corrupted maze-like cityscape.

How did he even come up with the idea of the Burning Dark? And why did it feel more and more like destiny than a fun idea?

Were any ideas his own anymore?

Tango’s hands itched, longed to be freed from the gloves - their prison. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the gloves off of his hands.

His stomach churned, but there would be shockingly little to throw up if he was spurred to do so. His fingers had grown thinner and more bone-like, yet less human. They connected to the palms of his hand and melded seamlessly into the sculk that had replaced skin and flesh. He tried to close his hand into a fist; it took more effort today than it did yesterday to use his fingers.

The tips of his fingers touched the sculk on the palm of his hands. Tango felt neither.

The plea for help was still stuck in his throat. His mind clouded by the promise of… something. The shard in the pocket of his dungeon master’s robes promised comfort and silence. Everlasting peace within nothingness. None can suffer when all there is to feel is nothing. It made sense, somehow, but his logical brain could not wrap his head around the concept. How can peace be found within nothing? What about all of creation? The many different worlds that existed and were so full of life - would they be able to find that same peace?

Tango stood up and walked away from the makeshift desk. Instinctively, he pushed the gloves into an empty pocket.

One tower had been constructed. One tower, and the gate that would become the entrance of Decked Out 2. The dark stone stood out against the clear blue sky, the purple accents making it pop. Hints of sculk, already incorporated in the walls, make him shrink back.

Had it been his own, original idea to include the sculk, or was that something he felt compelled to do as well?

He gulped, swallowed the emotions that rose within him. Still, a tear rolled across his cheek unimpeded.

“I don’t want to play a part in this,” he whispered with the smallest voice - the loudest he could muster.

He received no answer. The universe saw fit to make him suffer a little longer.

The whistling of rockets and the approach of company reached Tango’s ears before he saw it. Instantly, Tango rushed to the shadows over the hill where a hole opened up to a large cave. Perfect to build his newest game in, though currently more a mob farm than anything else. Still, he dove within a dark ditch and remained quiet.

Voices, coming from where he had been just a second ago. The familiar voices of Impulse and Skizzleman, carried to him by the winds. They called out to him, expecting him to be home.

I’m here, he wished to scream. I need you.

His shaking sculk-ified hands covered his mouth as the tremor set into his body. Tango remained silent.

His friends were standing too far from him. He could just hear their voices, but no clear words beyond his name. They stayed for a little while, likely spoke about where they believed he may be, and eventually left the area. Even after the sounds of their rockets faded, Tango forced himself to count to ten before emerging from this hole he’d crawled into.

Come back, he thought, silently begged them. Please come back.

You don’t need them, an invasive thought - speaking in his own voice - tried to convince him. They don’t know your struggle.

“I can’t do this alone,” Tango croaked.

Nobody was supposed to struggle on their own. Nobody should feel that they need to hide their affliction, and Tango did not deserve to feel like he could not rely on his best friends.

It wasn’t a choice. That’s what Tango realized as he noticed his hand had returned to the comfort of the shard in his pocket. He had not actively chosen for this life, nor had he actively chosen against it. His actions - from today and before - had not been a choice. Rather, he needed another word to describe this as.

Compulsion.

To pick up the shard… had that been a choice he actively made? Or did he mindlessly pocket it without second thought because he believed it was part of the standard loot one could easily find within ancient cities?

Loot usually appeared within the various chests within the city. They did not appear on the ground, where Tango had found this strangely glowing shard.

Perhaps curiosity would kill the cat this time. Or perhaps it would simply corrupt its host until there was nothing left of their own free will.

“I’m not doing this alone,” Tango said and he reached for his communicator. With this small helpful machine in hand, he could easily and quickly type a message. A quick, contextless “help” - even without follow-up - would be enough to let all Hermits know something was wrong. He could expect half of them to show up immediately, and the other half to arrive within half an hour. He was not the only Hermit in this world; he refused to go through this alone.

Of course, you won’t be alone, the invasive thoughts hushed him. You are never alone.

It took Tango a second before he processed what was being said and what it implied.

Without any vigor, he returned to the desk and picked up one of the many pens in his position. Along with that, he took one of the many sheets of paper and sighed deeply. He allowed himself to slouch, to take on a bad posture, to feel the exhaustion within that accompanied the struggle. A struggle which, he may later think to himself, had been worthless. It only delayed the inevitable.

The pen flew across the page, and the words he had tried so hard to hold back spilled onto it.

I can’t take this any longer.

I’m going. Don’t try to follow; it won’t end well.

Don’t worry about me. When you read this, there won’t be a me to worry about. Worry about the false promises of the wizard instead.

I love you all. It’s been a pleasure to be your friend.

Tango put down the pen, stood up, and left his citadel.

Chapter 41: (14.2) Obstinacy

Chapter Text

The end draws near.

The feeling in Pearl's chest had been building up again. The knot in her stomach grew bigger and the nausea that accompanied the End of Everything started to rear its head. Once again, the inevitable had been set into motion: the wizard understood what she had done. The desperate sought to return to what he considered the status quo. The lost one would find answers in the Void and turn away from her completely.

And soon, the End of Everything would come and start the struggle anew. With little change, except that Gem - poor Elven Gem - would collapse almost instantaneously. Would Pearl even have the chance to tell her what was going on, or would Impulse walk in on her cradling Gem's limp and violently ill body?

“Pearl!”

As though the universe wished to taunt her, his voice pierced through her thoughts. The work she had set out to do - to expand the alien landscape - had been left to the wayside. Instead the chest she'd opened still stood opened, the moss peeking out from over the rim. When she looked up, the familiar Dwarven silhouette of her close friend floated nearby, already started his descent after a short journey with the elytra

Pearl took a breath, to prepare herself for the conversation. She closed the chest - no use keeping it open when she wasn't going to use the resources anyway - and faced Impulse.

“Hiya, Impulse!” she greeted her ever-jolly friend, though today the bags under his eyes seemed a little more prominent than they were before.

“Hi!” Impulse said. “How are you doing?”

“I could be better,” she responded, “but you should say that, too! Are you feeling alright?”

Impulse shrugged nonchalantly, though his exhaustion was betrayed by how his shoulders were just a little slumped down.

“I’m just a little tired, ‘s all,” Impulse said. Then, with a little more energy, he adamantly added: “I’ve checked, I’m pretty sure it’s not knowledge fever. It can’t be, I’ve only known for a little while.”

He's only known for a little while this cycle. What Impulse always failed to understand, however, was that it transcended the cycles. A hundred cycles ago, the hermit Gem was still conscious and able to help and contribute. A hundred cycles ago, the Joel who was a god was not feeling under the weather and hiding the symptoms. A hundred cycles ago, Impulse did not look as tired today.

“Yeah,” she responded. “Gotta be something else.”

Impulse nodded, satisfied but not convinced by the answers. The more cycles passed, the more difficult it was for Pearl to convincingly lie and for Impulse to fall for it. She hasn't been called out for it, though. Perhaps he could sense the weight that had piled up on her shoulders and chose to let it slide.

“I actually…” he cleared his throat before he continued. “I came to talk about Tango.”

Tango. The topic she had been expecting.

She nodded once, and clouds started to gather above their heads. “Impulse, we talked about this–”

“And I’m not going to ask any specific questions,” Impulse reassured her before he launched into his rant. “I know I’m not supposed to, so I won’t. But I just… I need to talk about this with someone, y’know. Someone that isn’t Skizz, someone who knows .”

“You’re worried. “

“More than worried.” Impulse sighed, told his tale in a rather animated way. “He’s got one of those shards, Pearl. He’s got one of them and he’s weirdly protective of it. Skizz and I wanted to visit him today - just wanted to check up on him, seeing how well he was doing, but he wasn’t home. We couldn’t really find him, well, anywhere!” He motioned wildly with his hands, which ended in him frustratingly throwing them up and a groan. Pearl allowed him to show his frustrations.

“I’m beyond worried,” Impulse continued, a little less animated than before. He let his shoulders hang and his sorrowful gaze couldn‘t stay on Pearl. “I’m afraid of losing a good friend to something that can be so easily snatched away from him.”

Tango's shard.

“He’d react violently,” was all Pearl could say about it.

She had seen it play out. More than once, under different circ*mstances. When taking away the shards from those most heavily influenced by it, they would react rather violently. She had seen Tango, frothing at the mouth, more sculk than man, viciously attacking those he would call his friends. Another, more man than sculk, yet his mind warped by the shard, tearing flesh from Skizz's arm. In another, Tango commanded the sculk that grew on him to strangle those who confronted him.

It never ended peacefully. He always retrieved the shard.

“He would thank us later, once he returns to his senses,” Impulse said, oblivious to the scenarios that ran through her mind. “Or is that not something that would happen? We take his shard and he becomes violent and we can’t get him back?”

“Impulse…”

“Right, no questions.” He nodded, remembering the rule they always put in place before any information between them was shared. A safety measure that, at first, had worked wonders. The more cycles passed, however, the less effective it seemed to be. Especially now that Impulse himself showed the first symptoms of knowledge fever. She knew it wouldn’t affect him for the next couple dozen cycles, but his condition would worsen. One cycle, both Impulse and Gem would faint and not awaken, and Pearl would not even have the chance to explain herself.

She didn’t concern herself with how it would look if Impulse was taken out of the equation, too. His role would likely be filled by another, as hermit Gem’s was.

Impulse sighed. “It’s still driving me nuts, though.”

“I understand that,” Pearl said empathetically.

“Do you?”

It was a visceral reaction. A quick question, thrown out. Impulse seemed to have surprised and shocked himself with this, but he remained firm in the choice he made. He kept his gaze on her, in an attempt to show the conviction behind these words. Do you understand?

Pearl remained silent. She hadn’t quite expected it - for all the knowledge in her mind, she still couldn’t predict what anyone would specifically tell her in any given conversation - but allowed it to hang between them.

“I don’t want to question you, but do you?” Impulse continued when he realized he wasn’t going to get the pushback he may have expected. “There’s gotta be something you can do. Something with those magic fingers of yours and your direct line with the universe itself. I can’t tell how powerful you are, but you’ve gotta be pretty dang powerful. Yes, we have to abide by those laws, but screw them! Screw them all if you can even do one little thing to help Tango. He needs all the help he can get.”

The beggar finished his plea, and the goddess nodded once.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

The words rolled too easily off her tongue. She made the promise, she would look into it. But that did not mean she would find anything beyond what she had found all those times before. She’d have to consult the same resources, the same knowledge base, and she was certain nothing new would present itself. Every loophole has already been exploited, and every little trick applied. Every single time, it backfired in unpredictable and explosive ways. Tango could not be saved, and neither could hermit Gem. Eventually, neither would Impulse be helped.

Even so, Impulse sighed in relief. Whether he believed her was not for Pearl to know - it was always much of a coin toss, anyway - but she was glad that the answer gave him some solace.

“Thank you,” Impulse said. “I’d do it myself, but, y’know… I’m not a god. And you are, so…”

He let the sentence trail off, whatever the back half of the sentence would be unknowable.

“You should be glad you’re not,” Pearl told him.

Impulse frowned. “Really?”

“It’s a lonely existence.”

Perhaps it wasn’t godhood that was lonely; perhaps it was being the only one who knew from beginning to end all that could happen during the cycles that singled her out and separated her from her oblivious friends.

“Didn't you have other gods or something to speak with?” Impulse asked her. “With other domains?”

“The Void and I are not on good terms,” Pearl responded. “I'm not sure that others exist, but if they do, they are dormant.”

