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Chapter Text

When Exor spoke, Xornoth listened.

The Dark Stag's voice penetrated Xornoth's mind, holding it tight. It creaked like the warped wood, grunted like the piglin tribes who revere their golden god, bubbled like lava and cried like ghasts. Most importantly, his messages were always conveyed within the pauses and breaks, forcing itself upon the mind of his equally broken and most devoted servant. Thus, he made his presence known, and Xornoth fell to their knees.

What do You see that is still hidden from me, oh, Great One? they asked - if it wasn't of vital importance, Exor wouldn't bother telling Xornoth this plainly.

The vision flooded his mind and pulsated like a migraine. Xornoth closed their eyes, as though it would block out the pain and help them focus. The pain persisted, however, and the vision demanded their attention.

They did not see much; most of it was left within the implications. Three featureless silhouettes cast their shadows on the netherrack, standing side by side. Two men flanked a woman, holding their preferred weapons: crossbow, staff, sword. The shadows on the netherrack reflected their red eyes, their devotion to Exor radiating from them.

Emotions washed over Xornoth; their god’s emotions, now their own as well. The jealousy of the Dark Stag, aimed towards his goody-two-shoes brother, who of course hogged the spotlight and turned more and more people against them. The rage when two sets of brothers fought their war, and one side lost. The pain from the imprisonment, into a realm thought to be uninhabited, now twisted and turned by Exor’s presence; the gate literally held shut by a creature they had once thought to be on their side. Yet, the Dragon aided Aeor and betrayed one she may have called her friend. The corrupted Nethergrowth easily showed the Dark Stag’s turmoil - and yet, a glimmer of hope resided within, aimed at the silhouetted people of the vision. 

The netherrack they cast their shadows on wasn’t in the Nether. The Overworld would not stand a chance.

The iron grasp faded and Xornoth breathed again, regained their vision. Yet, their god was never too far. Exor would grace them with his presence a little longer. They glanced up reverently, their gaze on the netherrack ledge that jutted out over the solitary island bastion where Xornoth had made their home. The Nether had no sky, but it was the next best thing and habits were hard to kill.

Where do I find your soldiers?

More visions, more headaches. One showed a castle in a sprawling city, amid thick dark oak trees. Another showed a keep in a walled city, the forge in the background almost as big as the mansion next to it. The final showed a simple hovel, a large wizard’s tower in the background. These sights were burned into Xornoth’s retinae, unable to forget them until they had fulfilled their duties.

Alinar had been exceedingly cruel in his attempts to disbar his sibling entrance to the Overworld, treating them like a criminal. Their only crime was being true to a god until the very end. If that was a crime, then Alinar belonged in the Nether, too. Alinar, however, hadn’t thought about the few gnomish refugees that would soon pour out of this realm and into his own.

It was foolish to believe not a single gnome managed to flee Exor’s wrath. Though Xornoth’s executions, corruptions, and sacrifices were swift, they likely missed some of them. They didn’t need the full gnome population to return Exor to a sliver of the power he once possessed; just enough for the deity to survive. Some gnomes must’ve fled, and they famously did not use those obsidian portals people were too attached to. They had always been smart little creatures, exploiting the weak spots in the barriers between realms to find their way around. Perhaps one of them hadn’t been diligent enough in their fear and had left the weak spot open.

With time on their side, Xornoth could find one such place. they squeezed themself through the barrier, ignoring the searing pain that came with breaking through the ban that had been placed upon them. Exor’s might protect them from Aeor’s sight, but not from the constant pain they would be in as they attempted to accomplish their goals. It only served as a reminder of what they needed to do, and that they needed to do it quickly.

The babies were taken one by one. The shadows still served their old god, allowing for Xornoth to sneak around more easily. Only their grimace and piercing red eyes would be visible whenever they wanted people to see it. They did want to, but the pain seared into their scarred skin and pushed him forward, traveling silently with the shadows.

The Mythlanders had a guard standing in front of the door. A middle-aged gentleman, wearing the red-and-gold symbol proudly on his chest. A senior guard, Xornoth guessed, whom the king and queen had entrusted their only child. He stood at attention, perfectly at attention and ready to protect this child.

Xornoth could kill him. Instead, they slipped into the shadows and appeared in the dark room where the baby lay. Xornoth approached the crib and looked inside, into the two big blue eyes of a baby that couldn't sleep and that still tried to understand the strange world he was born into.

Xornoth picked up the baby and left through the shadows.

The second baby was awake and active as well. In a tower in an ostentatious mansion of the Grimlands, overlooking the town of Eastvale, this baby was placed in a crib in the middle of the room. No guard stood at the door, but that may not have been deemed necessary due to the amount of traps that were set on the staircase. The amount did not look practical at all, but one jaunt through the shadows later, Xornoth had evaded them all.

This baby was crying, likely for its mother or because it was hungry. Likely not because it wanted attention, because it did not stop once Xornoth came into the room. Without much ado, they picked up the child and left.

The third child could be found in a much less guarded place. Unlike the palace of Mythland and the Grimmish mansion, this third child was located in a lonely hovel on lands claimed by the Crystal Cliffs. A small, two-room hovel with a thatched roof - too far from the main city to have one of those characteristic amethyst roofs. A candle burned inside, for light and warmth.

Silently, Xornoth walked into the room. This baby did sleep in a small crib, near her parents. They picked up the child, took one last glance at the parents - fast asleep, with no clue their child was taken from right under their nose - and walked out of the hovel.

In the Nether again, Xornoth took a breath of relief. Their skin still tingled from the constant pain inflicted upon it by the Overworld. The familiar heat of the Nether welcomed them home and provided some much needed relief. With the babies, they left for home.

In the middle of a lava lake stood a fortress. Once, it was overrun by piglins, but Xornoth had since cleaned it all out. Now, only Exor’s loyal servants would walk around here. Within the blackstone halls, these children would grow up feeling Exor’s influence, to grow as loyal as Xornoth. Three children, who would become Exor’s acolytes and enforcers in the Overworld, and who would return him to his full power. Xornoth put the babies in one of the rooms and glanced at them.

The migraine returned, grabbed the back of Xornoth’s mind and demanded they listen and see. The same vision as before was pushed into his mind: the three children he’d taken as adults, standing in a corrupted section of the Overworld. Something was different in this vision. The three soldiers gave themselves fully and wholly to open the path for Exor to return, in a ritual that was burned into Xornoth’s mind as they watched, extending their hands to the Egg of the Great Ender Dragon. Only one such loyal acolyte would be necessary to complete the ritual, but the extra devotion and power the other two held could be vital in the wars to come.

Xornoth breathed again and opened their eyes as the vision faded.

They had work to do.

Chapter Text

16 years later

The fortress in the middle of the lava lake had not changed at all. Its blackstone walls stood tall, almost as tall as the tallest warped fungus on the northern shore. Dilapidated as it was, the piglins had never been the greatest masons. How many had perished gathering the materials in the basalt deltas to hand off to their kin, to make their impenetrable bastions?

These were very much penetrable, and now no piglin snorts echoed through these halls. Instead, three sets of footsteps walked up the partially broken-off staircase with lava underneath.

Part of it had collapsed, leaving only a narrow pathway on the side that was treacherous to traverse, even going in single file. Sausage stepped forward. Before he could enter the narrow passage, he knelt down and placed a hand on the crumbled edge of the final step. From the palm of his hand - from a small patch of the bloodred Nethergrowth of their home - this corruption spread and grew. Sausage willed it to look like stairs, but even a solid surface could do the trick. A few seconds later, the hole in the stairs had been completely covered up by the Nethergrowth, providing an easier passage.

Sausage stood up again, turned around and offered his other hand to his sister. Gracefully, Gem took his hand as he guided her across the corruption. She didn’t need the support - she had walked on rougher and more unstable surfaces before. Yet, he’d offered his hand, and he couldn’t refuse her brother. She took each step carefully, though. The Nethergrowth could easily break away if she stepped in the wrong place, it may break and she could make a nasty fall. Still, she had no fear traversing the corruption that Sausage had grown, for she held his hand and she had another brother who always had her back.

fWhip, after he’d crossed the Nethergrowth-filled gap, glanced back at it with cynicism. The last time Sausage grew it to fill in the gap, it had fallen and rotted away, likely due to the lava catching it from certain angles after bubbling up. fWhip’s solution had lasted six months before it, too, got destroyed, but his support structure for the new steps had worked. Not that these stairs were all that often used, anyway - the Nethergrowth would fade within the gap and the whole routine would start over again.

The gap in the stairs mattered little in the long run. Their fortress was their home, and it was only a matter of time before any of them would fix it if the previous temporary solution ran out of time. For now, with this gap traversed, they continued all the way to the top.

The top floor - exposed to the Nether, with no blackstone roof above - was where they had spent most of their time. It was spacious enough to allow for frequent sparring sessions. The complete lack of land in all directions for at least a hundred feet also allowed for aerial combat training, once the siblings had mastered their respective elements. 

Today, however, they were not called up for training. Even so, they lined up as usual, hands behind their backs, and waited.

Their master showed up not much later. Master Xornoth, in their full glory. A charred exterior, a deep darkness that almost rivaled an Enderman’s hide. Where once two horns must have grown from his head, only the uneven stumps remained. Their eyes were big and red, as was their grin if they wished to show his protégés a sliver of pride. They did not wish to show that, so only the thin red outline of where the lips met was visible. As soon as they appeared in full view, the siblings stood even more at attention. They made sure to straighten their backs, to hold their chins up and to maintain eye contact. The respect, the awe, the underlying fear for their Master took over and they awaited the commands they knew would follow.

As for Xornoth, they saw the result of sixteen years of hard labor. Three young people - still barely children, according to human standards - whom they had molded into the perfect soldiers. Not a step out of line, not a hair out of place. Despite the lack of human interaction, Gem still insisted on the longer hair, now neatly braided and out of the way. The men had grown more sensible and had cut their hair. It was the one freedom that Xornoth had granted them, for it was the one freedom that did not matter. In the end, the hair of fWhip or Sausage could still easily be grabbed, if their opponent wished to do so. Besides, Xornoth had trained them well enough that the siblings would kill a person before they had a chance to come close.

The best thing was still how obedient these children were.

Gem, fWhip and Sausage stood at attention, waiting for Xornoth to give them their next objective. Each of them suppressed the urge to glance at their siblings - it had gotten them into trouble when they were small - and instead focused all of their attention to their Master.

My children.