She mentioned the other gods at another time. Impulse must’ve remembered this off-hand comment, but not its context. Any time she learned about the existence of another god, she had woken them from their slumber. Their involvement had always escalated things to the point of speeding up the growth of sculk, the growing influence of the shards, and the Void. Its speaker may not have always been its champion yet, but he would always find his way to the ancient city. It was only a matter of time before hate grew within the Speaker’s chest and would turn away from the light to embrace the darkness.

“Hey,” Impulse said. His words snapped her out of her thoughts again, and his hand on her shoulder already provided more comfort than she could have hoped for. “You've got us. You're a Hermit, so you'll never not have us.”

A smile appeared on Pearl’s face, and the clouds parted again. Even so, the sun did not shine as brightly as she had in the morning.

“Wasn't thinking of leaving any time soon,” she reassured him.

“Great!” Impulse said cheerfully. For a second, it seemed his worries had completely left. “Well, I gotta go. Keep’s not gonna build itself and Skizz needs to be entertained.”

He already turned, readjusting the elytra on his back and taking out some of the fireworks he’d use to propel him back to his Dwarven Keep. Yet, those words sparked something in Pearl’s mind. Something that she should have known about but had forgotten to mention yet.

The End of Everything draws near. Nothing can change it.

Impulse was here. Everything she had tried before had failed.

Perhaps a small part of her still clung to the hope people would listen to her.

Pearl placed a hand on Impulse’s shoulder, preventing him from taking off. “Hey, Impulse.”

“Yeah?” He turned his head to her again, a frown on his face.

“You… you might not want to spend as much time with Skizz.”

His face instantly dropped.

“Why not?” Any other questions were swallowed, his gaze one of confusion and uncertainty. Like a hurt puppy looking right at Pearl.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t see him anymore,” Pearl then said. “I just want you to consider the time you’re spending with him wisely.”

She removed her hand from his shoulder, and Impulse slowly nodded.

“Noted,” he said solemnly. “I’ll catch you later.”

Impulse took off. Pearl watched him for as long as he was able to before a breath escaped her lips. A cold breeze played with her hair and nearly knocked the safety helmet off of her head, and a pack of gray clouds nearly threatened to rain down on the world.

She gave her warning. Impulse listened and had considered it. Yet, when she looked at him, she instantly knew that he would not be able to heed her words. You can’t tell him to stay away from one of his best friends, especially when another of his best friends was in such a terrible state.

Who was she kidding? Impulse would still spend time with Skizz. That sole choice, whether it had been conscious or not, had already sealed his fate.

She shouldn’t think as though these choices ever led to different outcomes. The journey may be different, but everyone would still end in the exact same position every single time the Ancient Portal collapsed and started a new cycle.

She opened the chest again and took out the moss, hoping that terraforming would take her mind off of what will always be.

Chapter 42: (14.3) Enticement

Chapter Text

Sometimes, it was good to get out of the house. To leave what you have grown familiar with and to go out into the whole wide world. With a world as big and ever-changing as Hermitcraft, Scar had thought it a good idea to bring Joel and just have him get back into the flow of a normal life. Gathering resources, socializing, building your own little home that would easily grow into a megabase. From what he knew, Joel was a quick builder who could create a magnificent mansion in the span of hours - if he had the materials on hand.

So, if they grabbed just some more materials, then Joel could get started. The stretch of land between Scarland and Grian’s base was unoccupied, and nobody wanted to deny Joel the ability to build a place of his own. The hermits may be able to provide him with the rarer resources, but it would do him good to go caving, mining, and generally to get his hands dirty.

It would help get his mind off of things, too. The few times that Scar had watched him, Joel hadn't been in the best mood. His uncharacteristically small frame drowned in Grian's sweater and he had refused to wear anything else since they had to break the news his regal costume nearly disintegrated when it came into contact with water. He spoke at length when prompted and vented to his heart's desire, but barely chose to bring any of it up himself. Sometimes, he even forgot himself or his surroundings, caught in his thoughts.

Sometimes, Scar wondered if this version of Joel ever even fully left the wastes he called home.

Still, they went caving in a part of the world where few people have been before. It should have enough resources in the wall to fulfill their goals.

That, and Joel was able to talk about anything he wanted again, prompted by Scar's many questions.

“So she was amazing,” Scar said after Joel finished another segment about his wife, the ten-foot-tall ocean goddess version of Lizzie. He placed a torch against the wall to light the way forward in this dark and twisting deepslate tunnel. He should have been consistent about that before, but he did sometimes remember to keep the way they came from lit up as well.

“And so much more than that.” Joel spoke lovingly and in reverence of her. He sounded and seemed so much more alive while he recounted tales of his life before the Rapture - that big apocalypse that wiped out nearly everything. “She was beautiful and powerful. The oceans would part at her command. She spoke and everyone listened.” For a moment, a quiet pause as Joel dug out some of the deepslate around the lapis in the wall. “She scammed many tourists out of their money with her ocean tours.”

Scar nodded approvingly. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”

“She's taken,” Joel responded sharply, shooting him a glare. “Find your own conwoman.”

Scar instantly recognized he crossed a line he hadn't known he shouldn’t have crossed. The topic of Lizzie, after all this time, was still a sore one.

“Hey, Lizzie's on Empires right now,” Scar mentioned, in an attempt to mend the mood. “If you want-”

“No,” Joel responded in that same sharp tone. One more swing with the pickaxe, and the lapis dropped to the floor.

Scar frowned. “Why not?”

Joel collected the lapis and looked at Scar again. Perhaps he wanted to use that same sharp tone, but something had already softened in his gaze. The melancholy that always seemed to be present seeped back into him.

“It's not the same,” Joel said. He turned away from Scar, holding out the torch in his hand to light the way forward. Behind him, after traveling around the next corner, Scar placed the next torch against the cave wall.

“Really?” Scar asked. “I thought you'd want to see her in any universe.” He had definitely assumed so, with the way Joel spoke about her.

“I would…” Joel sighed, “but not like this.”

Scar frowned. "Like what?”

Joel stopped in his tracks and fully turned to Scar. He let his shoulders hang, an uncertain look in his eyes, but with the conviction that he would be able to explain his point of view.

“It's like… if you saw Grian, right, and you go up to him. And you would speak with him and… perhaps not even speak, you'd take one glance and you know. You just know. They look alike, they sound alike, they have the same intentions and goals and it's them…” Joel sighed and shook his head. “But it's not them. Not really. It's them, but slightly to the right. Slightly wrong. Nothing suggests the change has happened, but it has. Because she doesn't know. She claims to, but she doesn't.”

Joel took a deep and steady breath, almost seemed like he would allow himself to fully disappear into the sweater. He wasn't looking at Scar, but the hermit could almost feel the sorrow radiating off of Joel in a way that he hadn't truly experienced or paid attention to before.

“Oh, wow,” was all Scar could say. He did wish to speak up in support, but didn't know what to say. “That's…”

“Heart-breaking,” Joel finished the sentence for him. “To watch the rapture unfold because of some stupid fish… to see the waters that she called her home and her domain drain away. To watch all the power and wisdom drain away with the waters.” Almost instinctively, his hand reached forward, into the darkness of the cave ahead, as though reaching out for her spirit. Joel quickly retracted that hand, though.

“She didn't… I tried to make her remember, but she didn't recognize me. She couldn't…”

Scar stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder. “I'm sorry, Joel.”

Joel shrugged the hand off.

“You've got nothing to apologize for. Unless you started that apocalypse.” He turned to the hermit, with a semi-suspicious glance. Scar could barely tell whether he was joking or not.

“Wasn't me,” Scar said, choosing to interpret it as a joke.

The path forward, as it had been before, was calm and quiet. They could easily mine the ores from this tunnel without any ambushes or signs of life. Scar almost wanted to make a comment about their broken luck when they walked around the next corner.

All the deepslate of their tunnel slowly transitioned to the familiar weird moss-y substance known as sculk. Veins protruded from it, clawing ever forward to transform anything they touched into sculk. In the distance, a single sensor stood watch over the continuing tunnel. It was far enough away that it wouldn't be able to pick up on the noises made by two people stumbling in the darkness.

“Well,” Scar said when he saw the sculk. “That explains the absence of mobs.”

Joel nodded. “It sure does.”

He exchanged the pickaxe for a hoe. He took one step deeper into this tunnel.

One step. That was enough for Scar to realize why so few hermits have been this far and why nobody else had come here, especially not since Hermitcraft and Empires members met in the city this tunnel likely connected to. When the realization came, Scar almost stumbled over his feet to block Joel's path forward.

Joel gave Scar an annoyed look. “What are you doing?”

“We shouldn't go down there,” Scar said. “This goes to the Ancient City.”

“So?”

“The Ancient City we're not allowed to go to.”

Joel gave Scar the most incredulous look he could give. He did not try to barge past Scar, but he did continue to stare at him.

“Since when do you care about the rules?” Joel wondered. “What about a little adventure?”

“I do! I'd love some adventure!” Scar responded, nodding fervently. Oh, how he wished for adventure and to go where he was explicitly told not to go. “But! But I also do care about the rules when they are intended to keep us all safe.”

Joel frowned. “Safe from what?” He genuinely didn't seem to know. He briefly glanced over Scar's shoulder to the still sensor. “Have you noticed that nothing has happened?”

Scar opened his mouth and closed it. Joel kind of had a point there. Nothing really had happened since the rules not to disturb the Ancient City have been put into place. However, a more critical voice in the back of his mind argued, those rules had been put in place for a reason. Xisuma wouldn't just make those rules along with fWhip if it wasn't very serious.

Also, there was something about Joel's determination to go there that unsettled Scar. More a vibe or a gut feeling than anything else, Scar did not feel great with Joel going there and, for a lack of Grian or other authority figures, that role fell to him.

“But Shelby wasn't doing great,” Scar said in an attempt to keep Joel away from the Ancient City. However, that didn't do anything to change Joel's behavior.

“That whole situation happened even before the city, from what I've heard,” Joel said.

That may be true, but she had a shard. Scar wasn't fully informed on the whole situation, either, but he thought he'd heard that Shelby had one in het possession. And Grian had one, too! A shiny one, at that, one that Scar sometimes found himself thinking about at the strangest of times. If he remembered correctly, then Tango - who'd been acting suspiciously weird lately - also had laid claim to one such shard.

“And Tango–”

Joel already waved away the concerns Scar would vocalize.

“People are just paranoid that Tango's working so hard on his citadel for the wrong reasons. He's just working on an incredibly big project and - take it from me - those take time.” He paused for a second, giving Scar a look that almost communicated ‘trust me on this’. Which Scar was inclined to do, as Joel had proven time and time again he was an insane builder. “Scar, neither of those things have to do with the Ancient City. Have you even been down there since?”

“Grian has.”

Grian definitely had. He went on his own, without Scar, who would have accompanied him if he’d asked. But he hadn’t asked because he wanted to be stealthy and Scar knew about himself that he could definitely be stealthy.

“That's because Grian's got the right idea,” Joel argued. “He went back to loot an ancient city that hasn't been looted from yet. He got a new crystal echo shard out of it and saw bones the sculk hadn't eaten. Don't you want to see those mystery bones with your own two eyes, to make sure that Grian wasn't making things up?”

Scar shook his head. “He wouldn't lie about that.”

Joel folded his arms and stared at Scar, who found it extremely difficult to gauge what their visitor was thinking.

“Why are you so bloody defensive today?” Joel asked.

“I'm not defensive,” Scar stammered, not making the greatest case for himself. “I'm just–”

“I see, Joel said, nodding. “You're afraid to come with me to that ancient city.”

“I'm not afraid,” Scar answered instantaneously and without thinking it through.

Joel pointed to the tunnel that continued behind Scar. “Then come with me.”

Scar nodded once. “I will.”

“Wonderful. Let's go!”