Their voice rolled over them. Xornoth barely opened their mouth, and yet their voice crept into the deepest crevices of their minds. It did not consume their thoughts, but demanded attention nonetheless - the same way a meek Netherfly would pay attention to the hand hovering above it, ready to strike. To listen was a privilege, not a choice.

Exor deems you ready.

In Xornoth’s presence, it was difficult not to break protocol. It was difficult not to show the excitement and pride that welled in their chests. They were ready and the most respectful way to show their gratitude was to stand at attention and listen carefully.

You are grown, Xornoth continued. A year ago, you reached your full potential. I’ve given you one extra year to hone your talents. Now, you will use them in the Overworld.

The elusive Overworld that the three have heard so much about. Xornoth’s stories had prepared them to the best of their abilities, but it could have changed. They could have devised other ways to keep Exor suppressed and to hail the impostor god Aeor as a hero. They could have prepared themselves for a return of the corruption.  

You know your mission. Find a way to the End. Take the Dragon’s egg and keep it safe until I can traverse the Overworld again.

Such a disgrace. Instead of allowing Exor and his followers to flourish, the impostor god wanted everyone for themselves. All but Xornoth slain, used in a terrible ritual to lock god and champion away in the Nether. Xornoth could not exit the Nether without enduring unimaginable pain, and Exor needed the dragon egg for a ritual of his own, to allow himself to cross over into the Overworld again. Then, Exor would show the world exactly what it looked like when an alternative to the impostor was shown.

The world will know you, Xornoth addressed the siblings. They will fear you. They will talk about you. For you are the Wither that will save their miserable world.

With these words, they could feel the presence of Xornoth recede from their minds. This was the Wither’s sign that they were free to go. They quietly left the top floor white Xornoth made their leave, too. Two floors below, where their sleeping cots were, they finally allowed themselves to be excited.

Sixteen years ago, Exor had Xornoth craft three small bodies resembling humans from Netherrack. With bones taken from Wither skeletons and the essence of blaze burning within them, they were brought to life as babies. Netherborn, carefully made to fulfill a glorious purpose. Made as babies, because the potential to grow was not to be underestimated. To grow meant to be even more powerful than you would be if you came into the world fully grown. This process had taken sixteen years - fifteen to have them be fully grown, and then an extra year to become even more powerful. They had been anticipating this meeting, hoping for their chance to come.

Today, it came, and they were more than ready to fulfill their destiny.

In this world, there is no such thing as being overzealous. About three weeks ago, the Wither had discovered a Nether portal nearby. They’d heard stories of those gateways that connected to the Overworld, a cruel mockery of what Xornoth was never able to do without being tortured every second. It should allow the siblings to pass through easily, though, and they were ready to head off.

Their sleeping space was simple, yet functional. Their cots stood in one corner, so close to one another that they only had a few inches of space between them. The rest of the room was bare, with enough open space to spar. Any holes in the floor and walls had been patched up with a thick layer of the Nethergrowth corruption, sturdy enough to not break away beneath their feet. There was one hole in the wall, however, that they had not closed up. Gem had blasted this hole six years ago herself, around the time she learned to conjure wings and wanted quick and easy access to the air. It had to be widened as time went on, but the hole still had its function. And soon after Gem had created it, her brothers were able to use it, too. Just as they were about to do.

The incantation was familiar and quick, and at this point it only required an off-hand flick of the wrist. A pair of pale-white translucent wings sprouted from her back, connected through only the barest strands of magical energy. She’d done it often enough that it barely expended any of her magical energy. 

Next to her, fWhip mounted a pack on his back and pressed the buttons that he knew intimately well. A pair of mechanical, well-crafted wings unfolded from the pack, their controls folding out where fWhip could easily reach them. Around his waist, he’d tied the satchel from where he could easily grab the explosives he so lovingly crafted and loved to throw at piglins that passed by in the distance. 

Sausage didn’t stand by them, however, as he moved to what he knew to be the thickest patch of Nethergrowth in their room. He knelt down in the middle and quickly glanced at his hand, and the small amount of Nethergrowth in his hand. He pressed it on the floor, and with little effort, commanded it to rise beneath his feet. A surface of five by five feet rose up in the air as a platform of about a foot and a half thick. It easily supported Sausage, some of the corruption creeping up to his ankles to secure his position on the self-made platform. As long as his hand was attached to the platform, he could float for as long as he pleased and as long as he kept his focus.

The Wither went airborne, soaring through the Nether skies as they were used to doing. The piglins below scattered at the sight of them, hiding beneath the fungi. They willingly ran into known hoglin territory just to stay out of sight. The few ghasts on their way watched them pass by, not even daring to shoot at them. Flying across a fortress within a basalt delta, the blazes and wither skeleton almost seemed to bow their heads. The Wither could fly without consequence, for who would dare lay their hands on those who would bring salvation to the Overworld?

The Nether portal sat upon an overhang in one of the extensive Nether wastes. fWhip fiddled with a flint and steel, until he managed to light the portal. The bright purple shein swirled within the portal, enticing the siblings to pass through and go to the Overworld. The Wither waited for a second, to appreciate the beauty of this purple energy. Then, the appreciation turned into excitement and they stumbled over themselves to be the first to set foot in that strange new world on the other side.

Frigid winds hit them almost instantly as something crunched beneath their feet. The Wither almost stumbled back into the portal, but they fought against their instincts. They had arrived in the Overworld, and there was no going back until they had fulfilled their mission.

Gem acted instantly. A flourish of her hands, a muttered incantation under her breath as she tapped into her magical abilities. With it, she dispelled the cold on her and her brothers’ skin, a shield of warmth enveloping them. Master Xornoth had warned them that the Overworld would be different from what they were used to, and that they should expect a wide range of biomes and situations - including the cold, which the Wither had only ever known as the elusive ‘opposite of warmth’.

They didn’t need to linger on it for too long, for Gem had blocked out the cold before it could do them any harm. With this cold dispelled, they could finally focus on their surroundings. 

A field of white greeted them, set against a slope that only grew steeper and steeper. They rose and rose until they ended in sharp points, at least three of them next to one another. The winds still battered against them, but the cold no longer reached them. Below them, the slopes evened out and reached a plateau. It still was covered in a layer of snow. In the distance, structures sat to the right, mostly hidden behind an offshoot of the mountain their Nether portal brought them to.

The Wither took to the skies again, in a similar fashion as before. They waited for a few minutes while Sausage spread the first of the Nethergrowth on the ground - enough to carry him, and then some more. A symbolic beginning to their mission, tucked away among these mountains, a glorious sign of what was to come.

Through the sky, they turned around the corner. Their eyes widened as they took in the details. The plateau hadn’t fully evened out, so the civilization they witnessed had been built on a slope. A large city, yet it seemed sparsely built in. Each house had enough space around them, their teal roofs complimenting the dark supports. Most of these homes appeared to be single story buildings, though others caught their eyes. 

One such building sat on one of the higher ridges, overlooking everything else. Its teal roof was steeper than the others and it was supported by clear white stone walls instead of wood. Not too far from this stood one of these houses, bigger and with two floors. Its intricate support beams, though made of wood, shared a certain significance that wasn’t lost on the Wither. On the other side of the city, at one of its lowest points, stood a tower a few floors tall, constructed of white stone and narrowing the taller it became. These walls were accentuated by teal and gold - of which the gold accents mimicked the shape of a pair of antlers.

The color scheme already set off alarm bells in the Wither’s mind.

The city was not deserted. All around the edge, within large fields, movement drew their attention briefly. Small white creatures - they seemed small from a distance - traversed these dull green fields, along with their teal brethren. The greatest movement, however, was to be found within the city itself. In what they assumed to be the main plaza, they saw a gathering of sorts. Civilians, people dressed in warm whites and teals, mingled with one another in a large crowd. Stalls stood in certain places, and some music drifted up high enough in the air that the Wither could hear it. However, what drew their attention wasn’t exactly the crowd itself, but what they gathered around.

In the middle of this plaza stood a statue, almost as big as one of the more standard houses they’ve seen. It towered above everyone, its gaze pointed at the white tower. The statue depicted a magnificent-looking stag with white fur and a pair of golden antlers. The Wither could only stare as this effigy of Aeor stood there, in plain sight, looking over the poor souls it had ensnared with its lies.

The Wither had been trained to take on the Overworld. All those years, all that pain and suffering, all to grow stronger and better and to be able to overcome any challenges that this versatile and unpredictable world would throw at them. It had been drilled into their mind to be cautious, to not jump into fights they could not win, and to always keep their wits about them. However, this blatant display of power and domination could not go unnoticed. It only solidified the Wither’s burgeoning hatred for the false impostor god, and this wrong had to be corrected.

People walked below. They had no idea they worshiped a false god. Yet, their worship only fed the lie with each breath they took. There was no point in saving them, for they were naturally averse to salvation. Aeor worked meticulously to keep his flock blinded to the possibilities of a better life outside of its influence.

The Wither acted immediately and swiftly.

Sausage descended into the crowd, while fWhip found himself a vantage point and Gem remained in the air. The Wither timed Sausage’s landing with the first explosives hitting the grounds as Gem raised her arms and covered the plaza in an impenetrable pale-white translucent dome the people could not flee from.

fWhip had aimed for the statue of the impostor god. Parts of the leg were completely destroyed, making it impossible to stay up. The first gasps exited people’s mouths as the stag leaned to one side and started to fall. In another part of the crowd, shouts and screams rose as Sausage detached from his floating platform of Nethergrowth to grab his sword and start cutting down the heathens.

Panic. The lack of knowledge and the inability to get away caused panic. As many would kill each other as those Sausage would cut down, running over one another, trampling each other to get away. Cries of pain, shock, horror were music to their ears, as would be the prayers the impostor god would leave unanswered.

Sausage moved through the crowd, lethal as ever. No flourishes, no fancy moves. Just quick, easy, nearly painless for those whose lives he ended. Most of them barely knew what hit them. They were not military targets, Sausage soon realized, and it caused him to work more quickly with his guard a little lower.

Air support came from his siblings. Explosives thrown or explosive arrows shot by fWhip targeted those who were further away, and concentrated beams of harmful magical energy streaked into the panicking crowds at the edge of the dome, culling the groups. As far as the three were concerned, the Wither acted as a perfect unit, just like Exor intended.

Something outside the dome caught Gem's attention. A force of soldiers or guards were gathering outside, one superior barking orders at the other. Gem couldn't understand their language, but she did not like their tone. She assessed the battlefield in front of them - enough of the initial crowd had died, the statue had been shattered, and the crowd had come to a point they would accidentally kill each other trying to flee.

The Wither has done enough. It was time to leave and establish a basecamp somewhere in this strange new world.

“fWhip! Sausage!” Gem yelled at them. “Retreat.”

Her brothers heard her and made their own assessment. One second later, they agreed with her and finished their affairs. Gem dove to where fWhip had found the high ground, ready to grapple him. This way, she could lift him in the air and give him that extra boost without having to use any rockets. Sausage ran back to where he'd parked his Nethergrowth platform. He pressed his hand against the Nethergrowth and floated back up. As he did so, Gem lifted fWhip in the air for that boost.

Gem waved her hand at the last second to dispel the dome. As they passed where its border had been, the people below ran away as fast as they could. The soldiers gathered on the outside were nearly overrun, finding it difficult to move in the opposite direction. By the time the crowd had passed and these soldiers were released, the Wither had fled far enough that they could neither attack nor pursue. All that was left was to organize the clean-up.

The Wither did not see a man standing atop the upper floor of the tower. On the balcony, the blue-haired man in regal white and teal clothes with yellow accents watched the Wither leave. His hands gripped the railing,  his fingers digging into the wood as the Wither left. 

As the Wither disappeared into the distance, Lord Scott of Rivendell decided to call for a general meeting of rulers.

Chapter Text

One must not be afraid of heights to climb the wizard’s tower. It reached for the sky, higher than any other structure in the Crystal Cliffs. Furthermore, gaps were left in walls on several floors as an entrance for those wizards who had mastered the ability to fly. It also allowed for allied rulers with an elytra to safely enter without having to climb what might feel like an ungodly amount of stairs.

Lyra loved to stare out of these landing gaps, to feel the wind brush against her skin and witness the wonders of magic. She had not yet mastered flight, but she loved to watch over the Crystal Cliffs from here. The students almost seemed like ants from up high, enthusiastic as ever, even if a rumor from Rivendell worried the elven students.

Though she could stare forever, she did carry important correspondence for the Academy’s Headmaster. Though he was a patient headmaster, Lyra did not want to leave him waiting.

So she climbed the stairs, using magic to teleport short distances - ten steps at a time - and make the climb that little more bearable. At long last, she reached the top of the stairs, where a double door greeted her. She did not need to knock on the door, as the Headmaster’s chambers came with its own magical security system. Anyone without express permission would find it impossible to enter. Fortunately, as the Headmaster’s assistant, Lyra could enter whenever she wished.

The room was a wizard’s dream. Purple candles floated around, traveling where they were most needed to illuminate the space. A hearth to the left cast warm firelight into the room, two cluttered desks to its right. It made one wonder whether it was safe to keep alchemical workstations next to a large, open flame. Nearly all the walls were covered with shelves and cabinets, each filled to the brim with tomes, scrolls, books and magical artifacts, all placed in such a way where it was both practical and pleasing to the eye. A door to the far end gave access to the bedroom, while large round windows looked over the territory. To the east, past the mountains, one could even see the outskirts of a Grimmish village.

Near the fireplace stood two extremely comfortable mauve armchairs. Normally, the headmaster spent his free time relaxing on one of them, though that was not the case today. A large table occupied the middle of the room, supporting a dozen scrolls, tomes and books, scattered across its surface. They were opened on various pages and sections, to be perused at a later time. A grey-furred cat wearing a purple hat, fitted specifically for his head, lay in front of one opened book, floating in front of his face, the page turning just as Lyra entered the room.

Lyra closed the door behind her, yet still knocked to announce her presence.

“Good afternoon, Gandalf.”

The cat lifted his head and glanced past the book. A smile appeared on his face.

“Lyra! Welcome.” Gandalf stood up and stretched his legs. With a quick flick of his head, a bookmark slid between the open pages as the book closed. Gandalf walked gracefully across the table to meet his assistant at the edge.

This year marked Gandalf’s twelfth year of service as the Academy’s Headmaster. As long as the school council believed he was doing a good job, he would keep his job - and, for a wizard as accomplished as he, it was a comfortable and enjoyable job.

One might also wonder why such an accomplished wizard needed an assistant. After all, magic could perform many of the tasks he had hired Lyra for. Then again, a mage hand would not give him the human contact he craved, nor would it be able to hold long philosophical conversations with him. It was the humanoid touch he just could not miss. Not everyone was brazen enough to pet or give scritches to the Headmaster of the Crystal Cliffs, after all.

Even now, their interaction started with a scritch under the chin as Gandalf reached the edge of the table.

“I assume you bring news about the students,” Gandalf said. “Have you heard what is troubling them?”

“The situation with the freshmen has been resolved.” No longer were older students assaulted by flying snowballs that had seemed to have gained some sentience - an unfortunate side-effect from one particularly overzealous Oceanic freshman. “I’ve also noticed some unrest among our Rivendellians. Perhaps this may clear things up.”

From her pocket, Lyra took an official-looking envelope from Rivendell and she placed it on the table. A frown appeared on Gandalf’s face and he slightly tilted his head. 

“A missive from the elves? Then it must truly be bad.” He raised a paw and gestured at the envelope. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Lyra nodded once and opened the envelope, unfolding the letter within. She placed it on the side of the table, in such a position that both she and Gandalf could read what it said.

Lord Scott called the rulers of the Empires for a meeting. A terrible attack had been mounted against Rivendell and its people, killing many during a celebration of Aeor and many more afterward, during the pandemonium left in their wake. The perpetrators - three in total - disappeared deeper into the continent, and Lord Scott had every reason to believe they may strike elsewhere, too. Considering the damage caused by only three assailants, he called for the meeting so the rulers could discuss any measures that should be taken against these attackers.

“Oh, dear…” Gandalf said.

“So that’s what the students were worried about,” Lyra muttered. One student with a wizard parent in Rivendell must have already heard something and spoken about it, which spread the news and countless rumors and which deeply concerned any Rivendellian students. 

Gandalf placed a paw on the missive and pushed it aside with a deep sigh.

“If any Rivendell students wish to go home or check in on their loved ones via other methods, they are encouraged to do so. Anyone who can help them is also encouraged to do so. Could you communicate that to the students?”

“Of course,” Lyra said. Anything to help the students through these tough times. “You’ll be traveling to Rivendell for the meeting?”

“Not without my dearest assistant,” Gandalf confirmed. “Well, it’s not until two days from now. Rivendell is not too far to travel. Today, business continues as usual, while helping Rivendellian students. Tomorrow, we leave.”

Sir Carlos, though he’d returned only a few days ago, could still navigate the halls of the Great Castle of Mythland as though he’d never left. Yes, some floorboards creaked louder, some parts had been renovated, and the guards he’d known as young men had grown up, but the castle still felt exactly the same as it did sixteen years ago. He had been welcomed back with open arms. Though his mission was a failure, the knight was glad to be back home.

He did not wander aimlessly through these halls. He looked for August, the general of the army and the one in charge of Mythland. Carlos figured he would no longer find him in the tavern, so he traveled through the castle instead.

The throne room was out of question. Knowing the general, August wouldn’t want to spend a lot of time there. The thrones belonged to the late King and Queen and he wouldn’t want to dishonor their memory by using either throne. Instead, Carlos traveled to a room where all on-duty guards could rest or take a break. Absolutely nothing had changed in that room, and Carlos assumed this would be where August spent his time.

He’d been correct. Carlos’ gaze was drawn to an older gentleman in chainmail, in deep conversation with Sierra, the captain of the guard. August was so engrossed in the conversation that he didn’t immediately notice Carlos had entered. Once his mentor, August had quickly become a good friend and brother in arms. They served alongside each other, fighting for the home they both loved, saving each other’s lives at least once. His naturally brown hair had turned to silver, a short beard now graced his once clean-shaven chin. Though he’d grown a little older - and, with it, his reflexes a little slower - his gaze was still as sharp as ever. His mind similarly was as quick as Carlos remembered. The Queen had made the right choice to entrust her kingdom to the general.

Carlos wished he could have been a fly on the wall of that conversation. How long would August have monologued about the privilege he’d been granted, how many promises had he made? How much time had the Queen needed to convince him?

At long last, August realized someone had entered and looked up. Sir Carlos initially greeted him with a wide smile and a respectful nod before he walked closer.

“Hello, August.”

“Carlos.” August took a deep breath as he relaxed. His shoulders dropped at least an inch. “I thought you would spend some time around town. To what do I owe this visit?”

Carlos had indeed planned to re-familiarize himself with the capital city - to see all the changes, and all that had stayed the same. His plans, however, had been changed drastically when he saw the messenger snow owl from Rivendell sitting on a window sill. It hadn’t taken long to track down the message it had carried here and to read it.

“I’ve read Lord Scott’s letter,” Carlos said. He wouldn’t blame August for not telling him - he likely didn’t hold it back from Carlos intentionally. “I didn’t seek you out for an endless discussion, so I’ll just state my mind. I’m going to Rivendell.”

As expected, August didn’t like the news. The chipper man who was glad to see his friend briefly disappeared to exude strong father energy, looking at Carlos as though he just announced he would be traveling to Mezalea on bare feet. Carlos had been prepared for that reaction. August, after all, had been rather outspoken about where the knight should be since his return: in Mythland, and nowhere else.

August sighed deeply. “Carlos, you’ve only just arrived home–”

“I’m well aware,” Carlos interrupted him. It had been five wonderful days. “If it were up to me, I’d still be out there. I wish I could have returned with the prince before the Queen’s passing, but alas.”

That had been his mission. Self-imposed, yes, but still noble. A vow he made before the King. To return with his son, or to die trying. The King passed away not long after, unable to live knowing that his son had been stolen right from under the noses of the best guard force the continent has ever known. Carlos had traveled the world, chasing rumors and hunches, all of which had been fruitless. He’d been everywhere short of the End or the Nether, for what bandits in their right mind would ever breach into the two most dangerous places outside of the Overworld? Only an urgent message from August had enticed him to return. His late arrival meant the Queen never saw her last wish fulfilled: to speak with Carlos before illness claimed her.

They buried her four days ago, next to her late husband. Carlos was present for the burial. Now, the missing prince was the new monarch of Mythland, which would be governed by general August until his return.

“You’ve done your best,” August told Carlos - perhaps with the added thought that now it was time to put the travel boots aside.

“And I will continue to do my best for Mythland. One such way is to attend the meeting.”

“I can still travel,” August insisted.

“So can I. I’m more used to the road than you are, currently,” Carlos countered the general. “You’ve been with the Queen through these hard times. You know what has changed and what hasn’t. You know what Mythland needs more than I do. The best I can see myself helping is to take back the notes from the meeting to you.”