Joel was allowed to move forward, hoe at the ready to disable that sculk sensor before it could send any sounds it picked up to a hidden shrieker. Scar followed him, yet a few steps later he already regretted his decision.

He couldn't back out, though. He didn't want to be seen as a chicken. He was not afraid for himself - he just wondered what Joel would be looking for in an ancient city. He had been a little interested in the shards before and while Scar would love to have one for himself, he wasn't sure whether he would trust this version of Joel with one.

It worried him enough to quickly shoot Grian a private message telling him that he and Joel were going into a city.

“What do you even want to do down there?” Scar eventually asked.

“It's simple, really,” Joel said. “We're going to find me a way back home.”

Chapter 43: (15.1) Anger

Chapter Text

Sanctuary was never not going to be beautiful. The way the sun filtered through the bamboo, how the innate magic of the land seemed to dance between the people and animals that lived in it. The colorful homes always managed to cheer up the wizard Gem - it was great to know that Sausage, in this world, was a little happier with a little less demonic possession. Today, however, they did not succeed in this regard. The wizard marched through the town to go to Sausage’s small castle and the houses did not fill her with the same sense of wonder or homeliness she had grown used to.

“They’re not in any of these homes,” the goblin fWhip reminded her. “They’re up there.”

“I know,” Gem responded, and she tore her gaze from the houses and its people to the top of the hill, where she could just see the roofs rise above the tops of the bamboo. “I guess I hoped for comfort.”

Which is why she asked for fWhip to come with her. She hadn’t just asked him; Jimmy and Pixlriffs also let her know they would be there, but fWhip had arrived early and Gem could not wait. fWhip knew this version of Shelby better than she did, and she wanted as many people here who knew how to help her if she needed it. And, selfishly, his presence calmed her down, too.

It wasn’t her brother. This fWhip, the little goblin man, was not her brother, nor could he ever be. Yet, he shared too many similarities in personality and appearance that the differences, though striking, barely mattered in his presence. She wished she could have spent more time with him than what little she managed, but she also had to work. To meet with the Hermits, visit her Hermit counterpart, to get to know the Empires folks all over again without trying to see who she knew them as, to speak with Pearl and learn in broad strokes what the future and past had in store for them.

Those conversations were what prompted her visit to Shelby. If all was well, Sausage was already with her, doing some small talk and keeping her calm while he waited for the wizard to arrive.

It wasn’t a long walk, especially when speaking to someone so familiar and foreign at the same time. Soon, they were let in the gates of Sausage’s ‘humble’ home and brought to where Sausage and Shelby were staying. Sausage had opted to place Shelby in the spacious living room, where four different plants grew in pots and against the walls. She was seated on one of the couches and lifted her head.

It hasn't spread. The sculk that had been there before had not spread out as it had done so rapidly before. It only validated Gem’s theory that Shelby’s proximity to the shard had something to do with its spread across her skin. All the more reason to break the news and help Shelby on the right path toward recovery, in whatever form that would be taken.

“Hi!” Shelby greeted the wizard and the goblin when they entered. Already, her smile faded when she saw Gem’s serious face. “Is something wrong?”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Gem prefaced the conversation.

Already, Shelby perked up. Any worries from before had already melted and she stood up. “You’ve got news about my shard.”

The way she spoke and how she watched the wizard with a yearning gaze for her prized possession was almost unsettling, and the men in the room exchanged some looks.

“I do,” Gem said, and she gestured to the couch again. “You might want to sit for this.”

Shelby frowned at Gem. When she got no immediate answer, she turned to fWhip and Sausage to see what they would say on the matter. Sausage already nodded.

“You do really want to sit,” Sausage said. “I mean, when I heard what she had to say, I was nearly blown away.”

“Really?” Shelby asked, and Sausage continued to nod.

“Yeah, it’s–”

“Sausage?” fWhip interrupted him. “Maybe you should let the wizard speak.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

Sausage turned his head to her, as did fWhip and Shelby. The wizard Gem had undivided attention in this room. The longer she put off telling her, the more painful it would be for all of them, so Gem took a deep breath and just told Shelby the status of her shard

“You are not getting your shard back.”

The following silence was deafening. Shelby was trying to process the information, but she could not quite get there. She blinked a few times, searched in the gazes of fWhip and Sausage the confirmation that she had misheard it, and then looked at Gem again. Shelby looked so lost and desperate, trying hard to rationalize this turn of events.

“What?” she eventually said in the smallest voice Gem had ever heard her speak.

“You heard me,” Gem said, relying on her authority as a headmistress and ruler to support her message. “You're not–”

“Where is it now?” Shelby asked.

“In a safe space.”

The shard almost seemed to double its weight after answering the question. If it was as dangerous as Pearl insinuated, it may not be the safest to carry it around. Yet, this meant that it was always on Gem’s person and that she could always keep an eye on it. If it lay around somewhere, someone could easily grab it - which ought to be avoided at all costs.

“It's really for the best,” fWhip said when he noticed Shelby was looking distraught and pale.

“That shard is extremely dangerous,” Gem added. Hopefully, the explanation would make her understand. “You can't hide the sculk anymore. It is a dangerous organism that is actively eating your soul and replacing pieces of your skin and intestines with sculk. It’s replacing you and influencing your thoughts.”

And every cycle, if Pearl was to be believed, it became worse and worse, as the sculk apparently remembered the progress it had previously made and hastened the process.

Shelby shook her head. “That's not true.”

“Shelby, we can literally see it happen,” fWhip said, pointing out the different veins of sculk that he could see.

“Yeah, that sculk on your skin looks nasty,” Sausage added.

“I feel fine,” Shelby snapped, standing back up.

“You're not fine,” the wizard responded just as sharply.

“You know, it's not the end of the world,” fWhip said, trying to salvage the mood and the situation. He moved closer to where Shelby stood. “We can try to cleanse this shard for you, since it's clearly bad for you in this state. And then, when it’s cleansed, you’ll get it back without all the nasty sculk stuff. Everybody wins, everybody’s happy.”

Shelby looked at fWhip speak when her eyes widened. She quickly glanced at where his pockets were.

Shelby looks up at fWhip and her eyes widened. “You've got my shard.”

Gem wanted to step forward. She’d wanted to interrupt, to let her know that it was her who held the shard and that fWhip had nothing to do with it. Yet, before she could do anything, fWhip already spoke up.

“Yes, I've got it,” fWhip responded. “And I'll take good care of it–”

Shelby jumped toward fWhip her hands reached out forward.

“fWhip!”

Gem didn’t even know she screamed. She barely realized what she was doing, but it was good. She raised her staff and expended some energy to cast a protective shield around fWhip. Shelby had leaped up and scratched at him and his pockets, to grab the shard. He did not have it, however, and instead he suffered the sculk growing from veins on her hands onto his body, taking root within and spreading slowly when the magical shield separated him from Shelby.

Shelby backed away while Gem and Sausage rushed over to where fWhip lay on the ground. He was conscious, still, but quite hurt. Sausage immediately called upon nature magic to help stabilize him while Gem looked up to Shelby.

She couldn’t see her clearly. She’d been crying already, whereas Shelby showed no remorse.

“You don’t have it. None of you,” Shelby said. She glanced at Sausage and Gem and then ran out and away.

Gem watched her leave, but turned to the goblin on the ground. Sausage had lulled him to sleep so he wouldn’t have to feel the sculk creep up his body. While he kept his friend stable, Gem tried to call on her magic to protect him from the sculk as she’d protected her little sanctuary within the Crystal Cliffs from it.

Her hands were shaking, her vision blurry from the tears. She blinked and saw a goblin asleep, barely touched yet in pain. She blinked again and she saw broken goggles on his head, sculk covering his whole body, her brother’s weak voice begging her not to take things too far. Another blink, and she saw the goblin again.

She already failed to save him once, she could not afford to fail now.

At some point, she managed to halt the spread of the sculk. What little of the hostile organism was present still must be pretty painful and was rather alive, but fWhip wouldn’t feel the pain, nor would he be aware of what it was doing to him.

“He'll live,” Gem said with the deepest sigh. “Thank the gods, he'll live.”

“That's good,” Sausage said. Though he’d removed his hands, he still concentrated on keeping him asleep. “Can you cure him of this? It’s not a lot.”

“I don’t think I can.” Her magic was more geared toward the discovery of secrets of the universe and utility, not so much toward healing. “But I know someone who might.”

If anyone could do it, then it would be Pearl. It wouldn’t change anything in the course of these cycles, but the least she could do would be to make sure that fWhip was able to make his own choices throughout this and face whatever ending Pearl believed they were headed toward head-on.

“That’s good to hear,” Sausage responded. “If you can bring them over as quickly as possible, that’d be great. But… will they be able to save Shelby?”

“I’m not sure.” Maybe Pearl could be convinced to save Shelby, too. “I wish she would’ve… but she’s gone. Shelby’s too far gone.”

Sausage glanced up at her with a worried gaze. Gem could see the effort of someone who was trying to make sense of this puzzle while missing a few crucial pieces. Even so, he nodded once.

“You know more about that kind of stuff than I do,” he said. “You find that healer and send them here. Go after Shelby, I’ll take care of fWhip.”

“Are you sure?” The question left her mouth before she could help it. She glanced at the sleeping goblin on the floor, tendrils appearing where Shelby had grabbed him in search for her shard. Still, she sometimes saw the image of her deceased brother instead of the saved leader of the Goblands.

“I’ve got him, don’t you worry,” Sausage said in a comforting tone. “Just send that healer over and then go and save Shelby.”

The wizard gave him a nod. It appears that, in every universe, she could rely on him. “Thank you.”

She walked over the door and turned around one last time. Sausage, still concentrating, was trying to find the best way to move fWhip to the couch without touching the sculk that grew on him. He didn’t bother asking for help, because he knew Gem would bring help soon, either way. She closed the door behind her and turned to look at the footsteps in the hall that drew her attention.

Pixlriffs and Jimmy. Both had heeded her call and had come. The sheriff and the archeologist looked a little confused, but they walked up to her. Jimmy did try to look past her when she closed the door behind her and approached.

“What’s going on?” Pixlriffs instantly asked her.

“Are they okay?” Jimmy wondered, still sort of glancing over Gem’s shoulder to the closed door. He must’ve seen fWhip’s small body on the ground and Sausage standing protectively over him.

“fWhip…” Gem sighed. “He’s going to be okay, I think. Sausage says he can help, and I trust him. Shelby did it.”

“Shelby?” Jimmy frowned even more than before, while Pix already put two and two together.

Gem nodded. “She attacked fWhip and then ran away. I don’t know where she went.”

The Wizard could only think about a select amount of places that the witch of the Evermoore could have gone to. For starters, back to her home in the middle of the fog. Which wasn’t the greatest idea. She could also have gone to Katherine’s, for some comfort. A few more places came to mind - Shelby would have even fewer reasons to visit or stay, but they would provide some cover while they searched the main locations first.

Jimmy and Pix glanced at one another and then back at Gem. Pix folded his arms, already deep in thought, while Jimmy said his own thoughts aloud for everyone to hear.

“Why did she… what did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Shelby attacked; Gem only reached out to defend herself and the goblin who looked and acted so much like her brother. “But I did tell her she couldn’t have her shard back. It’s too risky, too dangerous.”

“Do you think she could have gone to the Ancient City?” Pix said. “That’s where the shards come from, right? Perhaps, if you didn’t want to give hers back, she could’ve gone out to find another.”

The Wizard did not like that suggestion. One, because it made too much sense with Shelby’s current state of mind. Two, because of course she would return to the Ancient City, that’s what Pearl warned her about. The mother of sunflowers hadn’t warned her the attack would target fWhip, though, or that it would be deadly without her interference.

In fact, come to think of it, Pearl barely said anything beyond the most basic broad strokes. They would have to talk about that after this whole situation would be resolved.

“That’s where I’m going, then,” Gem said with determination. She straightened her back, trying to shake off what little panic still resided within her. Trying to emulate the perfect image of a good headmistress and powerful wizard. “She needs help immediately. I cannot let her suffer.”

If push came to shove, respawn existed. The method hadn’t been proven to be helpful or harmful, but they would have to try. Even in the worst case, Shelby would be out of the Ancient City.

“I’ll come along,” Pix said with a nod.

“Me, too,” Jimmy said, mimicking Pix’s nod.

“No.”

Jimmy’s enthusiasm instantly faded, and he and the wizard both looked at Pixlriffs, who sounded so sure when he spoke that last word.

“No,” Pix repeated himself, looking directly at Jimmy. “You’re not helping.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Excuse me, what?”

Pix sighed and glanced at the wizard - perhaps he hoped for some help from her. Yet, she remained silent and he turned his gaze back to Jimmy. The concern for Shelby had swung wildly and had become concerned for Jimmy.

“Jimmy, this could be a dangerous mission,” Pixlriffs explained himself. “We don’t know what happens with the sculk, or even in the sculk, when you die there. We don’t know anything about this city that might help us, and it could just as easily harm any of us.”

Jimmy listened attentively, nodding along. He was still nodding when he gave his answer.

“Pix, I’m coming along.”

“Jimmy, I’m…” he took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to go down there because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well, I’m not a canary in this world,” Jimmy continued to stubbornly defend his honor. “It doesn’t matter if I die because I’ll just–”

“It does matter,” Pix said.

The silence was tangible. Pix stared at Jimmy with an intense stare unlike any that Gem and Jimmy had ever seen. He kept this gaze on Jimmy, and barely relented in its intensity. Jimmy glanced at Gem, a little uncomfortable with how Pix was behaving himself.

“We could use the help,” Gem broke her silence, and she drew Pix’s attention to herself with this statement. “We don’t know what we’ll find below and how it may affect us, yes, but we may need strength in numbers down there. Especially if Shelby is going to lash out again.”

Pix’s eyes betrayed conflict. He was a smart man in any world, Gem assumed: he probably knew that what she was saying made sense. He knew he couldn’t reasonably forbid Jimmy from coming with them if it could give them an edge against whatever they may find - even if he didn’t like putting Jimmy in danger like that.

Even if he wished he could tie Jimmy up in his base and leave him there for the foreseeable future, safe and sound in his captivity.

Gem held firm, however, and did not shy away from his mournful gaze.

Pix turned to Jimmy again and sighed in defeat. “Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Hey,” Jimmy responded, “I’m always careful.”

Chapter 44: (15.2) Acceptance

Chapter Text

Tango barely looked where he was going.

It was a strange sensation. To take each step deliberately, one after the other, and yet have no recollection of the past few steps taken. To instinctively dodge out of the way of low-hanging ceilings or dangers he couldn’t have perceived in the dark. To take out any dangerous mobs that had caught his scent without even breaking a sweat.

Surreal barely covered it. He walked, without thinking - he was thinking, yes, but not really - and his body protected him.

Or perhaps it wasn’t his body, but what was growing on it.

Another something he barely wanted to think about. If he wasn’t actively considering where to go, what to do, how to proceed further, then something else must be doing that in his place. Something so vile and dark which he had tried to hide for as long as he could. He abandoned his gloves and had taken off the hood. Below the earth, nobody would see the sculk cling to his chin and the left side of his head. Nobody would see that his fingers were barely human fingers anymore, completely rigid white bone and mushy sculk. Nobody would see the tears that quietly made their way down his cheeks and hit the deepslate ground he walked on.

The shard still quietly shone in his pocket. Running what little was left of his fingers over its smooth surface calmed him down enough. Things were going to be okay.

Were they?

His destination was close. No mobs had harassed him in a little while and the tunnel he was walking down showed signs of sculk veins and sculk sensors and catalyst and pure sculk. He was barely able to suppress the sigh of relief when he entered the sculk-filled caves and walked among the bioluminescent darkness that had slowly been poisoning him.

Through this darkness, he found he didn’t need any torch to light the way. He could see just fine in the dark - or, rather, he could feel the vibrations of the earth and could extrapolate from there where the tunnel would bend to next. He still tried to see and use his eyes - to have that little something to keep that the sculk had not yet taken away. In the end, he reached his destination either way and entered into the Ancient City.

He’d been here before. He had come to collect some sculk, and he had re-entered with Pixlriffs once more. That was where the trouble started, really. His gaze was instinctively drawn to the enormous portal frame in the middle, where he had found the notes. All in the same handwriting, some crossed-out letters and others unfinished, and only one finished. Only one, now awaiting the moment it would be picked up and read by Tango’s friends for the first time.

He walked down the main street. He could not tear his gaze away from the portal frame and advanced slowly, with purpose, though he had no true idea what that purpose was.

He had a purpose. He did not know that purpose - he couldn’t tell anyone what that was when asked. Yet, he had one. That purpose brought him down here.

He wished he could leave.

He could never leave again.

His footsteps, uncorrupted, echoed against the stone that was still exposed. Vibrations were picked up by the sculk sensors, lighting up and making their weird clicking noises. Followed by a scream.

Tango stayed perfectly still. He let the darkness wash over him, allowed the soulfire candles to give off that eerie glow that only ever shone within that darkness. Somehow, his nerves were quelled after that scream and he breathed calmly. The Warden had to be approaching.

From the darkness, she shambled forward. The creature was mostly one of sculk, with every now and again a piece of skin or cloth poking out from underneath the thick sculk veins. Her face was largely obscured by a wide, green hat. She protectively held out a hand, approaching with the utmost care and caution.

“It’s me,” Tango said. “It’s me. Take it easy.”

She tilted her head. “Who?”

“Tango. From Hermitcraft.”

The creature lowered her hand and arm. The same unnatural tranquility that had entranced Tango now descended over her, too.

“Shelby,” she responded. “Empires. Have you seen my shard?”

Tango shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

“The wizard stole it.”

“Then perhaps she has it.”

Shelby sighed and shook her head. It was impossible to guess what exactly was going through her head, but the longer Tango looked at her, the more he felt like he understood her. Like they were connected.

“You’re like me,” he said.

Shelby looked at him, too. She took her time, stared at him - he didn’t mind. Eventually, she nodded.

“Yeah. And you like me.”

Almost in sync, their gazes were drawn to the portal again. The portal, now simply an empty frame, awaiting something to fill the empty space between. Awaiting the all-encompassing Void to claim what rightfully belonged to it. A shiver ran down their spines, their minds hushed not to think too much about what may happen. Come what may, it was always meant to happen exactly as it was going to happen soon.

Soon.

“Do you know what will happen?” Shelby asked. “I came for…”

She trailed off. Tango shrugged.

“I don’t know. We just have to be here, don’t we?”

“We do,” Shelby responded. And, for a second, she managed to cast a glance at Tango. “I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

The two looked at one another again. A sense of understanding between them, strengthened by their current location and circ*mstances.

“It’ll be okay,” Tango said. He extended his hand out to her. “Take my hand?”

Shelby glanced at it, then held it. She squeezed it as tightly as she could, and Tango returned that squeeze.

No-one else knew what they were going through.

Hand in hand, they walked to the portal frame and the altar that stood in front, and waited there for their purpose to be fulfilled.

“He wasn’t here last time,” Skizz said. “What makes you think he would be here right now?”

He and Impulse once again walked around in Tango’s living space. His row of chests, a makeshift desk with some pieces of papers, and a singular bed where Tango slept under the night’s sky - all of this partially hidden by the facade of what would become the building that housed his game.

“Nothing makes me think that,” Impulse responded. “With the way Tango’s been acting, it just doesn’t feel right at all.”

He’d been worried before, but now doubly so. Tango had been so excited about his project that it usually meant they weren’t seeing him unless they visited him where he was building or working on the project. This was not something unique to Tango - all Hermits had gone through that phase at some point or another with a build they were particularly motivated for - but it was worrying that he didn’t even respond to the messages sent his way.

No. Something was going on, something that had to do with that shard of his. Impulse was certain of it.

He just hoped that, whatever Tango was going through, they would be able to help him. And that, if this was a prelude to what may happen to Skizz, that they may have a better idea on how to help Skizz.

“If he’s not here, he might be taking some time off,” Skizz said. “Top’s been working hard, he deserved a bit of a break.”

“From Decked Out 2?” Impulse shook his head. “Nah. He was too enthusiastic about it, he wouldn’t abandon it.”

“Fine, then he’s likely below the ground. Where he said the game’d be, right?”

Skizz and Impulse looked at one another for a second, and then Impulse nodded.

“Maybe…” he sighed. “Okay, where’s the hole that leads down there?”

A rhetorical question. Skizz was a visitor and probably didn’t even remember where the ravine was that Tango would be using to go in and out of the area for Decked Out 2. Impulse, on the other hand, had so much to think of that he had temporarily forgotten in which direction he’d have to fly to find the hole.

An impromptu sneeze followed by five more also grounded him a little longer.

“Everything okay, dude?” Skizz asked him as he wandered over to Tango’s desk to take a quick glance at the papers. “You’ve been sneezing up a storm lately.”

“It’s just a cold,” Impulse said, then repeated himself under his breath where only he could hear it. “Alright, let’s take a look at where his ravine is.”

“Dipple Dop, wait!” Skizz said, taking one piece of paper in his hand. “You should read this.”

Before Impulse could protest, Skizz ran over to him and almost shoved the piece of paper in his face. Impulse had to pull it out of his face to be able to read it, but not before sparing a glance at Skizz. He looked extremely concerned and was anxiously waiting for Impulse to read what he’d already read.

Impulse looked away from Skizz and read this note.

I can’t take this any longer.

I’m going. Don’t try to follow; it won’t end well.

Don’t worry about me. When you read this, there won’t be a me to worry about. Worry about the false promises of the wizard instead.

I love you all. It’s been a pleasure to be your friend.

Impulse’s heart dropped.

“That’s his handwriting,” Impulse said. He almost wished he could deny that this wasn’t truly Tango’s handwriting. With how janky it looked, it could be anyone else’s, but the details made it crystal clear that this was Tango’s writing.

“He’s in big trouble,” Skizz said, almost breathlessly.

Big trouble didn’t even truly cover it. Tango had his shard and it was driving him insane, and worst of all, Tango himself didn’t even seem to notice that was what was happening. Now that he wrote this…

“Shoot, I think I know where he went,” Impulse said. “We’re going to an Ancient City right now.”

Chapter 45: (15.3) Bargaining

Chapter Text

The ancient city gave Scar the creeps.

The vibes were all wrong. Even if they had always been, it somehow felt even more wrong. The sounds within the artificial silence made the hairs on his neck stand up. The darkness within the cave was all-encompassing. What little torch light reached far did not go as far as usual, almost swallowed by this supernatural darkness with its strange electric blue dancing lights. Sculk was weird, he’d always thought that, but today it was extra creepy.

With the absence of light came the absence of any bright colors - so dull and bleak and dark was the ancient city. The only point of color was Joel, who stood out like a red dot on a black surface - he was still wearing one of Grian’s old sweaters. Joel himself walked around confidently, as though he owned the place, without a care in the world. He marched in as though nothing would scream. It only took Scar a few minutes to catch up and realize this city was completely void of shriekers that could alert any wardens slumbering below, even if the sensors still clicked and reacted to the comparably heavy footfalls.

“So, tell me again why we’re coming down here?” Scar asked Joel. He had been certain about helping his friend, but walking through the city has made him a little doubtful.