For a moment, with gazes locked, they stood in silence. The captain of the guard watched curiously, though she did not speak up. Not that the two senior soldiers noticed while they were caught in this minor disagreement.

“You can’t stop me,” Carlos said, to break the silence.

“I know I can’t,” August responded. “Be safe, old friend. It would be a shame for Mythland to lose one of its best.”

“I will be, like I’ve always been,” Carlos responded. “You take care, too.”

Almost, he jokingly turned to Sierra to ask her to keep an eye on August. Carlos decided to abandon the idea as soon as it popped into his head. He had to prepare for the journey, after all. It wouldn’t take long, but the journey itself might. He would make it to the meeting before it started if he managed to depart today.

Five days. That was how long he was home before he left again.

Five days, after nearly sixteen years of searching.

He’d exhausted all of his options. He knew that when he received August’s message. The prince - if he was still alive - had successfully disappeared. Only his pride fueled the expedition long after his heart had lost all hope. Only the message allowed him to see how futile his search had become.

He should have found the prince long ago. But he hadn’t.

It wasn’t easy to admit defeat. Especially after putting so much effort into it. Yet, with his return, he was faced with the truth. The prince was lost. His efforts could be better spent contacting cousins of the late King and Queen, or to install a capable young monarch on the throne in their stead.

It was time to move to the future. If that path led him to abandon his mission, so be it. After all, his mission had failed the moment the baby had vanished from his crib.

When the Count asked for someone to come to him, you answered that call immediately. You had to drop whatever you were doing to speak with the leader of the Grimlands, or face fierce judgment. As such, one young man rushed through the mansion to arrive within an acceptable time frame.

As Rick walked through the halls, he caught a glance of himself in the windows. A long, dark brown coat to hide his normal clothes under. A disinterested gaze that quickly scanned his outfit with the same scrutiny the Count would. His auburn-reddish curls, though combed this morning, had decided to stop behaving and had frizzled a bit.

He didn’t stop walking. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make himself look more presentable in the short, short time he had before he reached the Count. He couldn’t arrive looking like a slob.

The Count’s room was located on the top floor of the mansion. Its magnitude nor its stairs have ever given him any trouble. Yet, each time he had to go this distance at a quicker pace, he had almost run out of breath and needed a moment. A moment he did not have, for he needed to reach the Count as quickly as he could, without delay.

Two guards stood in front of the closed door. They'd heard Rick coming - the hurried footsteps had echoed up the stairs - and greeted him with a quick nod. The Count had ordered them to immediately open the door as soon as a visitor arrived. However, the guards were sympathetic to Rick - as well as other visitors - and allowed him his moment of rest.

A moment to stand in the hallway and try to stop panting before he entered. A moment to get into the right headspace. Nothing more than a moment before guilt crushed him. The Count wanted to see him, and Rick could not afford even a moment to gather his thoughts.

Rick gave the guards a nod, and they opened the doors. With one more quick breath, Rick entered into the Count's private quarters.

The space had always been too lavish for Rick's personal tastes. Not every square inch of the floor needed to be covered by exquisite and stupidly expensive Rivendellian rugs. Paintings from great masters of the Overgrown and the Lost Empire hung on the walls and one of the more ostentatious gifts from the Ocean Empire stood in a place where the eye would immediately be drawn toward it. 

One person did not need as many riches. How could you be grateful for what you have when all you have only shows your visitors the wealth you possess?

Rick's eyes were drawn to the king-size bed to the side, where the Count had been the last three times Rick had visited. This time, however, the bed had been made and the Count sat at his desk, further into the room.

“Uncle,” Rick called out to catch his attention. He straightened his back, legs closed as he stood, his hands behind his back - just as he had practiced more than a thousand times. Hopefully, he could get his breath and beating heart under control. “You wished to see me?”

Slowly, the man turned around. Count Abel looked at least thirty years older than he actually was, his grey hair that barely reflecting the red that it once was. His eyes had sunken in, bags under his eyes, sickly thin wrists and arms that he blamed on his illness. Rick had barely known him healthy, but this week, the Count had recovered from a particularly bad episode. His judgmental eyes found Rick and instantly scanned him. That gaze lingered on his hair and perhaps a wrinkle in the coat he perceived as a sleight.

“Rick,” Count Abel croaky voice said weakly, spoken as though he still had the strength he once possessed. “There you are. Been waiting long enough. Come closer.”

Rick took a deep breath to let the subtle insult pass him. As usual, a residual of that comment did cling to him, to be shaken off at a later moment.

“What do you need from me?” Rick asked with as much interest as he could muster - which wasn't much.

“Lord Scott of Rivendell has asked for our presence at an urgent meeting regarding a terrorist attack on his kingdom. It takes place in two days,” the Count said. “Unfortunately, I am still not fit to travel, so you will need to go there in my stead. You leave tomorrow.”

Rick's stomach churned. He couldn't quite keep his face straight, his mind already toiling from all the extra pressure the Count so casually. Still, he bowed his head. “Of course, Uncle.”

The Count squinted. He could sense and almost smell the disappointment.

“You don’t seem pleased.” 

Rick nodded again, suppressing the urge to sigh. He kept his gaze just slightly under the Count’s chin, unable to look him in the eye. He never could do that. “Allow me to remind you that you have given me the responsibility of opening the crafter’s festival tomorrow. You’ve told me that I ought to make my presence known there throughout the festivities. I’m afraid I can’t accomplish that while I am away on other business.”

That had been his responsibility last year  and the year before, too. With the preparations for this year in full swing and the first day fast approaching, Rick finally believed that he had a full grasp on everything that was expected of him. Even the intrinsic details he'd had to discover on his own, much to his own discomfort and dismay, no longer held any secrets.

On top of that, this was the crafter's festival. During these few wonderful days, crafters and artisans from all across the Grimlands came to show off their latest creative projects. At the very least, people could learn from fellow craftspeople and get some inspiration for their own projects. All the while  the handiness and creativity of the Grimlands were celebrated with an unofficial awards show, closing the festival on the third day.

Rick liked the festival. Ever since his sister had introduced him to it, it was the highlight of his year. Though his methods may be unorthodox by Grimmish standards, during those days, he actually could relax and feel like he belonged. It had become a time of comfort - one he had been looking forward to for months.

Now, the Count was taking that from him.

The Count raised a hand and literally dismissively waved the concerns away. “Your sister can do that, too.”

Rick clenched his hands, so that he wouldn't have to clench his jaw and the Count wouldn’t see his dismay. At the same time, he tried to suppress the rising stress so that it wouldn't shine through.

“Maeve is indeed a capable and amazing person,” Rick responded, emphasising his sister's name. “I wonder, if she's as capable as you imply, why she hasn’t been given more responsibilities.”

Rick regretted his tone - perhaps he should have held his tongue and agreed with his uncle. Unfortunately, his bite reared its head again and might make his uncle choose to have him leave by elytra. Already, the thought of flying made him anxious - though, that anxiety might also be a side-effect of this whole situation.

Maeve would've kept a level head, if she had been selected as the heir to the county. Count Abel, however, had insisted on the younger of the siblings to fill that void. His reasons for choosing Rick was a public secret. The crib still stood where Rick’s cousin had once slept.

“She is… capable, yes,” the Count admitted, likely hurting his ego in the process. “But she’s not my heir. You are. So you are going to fly to Rivendell and attend the meeting. I’m certain that you'll be able to bring your sister up to speed about everything she needs to do for the festival, if you insist that she can do your job. You'll manage, right?”

“I'll get on it right away,” Rick said. “Good afternoon to you.”

He did not wait to be dismissed to leave the room and get out of that suffocating situation.

Chapter Text

The words of master Xornoth echoed through their mind. Years of training has led up to this, and the Wither could not afford to fail at the very first steps of their journey in the Overworld.

Choose a suitable location, master Xornoth would say. Hide yourselves from prying eyes.

Flying across the Overworld, the Wither immediately discarded large, open plains as a suitable place where they could set up their basecamp. They were naturally drawn towards the warmer regions, away from the cold mountains that dominated the skyline behind them. With their gazes firmly on the ground, Sausage was the first to point out the forest. Trees in the Overworld, if they were anything like the megafungi of the Nether, would obscure anyone’s view of them. Gem and fWhip easily agreed, and they descended.

The bark was a pale white, the leaves a duller green than the grasses. A smaller clearing within this forest - just big enough to support the size of their camp - would do.

Observe your surroundings. Be mindful of all that can harm or help you.

To the south, one of the trees had fallen. It now sat at an angle, leaning against a nearby tree, its branches and leaves obscuring their view to the south. A nearby creek provided water and an early source of food. The canopy did not completely cover the sky, leaving holes for the sunlight to filter through. This also provided an easy escape route. The forest wasn’t dense, but the trees weren’t too far away from each other, nor were their trunks too wide. Perhaps they wouldn’t be able to take cover behind the trees, but it still provided opportunities to duck behind and grant a second or two to consider their options and make a decision.

Time to get to work.

fWhip immediately went to the creek. He crafted simple traps with the materials this forest provided, setting them in the vicinity of the creek, on the opposite side of where the Wither was staying. Why would the wildlife come to their side, after all, when they realized predators had decided to make their home there?

Gem focused on her magic. She took her time to create a pale dome of magical energy, which shimmered briefly before it disappeared from view. It would hide them from the view of prying eyes. Though she could have easily set it up to disallow enemies from crossing the threshold, it would require more energy and she had no idea if they were doing anything else today that would require her magic. 

In the meantime, Sausage unpacked their backpacks, setting up everything else. He made a campfire in the middle of their clearing. He unrolled their bedrolls, laying them all directly next to one another, as they were used to. He cleared the tree to the south, to provide a better view of any future enemies that may come from that angle.

Most importantly - a task they all shared - they created torches or magical lights, and set them up around their little camp. At night, there would not be any dark spots within a certain radius around their camp. The night was dangerous, after all, and to survive it would be a challenge in itself.

This is not beneath you, master Xornoth had said. The creatures of the night may be individually weak, they know strength in numbers. Light deters them, and only the bravest dare approach further. Do not underestimate them. Do not let them be the cause of your death.

For an untimely death was not how they would best serve Xornoth and Exor. Their purpose was grander, and death was to be avoided at all costs. Their enemies, however, should meet a swift and gruesome end. Unfortunately, the Overworld and Aeor’s influence had taken hold of the rulers of the land. Aeor could not do without his most influential pawns, so he did not allow them to rest in death, should they perish. Instead, they are resurrected, forced to continue to carry out the impostor god’s will for all of eternity. 