“Because this is going to find me a way home,” Joel said. He could barely hide the annoyance in his voice, but he did not seem to care that much. He would repeat himself if he needed to.

Scar glanced around. The atmosphere of the ancient city did not quite inspire confidence, though Joel was rather confident.

“Yeah, I got that part,” Scar said. “But how are we doing that? Are we finding a passageway for you that leads to your home, or are we doing something else entirely?”

He hoped for the first option.

“We’re not finding a tunnel,” Joel said. He stopped at the base of the steps that would lead to the platform on which the large portal frame stood. “Scar, I didn’t even enter this world through a tunnel. It was a rift - the same rift you went through. And Grian won’t open the one in his base, so we’re gonna have to do it ourselves.”

“In the Ancient City?” Scar wondered out loud. When it comes to rifts, the last place he would think to find one was here. It was also the last place where he would think to try to create or open one.

“Where else?” Joel asked incredulously. “If this is supposed to be a hub between worlds, that connects worlds, there is no better place to do it than here.”

Joel gestured to his surroundings. The decrepit homes at the edge of the platform, mostly ruined and destroyed. Sculk clung to the deepslate surfaces and the candles that stood around only produced the ominous pale soulflames. And, among the tunnels that lead into the giant cavern the city was located in, the different connections to the other worlds created a nexus. From here, in theory, it ought to be easiest to find a way to open a rift to Joel's world. In any case, there wasn't anywhere that would be a creepier location.

“Those shards – the one that Grian gave you – he found it here,” Joel continued. “Shelby found hers here, too, I believe. They come from here. I think they’re gonna play a big part in it I can feel it.”

“Right,” Scar said. “Yeah, I’ve got that shard on me.”

He threw in a smile while he already died inside. This was not the best moment to lie about this.

Then again, this was Joel. If he believed those shards had an important role, he’d want to see if they could get Grian’s. Grian, however, was very adamant in Scar not having it to the point of hiding it. Scar did not want to get Grian involved in this mess, nor did he want Joel to do anything reckless. On the other hand, perhaps Joel would want to check the validity of that statement - in which case, Scar feared for repercussions.

To Scar's surprise and relief, Joel only nodded.

“Good. Because we’re going to need it,” the king of Mezalea said. He turned away from Scar and climbed up the stairs, leaving Scar behind him.

“And you know what you’re doing, right?” Scar asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“As much as anyone else,” Joel responded. So, nothing at all. “That won’t stop us. We are going to make this work.”

“Of course,” Scar responded.

Scar followed Joel up the stairs, but his attention was elsewhere. Making sure that Joel wasn’t looking - and he wasn’t - Scar quickly typed in a private message to Grian. He was certain he’d made at least one spelling mistake, but that did not matter. The most important thing was that Grian got the message to come to the ancient city post-haste.

He nearly stumbled over his own feet while he walked up the stairs, but that was almost par for the course at this point. Once the message had been sent proper, he focused his gaze on the large portal frame that dominated the skyline. Scar hadn’t been to this particular city yet, so he didn’t know about the peculiarities of this city. Namely, that of a strange altar standing in front of this portal frame. To the side, a skeleton that can’t rise lay at the base, untouched by time or sculk.

And, both to his and Joel’s surprise, they were not alone.

“Hey! You!” Joel shouted out. “What are you doing here?”

Scar didn’t see who Joel was addressing at first. As he walked closer, he saw the silhouettes and instantly recognized them. On the other side of the portal frame stood two people. They stood close to it, looked up to the frame but turned their heads to Joel when he spoke. Scar’s stomach dropped when he recognized the wide mantle of the dungeon master Tango and the brimmed green hat of the witch Shelby from Empires.

The two glanced at each other and then looked at Joel.

“We’re here to help,” Shelby said.

“Help?” Joel eyed them, up and down, looking for something he couldn’t see while Scar still approached. “How did you know we could use some help?”

“We could sense it,” Shelby responded. Her tone was weirdly calm. “We want to help you.”

When Scar had caught up with Joel and stood next to him, he could finally see the duo clearly. Tango and Shelby both looked terrible. Shelby’s sculk infection… Scar had heard about it, but he hadn’t had a good picture of what that could mean. Seeing it in real life, right in front of him, almost made him throw up on the spot. Parts of her skin and her face were covered in sculk, seemingly replacing those parts. Her eyes were still present, but she wasn’t truly looking at anyone with them. It almost felt like she could sense where people were and aimed her gaze in the direction where she sensed people. Tango hid himself under his dungeon master’s cloak, turning away from Scar. However, Scar watched his friend closely and found an angle from which he could see the bony sculky fingers and how the insides of his cloak seemed to have merged with Tango completely. Would it hurt to take it off?

Perhaps it would.

Scar watched him. Shelby was creepy, but Tango hid himself. Tango seemed ashamed and quiet, almost as though he didn’t want to be perceived by anyone.

“Tango, hey,” Scar said in the friendliest, non-sarcastic tone he could muster. “Are you sure you want to help?”

Are you sure you want to be here?

Tango took a suspiciously long time to answer. His hidden gaze glid across the ceiling of the cave before it firmly landed on the space between his feet again. Now, his shoulders were also slumped.

“There’s nothing else we can do,” Tango said in an awfully hollow voice. “I’ve got… I’ve got this, if it helps.”

His unnaturally mutated fingers reached into his pocket and fished out a shard. It only looked familiar to Scar because he’d seen Grian carry one around; one of those strangely glowing echo shards, small dots of lights dancing on the canvas of the void within, giving off a glow that sculk did not naturally produce. One of those that Joel wanted for whatever he would attempt to do.

“That would help tremendously!” Joel exclaimed. He’d followed the conversation and his eyes had widened at the sight of this shard - exactly what he had wanted for whatever ritual he would attempt. “Thank you so much, Tango!”

Tango nodded once, but Scar could tell that his heart wasn’t in it. If it wasn’t already in the process of being eaten by the sculk.

Scar’s discomfort levels grew thousandfold while his stomach dropped. He made a big mistake trusting Joel and following him down into the ancient city. Whatever reason Scar had given himself for coming along already faded, for this was not the place for him. It definitely wasn’t the place for Tango, or Shelby for that matter - they needed some serious help, and Joel only wished to use them.

“I-I’m gonna do a check around the perimeter,” Scar said - he could feel that usually casual confidence that he could infuse into any sentence leave him. “See if nobody’s come to interfere.”

Joel, who had been inspecting the portal frame, nodded at the suggestion. “That’s a good idea. Yeah, go ahead.” He motioned at Scar to go, as though he had made that suggestion himself. Scar only nodded in response.

The first few steps down the stairs were quiet, calm. He already walked at a quicker pace than he had when he first arrived here, but he was holding himself back a little. He couldn’t keep it up for long, however, and soon sprinted down the steps. All around him, he could hear the clicking of the different sculk sensors, but he didn’t care. It had already been proven that the sound would not attract any wardens, so he could be as loud as he wanted. He barely cared that Joel could see him - he had to get away as quickly as possible, as fast as his feet would carry him.

When he neared the edge of the city - where it transitioned from city to proper cave again - he slowed down. At the very edge, he came to a standstill.

Scar turned his head. From here, he could clearly see the portal frame that dominated the view of the city, towering out above all of the ruined buildings - with the exception of a tower or two. A focal point illuminated by the soulfire flames beneath it, it almost acted like a flare. Scar’s eyes were drawn towards it and towards the people that stood atop the platform. Joel was there. Tango and Shelby were there, too.

A thought he had already feared snuck into his mind. Once it arrived, it was difficult to get rid of.

What if something bad happens in your absence?

Anything could happen in his absence, really. Maybe, when Scar returned with Grian and other appropriate back-up, the damage had already been done. Joel had gone insane - or perhaps he had always been and only now did he dare show that side of him in this world. Perhaps he’d always planned to try to return home, but had he waited for the right moment. Perhaps running to get help was futile, because Joel may have everything he needed already.

The edge was right here, though. A few more steps and he’d have left the city. A few more steps and he was free.

Scar couldn’t be free. Not while he was the only one who could have a chance of stopping it before something bad actually happened. He could return to the surface another time.

He did take his communicator from his pocket again. Another message to Grian, in private so that Joel would not know it existed. Another request to come as quickly as possible because Joel had gone mad. With a deep sigh, Scar turned around and walked away - back to the center of the ancient city.

“Did you see anyone?” Joel asked when Scar had returned.

“No.” Scar shook his head. “There was nothing and nobody.”

Joel once again believed him. He nodded.

“Good,” the mad king said. “Let's get started, then.”

Chapter 46: (16.1) The way home

Chapter Text

This was bad.

No, this was worse than bad. This was disastrous and there was nothing that Grian could do about that. Scar’s first message was already worrying enough, but the second more than cemented it. Not only was Scar in big trouble, but so was Joel.

How did Grian not notice? Perhaps he had been too busy with other things to notice. Or perhaps this version of Joel blindsided him enough that Grian couldn’t possibly see the signs, for the Joel that he knew would never attempt something so blatantly desperate without telling anyone about it.

Technically, Joel had told someone. He had told Scar and therefore had roped him into this weird mess he had created. Scar was the perfect victim, too - he’s so easy to convince to come along, especially when it was a weird plan he could participate in. The tone from the private messages, however, betrayed that even Scar was not feeling great with whatever was going on. It was enough to make Grian suspect that Scar was in danger.

Grian blatantly entered the tunnels on Hermitcraft that everyone knew led to the ancient city - the ones that were explicitly forbidden from use. He did not care if anyone saw him or not. This was a matter of saving Scar, and nothing else mattered. He was certain they would forgive him for wanting to stop an evil and desperate plot.

What Grian had not expected, however, was to bump into two others in the tunnels. He could hear them before he saw them; heavy footfalls running, screaming as they dodged and weaved past the hostile mobs they did not want to engage. They almost ran directly into Grian, but they stopped themselves at the last second.

“Grian?” Skizz said out loud. He turned to his buddy, just around the bend. “Impulse, it’s Grian!”

“Skizz? Impulse?” Grian frowned. Out of everyone, he hadn’t expected to see these two. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to save Top,” Skizz responded just as Impulse stepped into the light of Grian’s torch.

“Grian, why are you down here,” Impulse wondered.

“I received a very worrying message from Scar.” Grian held up his communicator, to show them this message. “Something’s about to go down in the ancient city and Joel’s the cause.”

Impulse frowned. “Joel?”

“The visitor. The one who came from the same world as that old wizard.” Grian had thought he’d see more of her. Then again, he wasn’t that interested in seeing or speaking with her. He had believed, however, that she would reach out to this version of Joel at least once, considering they originated from the same world.

Only then, he fully realized what Imp and Skizz had just told him. “Wait, what’s going on with Tango?”

“He’s gone down into the city,” Skizz said. “He left a note for us, asking us not to follow. He wasn’t doing great, but what he wrote really worried us.”

He waved around the note, supposedly written by Tango.

“I knew something was up with him!” Impulse added. “Ever since he got his hands on one of those weird glowing echo shards, he’s been acting weird. Now see what happened!”

A weird glowing echo shard.

“Like this one?” Grian had forgotten he carried one around. He hadn’t dared put it into any chests, for fear that Scar would rummage through to find it. It seemed safer to keep it on him instead. He’d grown accustomed to the weight and it had fully slipped his mind. As soon as he took it out, the soft glow of the echo shard provided a little more illumination to this particular cave, and he could have sworn that Impulse’s face grew just a little paler.

“Why do you have one?” Impulse asked, his voice one octave higher than usual.

“Because I found it on a skeleton near that portal frame in that city,” Grian responded, feeling the pressure of time catch up with him once more. “Look, we can discuss this here and now, or we can go and save our friends, too!”

“Let’s go save Face and Top!” Skizz exclaimed.

Their conversation had drawn the attention of a couple of zombies, but they were easily destroyed and the three continued their way down.

A careful, slow descent.

The wizard Gem walked in the front of the group, her hand supporting a small magical orb of light that lit the way. Behind her, the footfalls of Jimmy and Pixlriffs followed her steadily.

She tried not to run. With her age, she could not afford to run out of energy this quickly. Still, her feet and her heart urged her forward, quicker with every new step. Despite all her mind had tried to tell her, her heart had convinced her that Shelby’s state was her fault. She could not prevent Shelby from going down this path, and keeping the shard away from the witch had not had the desired effect.

She’d hurt fWhip. No matter what else she would be able to find, Shelby had hurt fWhip. Gem knew she had to try to put that aside, for Shelby’s sake, but she couldn’t help but feel that burning rage that grew within her, barely able to contain it.

First, they had to save her. Only then could Gem even start to unpack all the events that led up to this rescue.

The glowing shard hummed in her pocket and wished to reunite with its owner. Gem almost gripped it, but decided against it at the last second. This was an instrument of evil; it could not be allowed to continue to do its evil work.

Behind her, the quiet voices of Jimmy and Pix spoke with one another.

“What do you think we’ll find?” Jimmy wondered.

“We’ll find Shelby. Deep within the ancient city.”

“Yes, but… do you think… do you believe there’ll be much of Shelby left?”

“We can only hope so,” Pix responded with an iron resolve and calm tone. “Sculk is vast. I’m certain we'll find something of her.”

“I don’t like that prospect.”

“Me neither. But if there’s not much left, then we still have the sculk to dissect for answers.”

Gem did not tune in to their conversation, only had eyes for the path ahead. She did not concern herself with their words when the tunnel around her slowly started to show the signs of the sculk infestation, with its veins ever reaching out further, to claim more and more. She pushed past the sculk and into the outskirts of the giant cavern in which the ancient city was located.

The sprawling city welcomed them with the same eerie nature as it had always done, trying to confound them with mysteries galore. One glance over her shoulder, and Gem could see that Jimmy was not feeling at all at ease, whereas Pix stepped into the space with a certain amount of curiosity and awe that would befit both the archaeologist and the Copper King. The wizard herself had no idea what she was supposed to feel beyond resentment for the location where she had lost everything before.

The memory was carved into her mind, burned onto her retina. The king of Mezalea, wearing an ugly red sweater that was a definitive downgrade from his royal uniform, brought them to the origin of the sculk, only to call out for villains to come. It had killed Joel and Sausage, and the sculk later claimed fWhip. She held no love for this place.

She hadn’t truly forgiven Joel for it, either.

Now, walking into the city, the memory returned. She barely paid attention to the three hermits who joined her, who were quickly and quietly chatting with Pix and Jimmy to catch each other up on what was going on. She barely paid attention even to Shelby, standing in front of the portal frame with Tango and Scar. No, her full attention was on Joel - a pale face, a red sweater, a bit of stubble, and the same hateful look in his eyes.

The source of light disappeared - they no longer needed it in an ancient city filled with soulfire flames. Instead, she clutched her staff, readying herself for the confrontation that would follow.

Everything was in place.

So close. Joel could almost feel it. His way home would be open soon enough.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He thought he’d figure it out on the spot, and he had been correct. Guided by an invisible, inscrutable hand, he made the necessary preparations. Shelby and Tango, whom he intuitively knew he needed for this ritual, already stood in place. Though it was scary how quickly the sculk could grow and wrap itself around their legs, he barely minded. It didn’t reduce his or Scar’s mobility, and now Shelby and Tango couldn’t leave if they wanted to.

Scar had been helping around, too. He’d needed questions and direct commands to do what he needed to do. He wasn’t guided by the hand of fate. That had to be it; fate. Why else would Joel know exactly what to do to make this ritual go off without a hitch?

He didn’t need to do much. What little magic slumbered within him would be enhanced by the sculk in the ancient city. It was on his side, he was certain of it. The one thing he needed to do when the time was right, was to say the words that would allow him to go home. All in due time. Home wasn’t going anywhere; Lizzie, his beautiful ocean queen, wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to end up exactly where he needed to be to ensure that he and his queen would have a perfectly good and happy ending, where the Rapture could not hurt them any longer.

Anger. It rose within him when he noticed he had company. The group walked down the main road, and stopped just short of the stairs. Among them, a few faces he recognized, and some he had only heard about.

Towards the back of the group of six walked a pair Joel had come to know as Impulse and Skizz, with Skizz being someone whose private world was linked with this very same ancient city. The two were whispering among themselves and pointing at Tango. Jimmy lingered to the back as well; Jimmy, without his Codfather mask, his stupid sheriff costume a clear laughing stock and mockery of everything Joel’s brother-in-law stood for. Grian, who had always trusted him, had his eyes firmly on Scar, still up on the platform where everything was about to go down. Then, to the front of the group, the Copper King and the Wizard Gem stood side by side. The Wizard took one more step forward to be at the very front.

“Joel,” Gem spoke loudly and her voice was carried to the raised platform. “Whatever you are doing, you need to stop.”

“Stop? Why would I stop?” Joel raised his hands, pointed them in the direction of the portal frame that loomed over him. “I’m leaving this place. I’m going home. You would want that not to happen?”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know more than you know.” A darkness fell over her eyes that he had not expected. Then again, the wizard had always been scary and this darkness could easily be a byproduct of the threat she hoped would inspire fear within him.

Joel chuckled. “Of course you’d like to believe that,” Joel said. He approached the edge of the platform; he barely paid attention to his helpers. To Scar, who was trying to convey a message to Grian by only mouthing it. To Tango, who increasingly looked like he was going to burst into tears. To Shelby, who had already fully given herself to the sculk and now awaited the time to fulfill her role.

“Where the hell were you?” he sneered at the wizard. “When the world fell into pieces and everything went to sh*t, where were you? Oh, right, you didn’t see any of that, you fled on the back of your dragon!”

The wizard clenched her staff. “Joel–”

“How arrogant, how selfish,” he continued. “You ran, leaving your people in disarray. Now you’re trying to stop me from going back? From making a difference for my people? To prepare them to the best of my ability - to find Lizzie, grab Jimmy, and leave long before tragedy can strike. How can you tell me not to do that when you’ve done the same, but even less?”

Silence descended upon them. Pix placed a solemn hand on Gem’s shoulder but said nothing. Skizz, Impulse, Grian, and Scar fell silent, and Jimmy gave him a frown. As though he couldn’t remember their brief interaction. Joel did - Joel remembered every second of it, and how it all felt so wrong.

Not for much longer. He’d be home soon.

“I’ve suffered, too,” Gem responded quietly.

A laugh escaped Joel’s mouth. “Have you, really?”

She gave him the dirtiest glare she had ever given anyone.

“fWhip died in my arms. I’ve watched the Kings of Mythland and Mezalea fall.” Her sorrow and anger mingled with one another. Even so, she straightened her back and watched Joel with such vitriol, that it was surprising to see it melt away again. “I have never wished you anything but the best. I still do. But this is going too far. Neither Tango nor Shelby can consent to help you in their current state. You’re messing with forces you don’t understand and I will stop you if you choose to proceed.”

Once again, the silence returned. It was tangible, the tension in the air almost manifesting itself as a physical entity. Yet, the energy within this space was all directed toward one point: the portal frame, loomed over all still. Ever enduring. Willing, waiting to be used at last.

“I dare you to try,” Joel said, and he turned his back to the Wizard.

Three things happened at once.

Joel, King of Mezalea, looked at the imposing portal frame and raised his hands, chanting words he could not have recited a second ago, to allow the portal frame to work as intended.

The Wizard Gem, who had already lost so much in this city, could not allow Joel to go through with whatever foul ritual he would attempt, and she cast a spell to cast him down.

Scar, a bystander, could sense how bad things were being and - in a desperate attempt to stop this ritual from happening - rushed over to Joel to tackle him.

Scar collided with Joel, pushing him to the ground and the sculk congregated there. The sudden act had made him stop reciting these ancient words that somehow sounded vaguely familiar to both the wizard Gem and Pixlriffs. What he had put into motion, however, could no longer be stopped by arcane and mundane means alike. The spell that Gem had cast, containing a sliver of her hatred for the disgraced King of Mezalea, missed him and Scar by a hair and instead hit the swirling energy within the portal frame.

This energy hadn’t always been there. However, the ritual that the Mezalean King had started already had a profound effect. From within this portal frame, an unfathomable darkness emerged. It expanded to cover the space inside the frame, making it impossible to look through. This vast darkness was enough to drive anyone mad, if they stared long enough. Yet, nothing happened. Not until the wizard’s wayward spell had hit it.

It started to swirl, faster and faster, until that vast energy broke free from the bounds of the portal and became three-dimensional. An elongated vortex ten feet wide emerged like a tendril and, with its end, reached down to the platform.

Scar tried to stand up, but he couldn’t. Where he had landed, the sculk had rapidly wrapped around his hands and feet and arms and legs, pinning him to the platform along with Joel. The sculk, where he could always see a sliver of the universe reflected back via dancing dots of light that mimicked the stars. The sculk that crushed him and pinned him down had no such resemblance, and was just vast living darkness. From his position, he could barely see how that same strange sculk crawled up where Tango and Shelby had already been captured, slipping across their hips and torsos and shoulders and heads until they were completely covered.

The tendril from the platform came down on Joel’s position. As soon as it connected with its prey, the tendril vaporized, the vortex disappeared, and the energy within the portal dissipated. Where Joel had once been - where Scar had held him down - was now nothing at all. Joel, the King of Mezalea, was gone.

At the same time, those remaining on the raised platform were wrapped in sculk. Tango and Shelby rapidly disappeared below the fast-growing organism, whereas Scar struggled to free himself. His efforts were for naught, however, and he fell over, drained of all of his energy. Soon, he too was completely covered by the sculk.

It melted. Where they had once been, the sculk melted away, retreating back onto the flat surface of the platform, leaving nothing else behind. Strands of light; glowing, wispy, almost like strands of hair floated in place where Scar, Tango, and Shelby had once been. The same electric blue as the dots of light of the sculk, but not absorbed this time. They lingered in the air for a brief moment before they gently floated away, as though reeled in by something. Tango’s strands of light floated down where he had been standing. Shelby’s and Scar’s flowed towards the visitors, with Shelby’s disappearing into Gem’s pocket and Scar’s into Grian’s pocket.

It was eerily quiet.

Those who witnessed this from below, without a second thought, took a step back. All, but Pixlriffs, who took one step forward instead.

Chapter 47: (16.2) Edge of nothing

Chapter Text

The portal still swirled.

The tendril that had consumed Joel had instantly vaporized, but that vast darkness it had spawned from was still present. One could not look through the portal frame to the other side anymore. Their gazes would stumble upon this black barrier that stopped anyone from seeing through.

As Pixlriffs stared, he was drawn forward. One step at a time, he ascended the stairs, fearless in the face of certain danger. The draw was not unfamiliar, the energy within the portal both an answer and a question. He knew neither, though all would be revealed soon. Caught within the moment, struck with awe and gazing into the void, he slowly approached the platform.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of this haze. He could barely hear the voice calling for him, wondering if he was alright. He turned his head and stared at Jimmy, who moved to stand in front of Pix with only concern on his face.

Pix frowned, glanced back at the portal frame before he stared at Jimmy again. The reality of the situation hit him. He took Jimmy's hand off of his shoulder and protectively, gently stepped in front of him.

“Careful, Jimmy,” Pix said. “We don't know how dangerous it is.”