Once Exor was back in power, he would grant the rulers the mercy of death, no longer bound to life by a stubborn god. Until then, the Wither would need to fight an unfair battle, perhaps facing down the rulers multiple times because Aeor did not know when to give up.

The sun was already setting when the Wither finished the construction of their basecamp. They cooked some pork chops above the open flame as the sky above them changed colors and darkened.

“I say we rest and start our search for an end portal tomorrow,” Sausage said, his fingers perpetually running over the small patch of corruption on his hand. He looked at his siblings; fWhip was too focused on the pork chops to look up, but Gem nodded.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“I think we should go after dinner,” fWhip said, turning the pork chops as he spoke. “I mean, we’re here. The longer we wait, the easier we lose our advantage in this world. They don’t know us yet, we should be using that to our advantage.”

“We don’t know what the night is going to be like,” Gem respectfully disagreed. “We’ve set up our camp, yes, but what if we stray? We may get lost, we may be ambushed by the nighttime predators. At the very least we should wait until the morning comes and we can orient ourselves.”

For a moment, silence fell over the camp.

“You’re right,” fWhip said. “You’re always right. In which case: how will we approach our search? Do we think the rulers have a direct portal to the End like some do to the Nether?”

“They might have,” Gem had to admit. It wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary for rulers to have a portal to the End, no matter if they used it or not.

“So we should attack the rulers, then,” Sausage said. “Three against one. Even if they come back, it’ll buy us time to find out where their portal is.”

“That plan has a few problems,” Gem said. “First, Master Xornoth was clear in the fact that the End portal was likely buried underground. So even if rulers have a direct way to access that, it wouldn’t be a tunnel from their palaces to the End portal. That seems too inconvenient for those who have always enjoyed certain freedoms, luxuries and pleasures. The rulers may know where it is, but they won’t have a way to get there. I believe they must travel there as well. Besides, their palaces are likely teeming with guards. We could take them out, but they may deplete our resources before we can even reach the rulers.”

“So we don’t kill the rulers?” Sausage wondered aloud, a frown on his face.

“We do,” fWhip chimed in. “We just have to be smart about it. Lure them out. Fortunately, they are involved enough with their population and too brazen to ignore our presence.”

For that was something else Aeor forced upon them. Along with the curse to never be able to die, they were tasked with keeping as many alive as they could. Perhaps they truly cared about the people they presided over, but their kindness could just as easily be equated to the command to protect everyone. Aeor wished not to lose any followers, after all, and having his most powerful followers protect the harmless ones seemed only logical for one so arrogant as Aeor.

“Then we do that,” Sausage said. “Oh, I can’t wait! The sooner we find the portal, the better.”

“That’s very true,” fWhip responded. “But first: eat up!”

The pork chops had finished cooking. The Wither each ate their portion, the taste and smell already reminding them of home. Nothing could beat a good hoglin pork chop - except maybe mushroom stew. A good meal, right before going to bed and getting some good rest. They would need to be at their best tomorrow, and every day after that.

Master Xornoth had told them to pack blankets. They had done so, for he had told them to do it. However, the day had been pleasantly warm as soon as they left the snowy mountains behind, so Sausage hadn’t thought to unpack them. The Wither hadn’t expected the temperature to drop when the night fell and the sun left. They pulled out their blankets and went to bed, side by side by side. They cuddled more closely together, for that little bit of extra heat they could give one another during this dark night. Not even the sounds of faraway enemies could deter them from having a good night’s sleep.

Something else they hadn’t thought about was the rain. Once again, it proved how much more different the Overworld was compared to the Nether. The Nether was pleasantly static, warm, with no weather to speak off or any semblance of a day-night cycle. It was just always the same, and thus predictable and good. The Overworld, however, seemed to enjoy throwing them curveballs - first with the snowy mountains, now with the rain. The Overworld was unpredictable at best, and the Wither learned the hard way when droplets hit their faces and blankets and nearly drenched everything before they awoke.

It was nothing a spell couldn’t fix. Gem added an extra protective layer to the protective magical dome. Soon the rain impacted that dome, sliding off to the side harmlessly. From the outside, it must look rather weird. For the future, they ought to keep that in mind and weigh the consequences of being unseen against having their stuff be dry.

The Wither unanimously agreed they hated the rain, yet also agreed not to spend any more energy keeping themselves dry once they ventured away from their camp. 

They also agreed that the next time they put down torches, they would have Gem magically enhance them so they would produce flame, no matter what kind of weather the Overworld threw in their way.

The rain didn’t appear to stop, and they could not wait. The Wither were supposed to be out there, gathering the necessary information and taking it from those who had it. To do so, they had to draw out these rulers from their palaces. Terror, as Master Xornoth had always explained, would scare away the rabble and attract the attention of warriors. Most rulers were classified as warriors, and thus terror would draw them out.

They deemed their camp sufficiently hidden from above, made mental notes about nearby landmarks that would help them track it down again, and continued eastward. A lone dirt road indicated that society had to be nearby. The longer they flew around, the whiter the clouds above their heads became and the fewer raindrops dared to make them wet. The road continued through rolling hills, across fields of green and later of a golden yellow. In the distance, the silhouette of a large structure loomed tall. From afar, it was difficult to tell what it was, but it was definitely natural-looking and not something the people in this world decided to build incredibly tall.

Within these golden yellow fields, some houses were dotted around, and people walked around like ants, working on something that the Wither could not fathom. Their attention, however, was on the road that snaked through the fields and the group of travelers going westward. 

Five people, five horses. Four people in armor wearing swords on their sides, accompanying a woman, riding in the middle of them. The wind played gently with her long brown hair, her green dress elegant. Not someone to be underestimated, either, for a sword also was sheathed on her side. Perhaps civilization was a little further ahead, but that did not mean the Wither could not practice a little against those who had been trained to fight and protect Aeor’s flock.

The Wither swooped down, gaining more speed as they approached the ground. Their descent did not remain unnoticed; one of the soldiers pointed upward, shouted something that was lost in the wind, whistling in the Wither’s ears. The two soldiers in the back grabbed their crossbows, while the two in front drew their swords. The woman in the middle merely looked up and seemed to wait.

Gem acted first. A concentrated blast of pale white energy, right next to the woman, left a small crater in the road. The horses panicked because the sudden impact and sound. One managed to throw off its rider, the other three soldiers dismounted and were unable to deal with both the panicked horses and the coming threat. The woman in the green dress descended gracefully from her horse, whispering something in its ear. She allowed it to run away, the other horses soon following suit in vacating the area.

By the time the horses were fleeing, Sausage dove towards the ground. The corruption platform he corrupted crashed into the ground, the palm of his hand still firmly placed upon it. Through his will, the scattered debris of his platform took root within the rich dirt and soil of this world, spreading even without his direct command. He pulled out his sword, a wide smile set on his face, ready to slay whoever of these idiots dared rush his way first.

They would never reach him. One of the soldiers at the front of this little group approached, ready to strike, when an explosive impact the ground behind them - it would make it more difficult for their friends to reach them. The chaos made him turn his head away from Sausage. It was enough not to see the crossbow bolt coming, from the same source as the explosives, piercing his neck. The soldier grabbed the shaft of the bolt as blood spilled out, gasping desperately for air. Sausage only needed to walk up to fWhip’s victim and plunge his sword into the soldier’s chest to end their life.

fWhip stayed behind Sausage, circling and providing support from above. Gem ahad flown behind them, stationary in the air as she sent more of those concentrated blasts of pale white magical energy towards the group. Though she missed on her first two attempts, the chaos of the scene had become complete and she landed a third. The energy pierced through a soldier’s abdomen, melting away the skin and everything underneath, revealing only a gaping hole where intestines should have been.

Sausage walked closer, and Gem approached a little more closely as well. fWhip remained high in the air, ready to inject more chaos into the fight when needed. All the while, the corruption around Sausage grew and thrived, invigorating him.

“Fall back,” the woman in the green dress said. Unlike the soldiers, she had not yet appeared too anxious. “I’ll handle this.”

“Are you sure, Pearl?” One of the two surviving soldiers asked.

“Yes,” the woman - Pearl - responded. “Go. Live. Survive.”

One immediately ran. For another, a moment of hesitation potentially saved their life. Gem’s focus remained on the one that chose to immediately run away. Not only were they being assault by a regular beam from Gem, but harassed with crossbow bolts and explosives. At long last, the soldiers fell, defeated and dead. Sausage for his part, did his best to appear as menacing as possible.

The other one chose not to use the road, but to rush through those golden yellow fields, where these taller grasses grew high and the Wither lost sight of them. Which left their full attention on Pearl, the woman with the green dress.

So far, her reactions baffled the Wither. She didn’t panic like the soldiers. she had calmly told her horse to leave, she had drawn her sword but hadn’t raised it yet. She wasn’t scared, or anxious. If anything, she was curious and appeared to be rather comfortable with her position. She tried to catch the gaze of all three members of the Wither.

“So you’re the ones who killed all those people in Rivendell,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you here so soon, but I’m glad to see you.”

The Wither didn’t respond, for they didn’t know what to say. Glances were exchanged - how did she know about what they had done yesterday? Does word travel that quickly that far? Perhaps it was something Aeor made easier, to more quickly spread information across large distances. It would work against them, potentially, but that was a problem to solve later. Right now, the woman needed to die.

Three versus one. The Wither expected a quick kill, especially as their fighting was so attuned to one another. A strike from Sausage, followed up by a bolt or explosive from fWhip and then a magical charge from Gem. They were a well-oiled machine that knew exactly how long it took for someone to perform any of their main attacks and could work around the very best approach not to leave any opening for whoever had the misfortune to come across them.

Pearl, however, was not one of those people. She parried Sausage’s blows with ease, stepped out of the way of fWhip’s crossbow bolts or leaped aside whenever he threw a grenade at her. Her situational awareness was so great that she could even anticipate what Gem was doing, while she tried to always stay behind the woman.

It couldn’t last. Of course it couldn’t last. Even the greatest warrior, such as Pearl, could not outlast against three skilled opponents. An explosion threw her off-balance, enough for Sausage to knock her down. Her sword clattered to the ground, and Gem quickly swiped it away with telekinesis, throwing it into the nearby field.

So Pearl lay on the ground, bloodied and bruised, and yet she still had a hint of a smile on her face. She was not pleased or satisfied, but it appeared she somehow enjoyed herself during the fight. Gem landed, as did fWhip, and they approached their brother and the opponent they had just beaten. Despite her strange mannerisms - the Wither had been warned for strange mannerisms - Pearl’s battle prowess had quietly earned her the Wither’s respect.