“But you were walking towards it!”

“Someone needs to check,” Pix said. “Stay here, I'll take a look.”

Jimmy could not protest as Pix slipped past him to continue climbing the stairs to the top of the platform. He left the Sheriff on the stairs and stepped onto the raised platform on which the portal frame stood.

It was empty. Not even a couple of seconds ago, four people were present here. Now, there was more sculk than there had been before, especially where the four had been. Shelby and Tango, the two victims whose feet and legs had been fused to the floor by the sculk. Scar, who had tumbled to the ground. And a small pile where Joel had once stood.

While Pix stood atop the stairs, the sculk did not attack. It did not even stir. Sated, it remained still for now. Yet, within the portal, that darkness lingered and likely would hunger again.

“It’s safe,” Pixlriffs said at a slightly louder volume. Within the cavern, even a whisper had the potential to sound deafening. Now, this spoken phrase gently echoed to those who remained below before. Now, those who dared not approach before, came into action as it was confirmed that stepping onto the plateau was safe.

Though the men rushed up the stairs - Grian, Impulse, Skizz, and Jimmy were quicker -, the wizard Gem walked. Her steps were drowned out by the others and with each step, she dreaded what she would see. Her conversation with Pearl echoed through her mind all the same. Though Pearl had not wished to give any specific information, in hindsight, it seemed her words were specific enough when you were painfully aware of the truth and the context surrounding her statements.

Before Gem stepped off of the stairs and onto the platform, a wail pierced through the silence. Grian, who had rushed to the site of where Scar had been, collapsed onto his knees and stared at the sculk in front of him, horrified by what he had seen and what the remaining sculk implied. Jimmy wasn’t sure where to look or what to do, but his gaze seemed to be drawn to the old altar and the portal frame. Impulse and Skizz had similarly rushed to where Tango stood, right next to Shelby.

Gem did not want to approach too closely. She wished to give the men some space to mourn a man she barely had the chance to get to know. Instead, she pulled Shelby’s shard from her pocket and looked at it.

Its glow, as Pearl had predicted, had grown just a little brighter.

“Don’t touch that!” Impulse’s voice shouted. Gem and Jimmy’s head snapped to the duo, and saw how Skizz - after bending down - stood up again, holding the hand that Impulse had slapped away. Tango’s shard, with a similarly slightly brighter glow, sat within the pile of sculk where Tango once stood.

“Why not?” Skizz questioned. “Can’t I just–”

“That… that thing stole Tango! Don’t touch it.” Impulse turned his head to Gem and Grian, not even trying to hide the emotions that had overwhelmed him or to wipe the tears that slowly formed in his eyes. He pointed with a trembling hand at Gem, holding the shard, and Grian, sitting on his knees, just as desolate as Impulse. “Don’t even think about doing anything with ‘em. These shards are evil, plain and simple. They’re all evil.”

“But mine isn’t,” Skizz said. He’d taken out his own shard from his pocket. In comparison, its glow was not as bright as the other shards. “This one didn’t do anything.”

“Because you were too far away from the portal, Skizz!” Impulse’s raw scream rang across the whole cavern. “What do you think would’ve happened if you’d been just a little closer? What do you think?”

“I…” Taken aback by Impulse’s intensity, Skizz said nothing.

“Thes shards aren’t evil,” Gem interjected, turning the attention to her. “They’re not. But the way they are being used are.”

Her gaze fluttered to the portal, and especially to the endless nothingness that lay within.

“Then what are they?” Grian asked quietly. He pushed himself onto his feet again, wiped away his own tears in an attempt to keep up a brave face.

“They’re containers,” the Wizard Gem explained. She barely dared look at the shard with Shelby’s essence. “They act like containers for our essences. When we cease to exist and return to the universe, our essence lingers. These shards are capable of capturing that essence and keeping it safe. Shelby’s went in here, Tango’s in his, and Scar’s in yours. They’re safe within.”

“Yes, but what does that mean ?” Grian wondered. “Are they dead? Alive? Some weird state in between where they’re neither?”

“It means that these shard contain their essences,” Gem reiterated. “I don’t know what we can do. If we can even help.”

“We can’t help them,” Pix said calmly.

He hadn’t moved since he’d last spoken. There, atop the stairs, with his gaze firmly on the void within the portal. His face betrayed no emotion at all, nor whatever thoughts raced around in his mind. Or perhaps they did not race; perhaps they simply nestled within the empty space and connected the dots that he could not have connected himself, all in due time, all .

“Pix?” Jimmy said, moving just a little closer.

“They’ll always be here,” Pix continued in that same unsettling tone. “They’ve always been here. For the foreseeable future, they will remain there. No harm will come to them.”

Pix turned to Jimmy at last and gave him a mournful smile. He placed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and gave him a supportive squeeze. “Don’t worry about your rancher. You’ll see him again. Someday.”

Jimmy only nodded slowly in response, unsure what to say or how to respond otherwise. It seemed to convince Pix and he let go of his friend, and his gaze was once again drawn to the portal frame. Jimmy followed his gaze, looking up to the absolute nothing that swirled within. It didn’t just feel dark; it seemed there was a persistent absence of light and everything else that made up this cobbled-together pseudo-darkness. He could not see whatever Pixlriffs saw within it, but this void was dangerous enough. It had already drawn in Pixlriffs and changed him. How would this change Jimmy? Or anyone else, for that matter, if they stayed too long in its presence?

“We shouldn’t stay here too long,” Gem said. “Who knows what would happen.”

“Agreed,” Grian said immediately. “Let’s get out of here.”

He pushed past Gem, to go back to the tunnel he came from. Impulse and Skizz followed shortly after, to return to Hermitcraft and come to terms with everything they had just witnessed and to process all. Jimmy also made moves to leave, but Pix stayed.

“Pix?” Once again, Jimmy spoke. “You coming?”

Pix merely nodded. He took one step backwards, his foot perfectly landing on the stair beneath him without looking and without losing his balance. Only then he turned his gaze away from the void within the portal to walk back with his friend and the Wizard to the world they came from.

To leave the portal behind, and to leave the void within to patiently wait for the next explosive visit.

Chapter 48: (17.1) The Mad King

Chapter Text

ONCE

Darkness.

Nothing but darkness.

And a Mezalean King floating in the middle of it all.

Unmoving, breathless. Caught between two heartbeats. Between now, then, later; ever-present, never far. A silent, unwilling witness to the tragedy of life, to the horror of heartbreak, to the atrocities that have been committed, that are committed, that will be committed.

When darkness is illuminated, terrors come alive. Once the light has burned, it must vanish and darkness returns. The terrors recede and fall into slumber while the darkness recuperates. The darkness remains until the light burns once more. No surprises, no change; events will unfold as they always have.

The Void swallows all. The Void cares for all, shepherds what is about to come. A grave sin has been committed and The Void has been trying to correct it. An endless cycle of pain and hurt is the result and the solution. It consumes all until nothing remains to be consumed. A plan, if unfolding all after one another, would take millennia. Folded on top of each other, however, it takes but a moment. The Void is patient - it knows it will claim everything and undo the mistake of a mortal soul. Until then, it slowly chips away at the fractured world that has come to be.

A witness with no name - within darkness, within Absolute Nothing, how can he be more than just a jumbled mess of everything all at once? Everything is absorbed within him, and he is absorbed in everything in turn. There is no space for thoughts when all is forced into his consciousness and knowledge - to what used to be the forefront of his mind - and he is forced to see all.

The first breath hurt. The second one less so.

Joel caught his breath, panted. Pushed himself to his feet.

A familiar environment. An ancient city - the ancient city, the only city that mattered. The epicenter of the Void’s influence on all worlds. A byproduct of a wizard’s hubris.

The knowledge flowed away from him. Though he lost the ability to actively recall, he knew instinctively. He felt what had happened, even if he could no longer put it in words. This wasn’t where he had just been, despite the similarities. The original crime scene, from where all tragedy flowed. A point of no return, yet everything always circled back to this one location.

The sandstone altar was occupied by a strange creature. Its elongated arms rested on the ground next to the altar. Within its exposed ribcage, its heart bslowly beat - if it even was a heart. It throbbed and shed an eerie glow. Two tendrils poked from its head and looked like the tendrils that were scattered around that could pick up on noise. Its face was a formless mass of sculk, on which only an enormous mouth was visible. Slumbering.

A second figure rested near the portal frame, even clearer that he slept than the other. This creature was much more narrow and lanky. It was a creamy white, as though one of the bone-like spokes from a shrieker had grown large and became sentient. This creature also had a vaguely humanoid shape; almost like a child had drawn a stick figure in the sand and called it a person. Its round head couldn’t be bigger than a human hand, smooth and bone-like with out of place accents of coppery orange accentuating the scalp like a crown.

Off to the side. Near the leftmost corner of the enormous unlit portal frame, lay a pile of bones, untouched by sculk. A single echo shard lay among them, gently glowing, partially hidden by the sculk around it and the portal frame itself.

He knew them. Joel would never be able to give them their proper names, for they no longer needed them. Not in the context Joel currently found them in. Yet, when he looked at them, the tug of a memory in the back of his mind reminded him. He had known them, spent time with them, perhaps even liked them. Allies in his life who did not deserve a fate like this. Even so, there was nothing he could do to reverse what Time Immemorial had decided they should be in this never-ending cycle.

A fate signed by the arrogant wizard who would believe herself to be a god.

She was no god. Just two existed, and one only awakened because of her meddling. Slumbering forever until the natural order had been so violently shaken that it had no option but to respond and clean up the mess she’d made. Patient and calm, it waited, slowly chipping away at the world she fractured.

He did not belong in this city. He should leave this place. He’d been returned home, after all. He’d gotten what he wanted.

Joel walked out of the ancient city. In his march, he did not wake the warden and the shrieker from their slumber. All normal shriekers one would expect in this place had long since been uprooted and removed, along with a large area outside of the city where sculk had been stripped off of the deepslate floor. His gaze was drawn to a chest hidden away in a ruin, shoddier and more amateurishly built than the others, and let it be. That was not his chest to open. He wouldn’t want a souvenir from this place, either way - he was going home.

He walked out into a pale, thin fog, such as could only occur within the Cod Empire. Home, but not quite. He walked on, desperate to ignore how barren and dried out the lands seemed. He pushed past the brittle brush, walking the road he knew should be out there. With no grass to guide him, he couldn’t see the dirt walkways carved into the ground from centuries of use, where grass would never grow again.

In the distance, he caught sight of some buildings. They might have been sturdy and stable, once. Now, they looked rather old and as though the merest touch could turn them to dust. Along with the dry landscape and the slope going down at a steeper decline in the distance, he knew exactly where he was.

Joel sank to his knees.

“No, no, no, no!” he exclaimed “Why am I here now !?”

Here. Home, in the Cod Empire. But with so little moisture, without any water to be seen… this was the Rapture in full effect. Explicitly at a time he’d wanted to avoid coming back to.

“This isn’t what I wanted!” He screamed into the silence. “You were supposed to take me back to before the Rapture. Before everything went to sh*t!”

Before he lost his wife, his brother-in-law, his people.

Before he lost his dignity and sanity.

Before the secrets of the universe had been forcibly pushed into and pulled from his head, leaving him with only the vaguest of clues as to what may happen next. Not enough to know, but enough to be tormented by even the thought of everything this cyclical torment wrought upon all words.

Something moved nearby. Joel barely paid attention to it. He figured it might be a mob, coming to claim his head. Was it shameful to admit he was hoping it would be, even if he hadn’t seen mobs in the Rapture since a few days into the calamity?

“Joel!” A voice - too familiar to be a stranger - exclaimed, almost in relief. “Oh, Joel, it is lovely to see you’re still alive as well!”