“Well done,” Pearl said, confusing the Wither even more. Was it a custom to compliment your opponents after battle. Her gaze lingered on Sausage for a bit, addressing the Wither while looking at him. “I have to know. Who are you?”

Perhaps a worthy opponent was worth giving an answer to.

“We are your worst nightmare,” Sausage answered.

“We are Netherborn, here to set the world right,” fWhip said.

“We are the Wither,” Gem concluded. “And you will die.”

When Gem was done speaking, Sausage plunged his sword into Pearl’s chest. The woman did not stop him, one final nod being the final communication between them. Soon, Pearl drew her final breath and passed away.

Not a second later, her body turned to dust and ashes, blown away by the winds, and the Wither stared dumbfounded. What just happened?

The realization sank in rather quickly. They were not fighting a random woman in a green dress. This was one of the rulers of the land, one cursed with respawn. She would awaken in her bed, forced to pick up another sword and hunt down those who had killed her. Yet she’d shown them some respect, she had been willing to speak.

They should have kept her alive. They should have asked her about the End portal.

Their chance was gone now. Instead, they would have to find another place to find another ruler - and hopefully, one who would be able to tell them what they needed to know.

Chapter Text

Two days.

Perhaps it was a little quick to call for a general meeting, but it was absolutely necessary.

Two days ago, three assailants had come out of nowhere and turned a day of festivities into a tragedy. The elves mourned, as did their Lord. Their Lord, however, was also burdened with letting his colleagues know, with following up on this threat and ensuring that something such as this massacre wasn’t going to happen again.

The trio had been spotted in Gilded Helianthia, Mythland, and the Cod Empire, too. If they flew as quickly as Scott imagined, it was more than possible that they had set up their camp near where these nations bordered one another.

Scott’s colleagues - his fellow rulers had all answered the call. Scott hadn’t thought they would all be present for this meeting, so it was actually rather impressive that all eleven of his colleagues were seated at the table with him.

A large, round table stood in the middle of the meeting hall. Sturdy spruce wood, also used for the chairs. The padding was cyan and white, the colors of Rivendell, the wool within and what it had been made of produced by Rivendell’s finest sheep. The walls and flooring were plain, keeping to the Rivendellian colors, with hints of yellow and gold. Torches on the wall and a chandelier hanging above the table illuminated the room, and a glass-stained window depicting Aeor in all his glory allowed some natural light to filter into the room as well.

Everyone was present, all seats filled. Scott sat upright, his hands folded on the table. He glanced around to see if everyone was ready. Next to him sat the recently returned Sir Carlos, his hair and beard more silver than they had been before. Next to him, going clockwise, sat Lyra, with Gandalf taking place on top of the table near her. She was here to take the meeting notes, to be later copied with magic and distributed to every participant. Pearl sat next to her, chatting with her about home. Despite the cold, Pearl still wore her elegant green dress and nothing else to protect her against the cold. Then, Katherine of the Overgrown ensured that Shrub of the Undergrove was feeling comfortable. Though she had arrived here sixteen years ago, Shrub still felt a little uncomfortable to be situated among the rulers - she didn’t fit in, she’d said before, but everyone had waved those concerns away. Shrub was as welcome at the table as anyone else, especially as they had quickly designated her home in the Undergrove as an official empire, even if it lacked any citizens.

To increase Shrub’s comfort, Lady Katherine sat to her left and Emperor Joey to her right. Already, he wasn’t paying attention, instead opting to ostentatiously look out the window and lean as far back against the chair as he could. Perhaps his attitude would be different if his empire had been attacked by these three terrorists. Next to him sat Rick of the Grimlands, Count-to-be, his ashen gray comfort cloak wrapped around him. His mind was elsewhere, likely still trying to recover from his flight. He’d never liked flying and only arrived an hour ago. Pixlriffs, sitting to his right, gave the future Count his space, instead observing the rulers. When his gaze met Scott’s, there was a knowing look in his eyes and he nodded once. Next to him sat Jimmy, the Codfather, quietly chatting with Queen Lizzie. Recently discovered artifacts proved they were related, and they had insisted on sitting together. Lizzie’s husband, King Joel of Mezalea, sat next to her, barely able to temper his anger at the trio that had harassed citizens of the Cod Empire. Scott could feel that anger emanating from him, being seated between Joel and Sir Carlos.

“So…” Joey raised his voice, glancing at Scott. Hopefully, his boredom wouldn’t affect the rest as he informally began the meeting and the room quieted down. “About your problem–”

“This is more than a problem, Joey,” Scott corrected the emperor before he could say anything else. “Three powerful individuals are on the loose in the Overworld. As you’ve heard from me and read in reports, they are incredibly dangerous. They attacked my people unprompted, slaughtered them in a matter of seconds, and fled. They will kill again.”

“They already have.”

All eyes turned to Pearl, her voice calm and collected. She didn’t need to raise it to command the respect of everyone at the table.

“Have they?” Scott asked, if only to confirm that these murderers did indeed strike again.

“Yes. They attacked me.” Pearl looked around, took a moment to look directly at each member of their empire alliance as she spoke. “Scott is right. They are powerful. Just as importantly, they fight well, like a well-oiled machine. I imagine, even if we blinded them, they would still be a viable threat and would still be unable to hit one another. These three are well-accustomed to fighting together, as a unit.”

“You’ve seen them up close, then?” Jimmy asked. The three had been spotted at the border, leaving members of a border community dead in their wake. Jimmy hadn’t been there, but he’d heard what happened. 

“They stood over me as they drove a sword through my heart.”

Silence, for but a moment, as the gravity of the situation sank in. Pearl, a celebrated warrior queen, could easily hold her own. If she wished to, she could skilfully dispose of every person currently in the room, each accomplished and skilled in their own way. That these assailants had been able to break through Pearl’s defenses was worrisome.

“But–” Pearl continued. “It did allow me a good look at their faces.”

“What do they look like?” Lizzie wondered. “Could you identify which empire they could be from?”

“They’re not from any singular empire,” Pearl clarified. “They call themselves the Wither, one girl and two boys. Their clothes don’t point in any direction, just plain blacks that weren’t familiar to me. What I focused on were their faces.”

Her gaze drifted over to where Sir Carlos and Rick were sitting. “One of the boys bears an uncanny resemblance to the late King Pedro. The other has similar features to you, Rick.”

A general buzz grew gradually, people whispering to their neighbors. Sir Carlos leaned forward interestedly, while Rick shot Pearl a confused look.

“What?” Rick muttered, unsure whether to believe it or not. He clutched the edges of his comfort cloak a little tighter.

“Pearl,” Sir Carlos said, and the buzz of people whispering to one another died down again. “Are you one hundred percent certain?”

“As certain as the blade they killed me with,” Pearl responded.

Scott wasn’t sure what to think about this news. Sir Carlos had spent the last sixteen years searching for the missing prince of Mythland, and Count Abel bitterly resigned himself to the fact that his son was lost, yet refused to believe the baby was dead. Rick had always considered his cousin to be dead. Now, one fight with this Wither later, the Farmer Queen could confirm that both heirs were still alive and a part of this murder force. They lived, despite everything that had been assumed.

Scott quickly decided for himself it changed little. They still murdered his people. They still were a dangerous foe.

“Unbelievable,” Jimmy said, shaking his head incredulously.

“Exactly,” Rick responded. No longer confused, his gaze had now become more serious, cold and distant. “It cannot be believed.”

“I mean,” Jimmy continued, “if it truly is them–”

“They won’t be who we think they are,” Rick interrupted Jimmy. He shot him a glance that almost could be interpreted as a threat. Then, he cast the same gaze upon the rest of the gathering. “My cousin was taken from his crib. The same happened to the prince of Mythland. Do you know what’s left of them? The toys in their cribs, the clothes they’ve outgrown, and the image of them we’ve built up in our minds. Those images won’t match reality. We will be facing soldiers.”

“I don't doubt their minds have been tampered with, if they truly are who you say they are,” Gandalf said. He walked a little closer to Pixlriffs, who had been quietly listening to the conversation up until that point. 

“Copper King, could you consult with the Vigil? If these boys are descended from King Pedro and Count Abel, the Vigil should still hold knowledge of their existence.”

“That is not quite how it works,” Pix said in the same respectful tone Gandalf had been using. “I will commune with the Vigil and report what it has shown me.”

Gandalf nodded, and so did Rick. The young Count-to-be retreated back into his own mind a little. Scott couldn't count on two hands how often Rick had gone to the desert to connect with his roots and consult with the Vigilkeeper himself. Every single time, Rick had been told that he did not possess the power of respawn. Despite pleading with Pixlriffs, the margin of error of the Vigil was small enough to be disregarded. Rick could not respawn. Scott could see how the topic could be sensitive.

“Are we really going to believe some weird desert divination can see whether these boys are the heirs?” Joel interjected. He instantly turned to face Pixlriffs. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Pix said, though Joey spoke louder.

“Says the man who worships a tree and the ocean herself,” Joey casually threw out while inspecting the rims of his fingernails. A few seconds later, he cast a glance at Joel and saw that his attempt to rile up the Mezalean King was successful.

Joel stood up from his chair, his hands on the table and leaning forward. Only Lizzie’s calm hand on his shoulder prevented him from climbing on top of the table and crawling over to where Joey sat. “Excuse me–”

“What can you tell us about the third one?” Gandalf then asked. “The girl?”

“I didn’t recognize her,” Pearl answered, electing to ignore the drama. “I don’t recall any other children from important families going missing, either. She may also have been kidnapped, and I can see why. She was powerful, too.”

“How powerful are we talking?” Lizzie asked, having successfully held back her husband.

“She can cast powerful and harmful spells, she flies around with spectral wings. She wouldn’t be out of place at the Wizard Academy as a senior. I don’t know if colors mean anything, but hers were a pale white.”

Gandalf nodded, the information having sparked multiple thoughts. “I’d love to see her abilities in action one day.”

“I’d hate for you to be caught in the crossfire, headmaster,” Scott responded. From the terror he had witnessed, the girl had drawn his attention for her masterful ability to not only fly with these spectral wings, but to focus her attention to murder his people with well-placed energy beams and a dome they could not escape from. If the girl and the headmaster would meet, Scott feared that the girl would come out victorious.

“As for the boys,” Pearl continued, “they’re strong, too. The Grimlander uses mechanical wings to fly around. From up high, he releases crossbow bolts and explosives. All this while flying, moving, through the air instead of hovering. I don’t doubt he is a skilled marksman. The prince has been bound to some sort of reddish fungal growth, and wields it as expertly as he wields a sword. In his eyes I saw no fear, only determination. Together, they are a deadly trio that must not be underestimated.”

“They’re children…” Jimmy muttered, loud enough for his side of the table to hear it. The expression on his face was one of shock, and Scott shook his head.

“Jimmy–”

“I’ve done the math,” he said, loud enough for the whole table to hear now. “The prince of Mythland and the count’s son were taken sixteen years ago. They’re sixteen. They’re literal children .”

“What are you implying?” Scott wondered.

“I’m not implying anything!” Jimmy raised his voice, his concern - unfortunately, for the soldiers - shining through in his voice and face. “They’re kids. Teenagers. We shouldn’t be talking about how to deal with them. We should try to help them.”

From the faces of those present, one could easily glean where people stood on the matter. Joey wasn’t paying attention, but everyone else was. Katherine and Shrub appeared to be the most sympathetic to Jimmy’s cause and words. His allies stood by his side, but it was difficult to tell whether they agreed with Jimmy’s words or not. Sir Carlos and Gandalf seemed to have their doubts, while Rick was shaking his head at what Jimmy had said. 

“They have killed children,” Scott said. Many parents had taken their children to the festival, and some of the victims unfortunately were children.

“They deserve to get the help they need,” Jimmy tone matched Scott’s, likely feeling a little betrayed - but hopefully not surprised - that Scott wasn’t taking his side. “They’re misguided, they’re–”

“No. They are trained,” Rick interrupted Jimmy before he could say another word. “They are not misguided. This is what they’ve been raised and trained to do. No normal sixteen-year-old has or needs that kind of power, let alone chooses to use it to commit a massacre out of their own free will. Whatever help you’re thinking about offering them, they’ll slap it away. They won’t want help.”

“They indeed don’t feel any kinship to us,” Pearl added. She spoke up as a neutral party, taking neither side. “They mentioned to me that they were Netherborn.”

All eyes naturally gravitated towards the gnome at the table. Her home had been the Nether, after all, before Scott and his allies banished Exor and Xornoth to that dimension and sealed the gnomes’ fate. Shrub hadn’t said a word during the meeting yet, content to listen to their arguments. However, she’s grown even more quiet since Pearl had described what the boys had been able to do, and now was shaking her head.

“Shrub?” Katherine said in a kind and caring voice. “Do you want to weigh in?”

“They’re not Netherborn,” Shrub said. “They can’t be. We were…”

She trailed off, the silence filling the space for a few seconds.

“You don’t have to say anything if it hurts to talk about,” Katherine said.

“I’ll… I’ll be fine,” Shrub said. “I… There couldn’t be enough gnomes to have children that could be taken. If they do look like Pedro and Abel, then they aren’t gnomes. They aren’t Netherborn at all.”

But the Wither believed it. They had to, otherwise they wouldn’t have mentioned it. They believe to be Netherborn, so someone must have taken them from their beds and cribs and taken them to the Nether. After its corruption - a tale told by Shrub and confirmed by Nether explorers - it had become a fungal wasteland, spreading what little influence Exor had left within its domain.

A theory formed in Scott’s head. He didn’t like what it proposed.

“Could we talk about the elephant in the room?” Pixlriffs said. “They are children. They are soldiers. Someone likely trained them and raised them in the Nether, and then set them free in the Overworld. Their first act back in this realm is to disrupt a festival in the honor of Aeor.” He left a pause to nod at Scott, in acknowledgement of the tragedy. “I believe Exor may have something to do with this.”

“Really?” Joey said. “I thought we’d already dealt with him and his champion…”

“We have,” Scott said. He could still feel the resistance of his blade being pushed into Xornoth - into what Exor had turned his sibling into. The banishment had taken a lot out of him, both physically, mentally and emotionally. “Somehow, Xornoth came back. They stole three children. They’ve raised them to follow Exor and, unlike Xornoth, this Wither can freely move around wherever they want to go.”

Wherever they need to go. Exor was not a stupid god, unfortunately. He knew exactly what was needed to be able to return him to the Overworld. He knew exactly what needed to be done to allow Xornoth to become powerful again and traverse the Overworld without being in agonizing pain every second.

“Carlos, Lizzie, Joel,” Scott looked at the people he addressed. “If I remember correctly, you have portals to the End within your territory. If the Wither has been tasked to bring Exor and Xornoth back to full power, you must ensure they cannot make it to the End.”

“Won’t putting more guards there draw their attention?” Joel wondered, and Sir Carlos nodded in agreement. A valid point, Scott had to admit.

“Not if we’re smart about it.”

“Mine’s in the middle of the ocean,” Lizzie said. “I’m quite certain they’re not going to come there.”

“I would still put safeguards in place,” Scott said, “in case they do find a way to breach your portal. We can’t be careful enough. Exor can’t be allowed to grow in power again.”

He can’t be allowed to hurt any more people than he already has with his crusade. The followers he’s corrupted - likely literally corrupted, in the prince’s case - cannot be allowed to bring him back to full power. The Overworld was only now starting to recover from the damage the Dark Stag had caused - he was not allowed to return and start the whole thing over again. Scott lost and sacrificed too much to allow any of it.

“Please.” Scott took a deep breath, trying to relax the fists he’d made. “Everyone needs to be extremely vigilant. Nobody can say anything that leads them closer to their goals. Shoot them on sight, capture them if you must, but make sure they’ll never see the light of day again.”

“What if they don’t want to follow Exor?” Jimmy asked. “What if they have another reason for–”

“They’re soldiers serving Exor, Jimmy. They don’t want anything else.”

Chapter Text

“Maybe we should rethink our approach.”

Gem broke the silence in their camp. The Wither sat around the campfire, with fWhip tending to the chicken they had caught and were now cooking. Both fWhip and Sausage turned their heads to her when she spoke, and both nodded.

“I agree,” Sausage said. His fingers subconsciously ran across the patch of corruption permanently pressed against the palm of his hand. “We’re not getting anywhere with intimidation.”

“No, we’re not getting anywhere by targeting random people who don’t know what we want to know,” fWhip said. 

So far, that had been the plan. Go somewhere where people live, cause some havoc, interrogate the townsfolk, the guards, or - if they showed up - someone with authority. Unfortunately, these humans were much frailer than the Wither had expected. Even the guards, trained to protect their home and their leader, were barely able to withstand the Wither’s flurry of blows and shots. Only that woman - the leader in her green dress and with brown hair - had been a worthy opponent. She may have known something, but she perished before the Wither had a chance to ask, swept up in the moment and savoring their victory too much.

The Wither hadn’t seen her since. The people they had seen were not much of a help, either.

“Well,” Sausage then said. “if we don’t get that information by ripping it from people, how do we get our hands on it?”

“Remember the settlement in the mountains?” Gem asked.

fWhip frowned a bit. There were a couple of those. “Rivendell?”

“No. The cliffs one.” Gem straightened her back and looked at her brothers, with a gaze that demanded attention and a sparkle in her eye that betrayed she had an idea. “Wizards live there, right? They’ll likely have a library.”

fWhip and Sausage exchanged a glance. They didn’t need words to know they both thought the same thing. At the exact same time, the boys turned their heads back to Gem.

“You want to go there and read?” fWhip asked.

Gem shook her head. “No, I don’t plan to stay there to read. We can do that from the safety of our camp, too. I’m going to find the library and find the things we need that could have the information we need. But libraries can be big, and I may need some time to find what we need.”

“So you need us to be a distraction,” Sausage said with a determined nod. Whatever his siblings needed him to be, he would be. “Got it.”

“Do you know where to find this library?” fWhip said. This cliffs settlement did not only build their homes within the cliffs it was named after, but they had a sprawling settlement with many imposing buildings. It would be rather difficult to find all that information, or even where to find this library.

“I’m certain of it.” From what Master Xornoth had taught them, they knew wizards loved their towers and loved their books to be close to them. Therefore, it stands to reason that the wizards had their libraries in their towers. When they had flown across the cliffs before, one particular tower had stood out, reaching higher than all the rest. “I know where we can find this information.”

Sausage nodded. “Then let’s do it!”

“We’re not doing anything on an empty stomach,” fWhip retorted. “I haven’t been cooking this chicken for nothing! First, we eat and then we go harass some wizards.”

Gem and Sausage’s stomachs growled. fWhip’s plan was probably the best they had. 

The skies were grey when the Wither approached the Crystal Cliffs. The bottom of these cliffs, usually brilliant, was no longer in sight as buildings obscured the view. The roofs of these buildings were a brilliant shining purple, likely made out of amethyst instead of being made to look like it. In the middle, a large building dominated the space, one tower rising high.

However, one other tower rose higher. Sat atop the cliffs, it reached for the stars. Gaps within the walls allowed for people to come flying in - and that was exactly what Gem was planning to do.

Gem intentionally fell behind, allowing her brothers to take the lead. They flew ahead, Sausage on his floating patch of corruption and fWhip with his mechanical wings. Gem stayed back and watched as her brothers unleashed chaos upon the lowest levels of the Crystal Cliffs. The sounds of explosives, crossbow bolts flying through the air, and corruption bursting through the paved streets was music to her ears. It would have been lovely if she could have added her own chaos to this madness, but her mission was a different one.

With her summoned pale white spectral wings, she climbed higher and higher. First up to the base of the tower, then circling it like a vulture, further and further up. She passed multiple gaps on the way, but she was looking for the highest. The library had to be there for sure.

A mirage. As all wizards do, they cloaked their collection well. Gem, however, was extremely well-versed in the arcane. Right before she was set to land at the highest gap, she spotted the mirage. It disappeared in front of her eyes, revealing a smaller gap that only one person could fit through a little higher. She immediately corrected course and flew a little higher, masterfully landing even with the smaller gap.

Finally, she had arrived.

The room appeared to be bigger than Gem had first anticipated. Purple candles illuminated the room, while a hearth kept the room at a comfortable temperature. Gem barely paid attention to the other features of the room, as her gaze was naturally drawn to the walls. These shelves and cabinets were filled with tomes, scrolls, books and all kinds of magical artifacts. Perhaps those books could give her what she needed.

She quickly glanced at the backs, reading the titles of each of the books, which appeared to be placed in alphabetical order by the author’s last name. Though all these books pertained to magic, astrology and the moon, there had to be one talking about the End.

She couldn’t keep her focus. She tried her best, but it seemed impossible to do so. Instead, time and time again, her attention was pulled away from the books and to a staff sitting on a nearby shelf.