“Who goes there?” Joel called out. He glanced around, drew a hidden dagger. The mists had grown a little thicker. Were they playing tricks on him? After a few seconds, he caught the grinning visage of Sausage, who was holding a sword. Instinctively, Joel pointed his dagger at him and narrowed his eyes. “You! Why are you here? Did you follow me?”

He couldn’t have, Joel realized almost immediately. Sausage hadn’t been present when the wizard tried to stop him. Sausage had not been anywhere in the ancient city at that time. Looking at the clothes and how ragged he looked, this was undoubtedly King Sausage, who has been living through the Rapture himself. He had no idea, and Joel could not put any blame on him.

Sausage stowed away his weapon while he tried to wipe the grin off of his face. He presented his empty hands to Joel before he spoke.

“No, I didn’t do any following,” he said. “I just heard you curse from a little ways away and I came over. So maybe I did do a little following…”

Yeah, this was Sausage from the Rapture. Joel lowered his dagger, but did not stow it away. Another survivor, another who knew exactly what he had gone through. Someone else who knew the pain of the Rapture. Someone whom Joel had believed to be long dead because he never bothered to try to find any survivors among the other empires.

“Then what are you doing here?” Joel asked. “How are you…? Have you been here this whole time? Why are you…?”

Sausage shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m asking myself every day.” Then, he looked over his shoulder. “Gem, fWhip, it’s safe here. It’s Joel. He’s alive!”

Those words made Joel's blood grow cold. Not necessarily Sausage’s message was what got to Joel, but the people he addressed did.

Gem. fWhip.

Were they here, too?

They had to be. He’d seen the wizard before. He had heard from her before; how she lost everything and made an attempt to fix it. An event that was now seared into his mind, whether he liked it or not. From the fog, the twins walked out. An older-looking fWhip with hints of gray in his hair and wrinkles in his face accompanied the headmistress of the Crystal Cliffs, seemingly untouched by time, still as young as the day the Rapture started. Younger than the version he’d seen from a distance on Hermitcraft.

An infuriating sight to behold, as they approached cautiously.

Joel sighed and shook his head. He glanced up at the sky. “Can’t I have a moment of peace for once?”

Neither the Void nor the Sun wished to answer his questions. Likely because, even without a response, he knew what their answer would be. He knew the answer already, and did not need any divinities to tell him. No, he couldn't have a moment of peace.

This question seemed to worry the twins, fWhip in particular.

“Joel, are you okay?” the count asked, slowly approaching him. Joel shot him an incredulous and annoyed look, as though fWhip knew and was present for all the trouble that Joel had gone through. As though he, too, was responsible.

He was the catalyst. Gem may have pulled the trigger, but his inability to stay alive caused this as much as Gem’s magic.

“No!” Joel shouted. “No, I’m not okay. How can I be ‘okay’?” After everything he'd gone through, Joel could honestly say he would never be okay again.

He then turned his attention to the wizard, who’d been wise enough to keep her distance. He lifted his dagger and pointed it at her. “You need to stay out of everyone’s business. You don’t need to poke around everything! Ruin everything!”

The blade trembled. It was going to work. He was certain of it - if Gem hadn’t interfered, he would have been home, at a time when the Rapture hadn’t happened yet. He could have the chance to live a good life and save those he loved. But no, the wizard had to have the moral high ground, the wizard had to tell him this was wrong, the wizard just had to interfere because she was the only one who was allowed to mess with the fabric of reality. Oh, the arrogance! At least she showed her true colors.

Gem now approached, though she stayed behind fWhip. A good idea; Joel would not have allowed her to come any closer.

“Easy, Joel,” she said. “Just calm down and we’ll-”

“I won’t calm down!” If he had been close enough to her, he might have spat in her face. He might have done worse. Perhaps the worst part was the pity in her eyes, aimed at him. This version of Gem had no idea that she had caused all his pain and scars. She had no idea he wished to end it once and for all, to end this cursed cycle he was now aware of.

He couldn’t stay this close. Out of melee range, sure, but still too close to her for his liking. He backed away, returned to his own mind.

“Why didn’t it work?” he mumbled. “It was supposed to- why didn’t it work? Why am I here?”

As though mumbling would give him an answer. As though this would prompt the universe to tell him directly why it failed, when in his heart, he already knew Gem was the cause. Perhaps he was clinging onto the hope that it hadn’t been Gem’s interference, but something else that made this ritual fail. Still, he couldn’t find an answer, and his mind kept returning to the wizard as the culprit.

Gem spoke up again. “If you would just tell us what happened, we can help you—”

“I don’t need your help,” Joel snapped at her when he noticed she had taken a step toward him.

“Gem.” fWhip turned to her. “If he doesn’t want our help, let him be. He’s going through something.”

That was the understatement of the century.

“Joel, we are trying to find the cause of the sculk,” Sausage spoke up - finally that man grew a pair and joined the conversation again. “Do you want to join us on our journey?”

It took a second for Joel to realize what Sausage was asking him.

“Sculk.”

They were asking about sculk. Why were they asking about sculk, they shouldn’t know about it just yet.

“The dark moss.” Sausage pointed out a nearby patch. “Don’t touch it! It’s very dangerous.”

“Looking for its origin.”

“Yes!” Sausage nodded enthusiastically.

That was unexpected. Joel had no idea what the Wither Rose Alliance had been doing in the Cod Empire, what their business was here after so many years. With the confirmation that they had come here to chase the origin of the sculk, however, opened up many opportunities.

He looked at each of them. They didn’t know - they wished they did, but they had no idea what they were getting themselves into. They had no idea what awaited them down in the ancient city. The pain that the wizard had dealt onto him, Joel would be able to deal onto her. Even if they survived, they would know the torment of what lay below. Even if they had no idea what attacked them down there, it would hurt so much that Joel would have his revenge.

He had no idea when the idea of revenge entered his mind. Whenever that was, he did not mind it. It felt only right for everything he had endured.

“I know where that is,” he said.

Sausage gasped. “You do?”

“I do, yes,” Joel nodded. “I know where it comes from. I can take you there.”

Chapter 49: (17.2) Iron resolve

Chapter Text

NOW

The shard weighed heavily in Grian’s pocket.

Perhaps it was the thought that added the weight. Grian tried to look ahead in the tunnels that lead back to Hermitcraft, so that he wouldn’t catch the soft glow of this shard. Just the knowledge that it was glowing was enough to keep his gaze away from it, even if his gaze was tugged towards it.

Not now. Not while they were still underground.

Nothing stopped him, really, except the self-imposed rule that he could not take a look at it until he’d reached home. Until there was enough space between himself and the ancient city.

He let out a deep sigh when the warmth of the sun reached his skin again. He put his hands in his pockets, ready to finally relax. His fingers hit the cold surface of the echo shard that he had placed there, and the emotions he’d been trying to suppress immediately jumped to the front of his mind. He took a breath to help steady his heart, but it did extremely little.

Behind him, Impulse and Skizz exited the cave. They had been uncharacteristically silent this entire time. Grian hadn’t commented on it - he had been too quiet, as well. He guessed they, too, were still grappling with what had happened in the ancient city.

“Skizz?” Impulse said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Throw it away.”

It. Grian was sure that Impulse spoke about the shard that Skizz had been holding onto since before he stumbled onto Hermitcraft. Especially because Skizz reacted as though this offended him.

“What?” Skizz shouted. “No!”

“Skizz, that stuff is dangerous!” Impulse retorted.

Grian didn’t stay around. He didn’t need to hear their arguing. This was something they could figure out on their own, and he could focus on what was truly important to him. So, he activated his elytra, lit a rocket and flew away from the bickering friends, back to his base.

Perhaps Grian also didn’t want to be asked his opinion. Something told him that neither of them would like what he thought about the situation.

The flight back to his base took too long. It was the same stretch of land, the same amount of time, and yet it felt like an actual eternity. Soon, his floating rocks came into view. Soon, he managed to land on the bridge and took a deep breath again.

Grian plucked the echo shard out of his chest. Under the sun, the gentle glow that it emitted was almost drowned out, but it was still present. Grian ran his thumb across the cold surface, staring into it, hoping to see a shape or anything else that may indicate that Scar was indeed in there. He’d seen his essence, his soul be pulled into the crystal, but a visual confirmation of this fact would be nice. Anything, really, to keep reminding him that one of his best friends was trapped in this shard with no current hope of getting out.

He turned his head. The plot of Scarland, where only a half-finished main street had been built, almost taunted him. Grian had to force himself to look away.

His gaze landed right back on the softly glowing crystal.

“Scar?”

What was he even doing? Speaking to it wouldn’t help at all. If the souls in the crystals were able to speak, they would have done so already. Yet, the knowledge that Scar’s was trapped in there was too much for Grian to bear.

“Scar? Are you in there?” Grian said. “I’m going to get you out of there. Don’t you worry. I’ll get you back.”

Again, the shard did not respond.

It had been glowing before he’d ever taken it.

The random thought made Grian pause and stare at it some more. The shard, which he had found in the ancient city, had been glowing before all of this even started. Whose souls were trapped in there, alongside Scar’s? Who else had already been dragged into Joel’s little scheme?

What did Joel say again? He was going home.

Grian activated his elytra and jumped off of the bridge, descending into the hole where Grumbot sat. Where the rift was located that he and Scar had originally gone through to retrieve Joel.

Grian wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Perhaps he’d hoped that whatever Joel did would have reopened the rift. He’d be back home, after all - if it had even worked properly - and Grian and Scar had found him in his home world. Perhaps Joel needed to be home before the rift functioned properly.

The cracks were still present in the basem*nt where this rift had been, but no otherworldly energy crackled within them. Not even a hint of purple. If a soul spontaneously sprung into existence and saw this wall, it may note the cracks, but it would not be able to say what had once been here. Grian stepped closer to it and placed his hand against the stone, hoping against all hope to feel something.

When the rift was present, the deepslate were pleasantly warm to the touch. Now, it was only cold.

Grian balled his hand into a fist, his nails scraping against the deepslate. He looked up at the cracks, blinked furiously to keep the tears from obscuring his view.

“Give him back!” His voice echoed through the cave and amplified his screams. He held up the gently glowing shard. “Give him back! Just give him back… please…”

Nothing happened.

He sank to his knees, his fist still against the wall. He no longer fought against the sorrow that clawed its way up his throat and through his eyes. He trembled, clenched the shard. Slowly, he brought it close to his chest, gently cradling it while he broke down into sobs and allowed grief to overwhelm him.

He had no idea for how long he sat like this. Long enough to not have any more tears left to cry. Enough to let the sorrow fall to the background and allow for another emotion to take its place.

Fury. Seething fury, an unknown well of anger deep within having opened that he did not attempt to close. Fury, such as he had never felt. Fury, not directed towards the Wizard and her friends - they tried to help - but to the location where this whole mess started.

The Ancient City. The nexus between worlds, where Joel performed his most heinous act. If it hadn’t existed, they would not have been in this situation in the first place. Scar would have been fine. Tango, Shelby, they would have been fine. Heck, even Joel would have been fine. Everything - everyone - would have been fine.

If it doesn’t exist, it won’t be able to hurt anyone else.

His gaze was drawn up again, to the cracks in the wall where the rift was supposed to be. Still closed. Didn’t matter.

A silent vow to the soul of his friend, trapped in the shard. He would leave the rescue of his friend to the Wizard - she seemed to know what she was doing - but he could focus his attention elsewhere. Reinforced deepslate was tough, but not unbreakable. Fortunately, Grian had all the time in the world, the patience to do so, and the stubbornness of someone who would not know how to stop until the job was well and done.

When he was done, there would be no ancient city anymore.