This staff was rather ornate, yet appeared simple. Its tip was an amethyst, reflecting the candlelight whenever that hit it. It appeared to be primarily made out of some light tempered iron, or perhaps something that appeared as pale in color as it did. Whatever that staff was, it exuded magic and power, such as Gem had never felt before.

Reflexively, she temporarily abandoned her quest for information and approached the staff. Without even thinking about it, she grabbed it and lifted it from where it was being held.

It didn’t weigh much; perhaps only the weight of the amethyst itself was what she felt. Now that she could get a closer look at the hilt, it didn’t look or feel like iron at all. This material was not only lighter, it was pleasant to the touch. She tested it out, swinging it a few times, and noticed that if she didn’t know that she was holding it, she wouldn’t be feeling it at all. A strange staff, perhaps a marvelous tool in her hands. The possibilities flooded her mind, the pain and suffering she could cause through this nearly unimaginable…

“Are you sure you want to take this?”

Gem shot a pale white energy beam in the direction of the voice. When she had the chance to properly take a look at it, however, she saw no-one there. She had destroyed one of the mauve fauteuils, and from the other, a grey-furred cat with a wizard hat on looked at her curiously. Yet, nobody was there.

Had it been a ghost? A spirit? A pre-recorded message that spoke whenever someone dared touch the staff? Gem didn’t know, nor could she tell what the truth would be. If someone had been in the room with her, she would have been attacked already. Who wouldn’t attack someone if an invader was walking through your living space and took a precious item? She should pay no attention to it, and instead focus on the mission.

Her mission, which fWhip and Sausage aided in, causing chaos below. Yet, the sounds she was so accustomed to were mixed with others. Ones she did not recognize - the spells the wizards had to be using to try and subdue her brothers.

They were fine, she tried to tell herself. They were not in any danger.

Except they didn’t know how wizards fought. People on the ground, with swords and spears and crossbows -  those were opponents they could easily take out. There was little to prepare when wizards, much like Gem, could pull anything out of their butts at any given moment to try and stop the Wither’s efforts.

Her anxiety rose, but she pushed it down. Stop it. They are doing fine.

How can you know when you can’t see what is happening?

Gem stared at the books and tomes and scrolls. The answer to their question was in there, she was certain of it. It had to be, and she would find it if she just put a little more time and effort into it.

The noises below made her nervous.

A quick look wouldn’t hurt. Go down, cast some spells, go back up. It may betray her position, and it could draw some wizards to the top of this tower to defend it. If that meant that fewer wizards were harassing her brothers, however, then Gem would do it instantly. She had to help her brothers - it was a moral obligation to do so. You don’t abandon your team; you don’t abandon your brothers.

She ran to the gap she traveled through and jumped, letting her wings catch her as she drifted down towards the pandemonium that her brothers had caused.

It was indeed pandemonium, though it didn’t appear to be in favor of the Wither. More wizards were on the ground than Gem had thought, and too few corpses lay around for this to be considered a success. All kinds of wizards, most looking rather young, fired a barrage of spells at Sausage and fWhip, like a near relentless force that the Wither should be able to withstand.

Should, if they had been in the formation they usually had been in. However, Gem had split to fulfill her mission.She had suggested that they knowingly weaken their positions during combat. It was all to fulfill their mission and to finally find the information they needed, but it had left them vulnerable on some sides. It had left them without their magical air support, and the wizards here were taking full advantage of this - some weird mist hung in the air, courtesy of those wizards, and spells were fired.

Gem could not see Sausage on the ground. she did notice a corruption cocoon, somewhere in the middle of all the corruption she could see on the ground. A couple of wizards used their magic to peel away at the cocoon. As soon as one peeled enough away, they were sent flying backwards by a loose piece of debris launched from inside the cocoon. It had such a speed that it couldn’t have been thrown - Sausage was caught up within the cocoon and attempted to defend himself in every way he could.

fWhip was not doing all too great either. Gem had never seen him fly like that, seesawing from one sight to the others, as though he was a new flyer who still had to get used to the wings. He had no more explosives left and he clutched his crossbow, almost as though he would drop it if he wasn’t holding it that close. to his chest. At irregular intervals, he almost seemed to nosedive for a second, only to pull back up again and failing to make up for the lost height.

As Gem pierced through the light mist, she could already feel what her brothers had to contend with. Already, she could feel the unnatural pull of drowsiness and exhaustion. She hadn’t been exposed to this for too long, so the exhaustion was just a beginning sense of drowsiness that may grow into a larger problem the more time she spent within the mists. Even now, one of the wizards on the ground covered the area where Sausage was hunkering down in that same mist, which appeared a little thicker upon initial casting.

Only now, she realized just how much her brothers were in trouble.

A split-second. That was how much time she had to make a decision she hoped she would never be faced with. She glanced from Sausage to fWhip and back and forth one more time. She despised the knot in her stomach, she hated knowingly leaving one of her brothers to save the other. In an ideal world, she could cast a simple spell to rescue both. But this wasn’t an ideal world, for her brothers were separated enough that she was forced to make that dreaded decision.

I’ll be right there, Sausage.

Gem flew closer to fWhip, pulling up next to him and matching his flying speed. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at her, groggily - how much time had he spent in the mist? 

“I’m getting you out of here,” Gem said.

“Magic…” he struggled to even speak. “They’re weaken'n us… They…”

Gem noticed it too late. With a little ‘pop’, a cloud of mist developed around where they were flying. Gem retaliated with a concentrated energy beam down to the group of wizards, but it did very little against their magical barrier shields. 

This mist was thicker than the one she had seen before. Perhaps a more powerful wizard cast it, or perhaps they put more energy into it. Either way, the onset of drowsiness became a tidal wave of exhaustion. It nearly took out Gem in one fell swoop, but she remained vigilant - as vigilant as possible, now that she actively had to fight against sleep.

fWhip wasn’t as lucky. As she shifted her attention back toward him, he held out the crossbow for her. She took it from his hands wordlessly, just as his hands went limp and he lost his fight.

Gem cast a quick spell. Easy, simple, one she had practiced so often that she would even be able to do it in her sleep and which she now cast on instinct. They had practiced cases of wing malfunction more than fWhip being unconscious, but the procedures remained the same. Stabilise his wings, magically tie them to yourself and then glide at a safe angle to a safe location.

Anywhere within the Crystal Cliffs wasn’t safe. Outside of their walls wasn’t safe, either, but it was better than landing in the middle of town. Gem guided fWhip away from the commotion, to and over the nearest wall of the wizard settlement, in the direction of a small forest nearby.

The landing was less than ideal, and less than smooth as well. How they had practiced it, they always assumed that Gem would be in her right mind, sharp and clever as always, and would be able to perfectly execute the manoeuver without much trouble. That exhaustion, however, still threatened to overwhelm her. It demanded her attention, it demanded she did her very best not to fall asleep while she guided her now unconscious and sleeping brother to safety.

The forest wasn’t safe. Not really. It was the best she could do.

She freed her brother from the harness his wings were a part off. Gently, she placed the wings aside and placed him in a much more comfortable position. All the while, she tried to wake him up, to see whether or not the exhaustion was an effect that would fade quickly or if it was something that would last. fWhip, however, did not react to anything that Gem was doing. He had no idea what was going on around him, and soon, neither would Gem.

Soon, neither would Gem.

She turned her head in the direction of the Crystal Cliffs. Sausage was still there. Sausage was fighting back against the wizards who would want to hurt him, capture him, or worse. All the while, the exhaustion dragged her down. Shouts came from the direction of the settlements - shouts of communication, but some shouted out spells, reliant on a verbal component to cast their spells in a way that Gem wasn’t. They were coming for her and fWhip. They would find them.

She glanced at fWhip. She could feel her own energy being sapped from her, and soon she’d be lying here like he was. Knocked out, with no way of knowing what was about to happen or even what they would do to her or her siblings. Gem would prefer to wake up safely, not in enemy hands, and she knew fWhip and Sausage would want the same.

Gem attempted to push herself to her feet. She failed to do so.

She couldn’t get to the settlement in time to reach her brother.

She was still awake. She didn’t know how long that would take before the exhaustion would overwhelm her. While she was awake, though, she had to do something. She had to protect herself and fWhip.

Words of Master Xornoth echoed through her mind. Two is bad but alone is worse. For the Wither was at its strongest when they were working together, as a team. The importance of staying together and not to trust anyone else had been hammered into their minds. It was bad to be with two, but it was even worse for the person who was alone, isolated from their siblings, forced to fend for themselves. Those words echoed through Gem’s mind as she, once again, had to make a heart-wrenching decision.

“I’m sorry.”

Sausage would not hear those words. With what little energy she had left, she cast a protective dome around herself and fWhip. She put as many protections into the dome as she was able to: impenetrable, cloaking their location, making it so that anyone who passes by instantly changes course and doesn’t bump into this dome. Once the spell was cast, it shimmered briefly with the pale white light Gem was used to before it vanished completely. Though it looked like no spell had been cast at all, she and fWhip were now protected. The wizards were not going to find them.

They would only find Sausage.

Gem slipped into unconsciousness, dragged off to sleep, worrying about the brother she couldn’t save.

Chapter Text

To awaken was a battle.

Sausage fought hard to open his eyes, to lift his head, to lift the fog that had forcefully descended upon his mind and refused to leave. To pierce through the mist was as difficult as to pierce through a hoglin’s hide. It was a different kind of battle than he was used to, and though it was tough, he managed to shake off the effect eventually.

Sausage forced his eyes open, fighting to focus his gaze. He was in a dark environment, a single torch just out of his field of vision lighting up the space. The walls were rough and irregular and a darker gray, reaching lower and higher until it became the ceiling and floor. A cave, in which he could feel the unfamiliar chill of the Overworld against his chin.

He was sitting in a chair - a harsh, wooden chair with a back. His hands were tied behind his back, the cold chains cutting into his skin. His right hand throbbed, ached from something that had cut deep. The realization washed over him - they tried to cut away the corruption from his hand. Corruption ran deep, however, and Sausage was confident in his ability to quickly regrow what they wrongfully tried to cut from him.

As he focused his attention to the growth of corruption and to break his chains with it, he glanced around his surroundings. A small, crude wooden table stood to the side. His Netherite sword lay on top of that table, along with two small compasses. His Nether compasses, the needles of which pointed to his siblings, had been ripped from his pockets and placed atop the table.

Voices reached his ears. Voices, unfamiliar to him. He couldn’t quite understand the voices or the words they spoke, but he could hear them talking. Still, he could pick out two names, belonging to one of them. 

Sausage craned his neck to the right, towards the voices. One was a man with pale skin and short, teal hair, referred to as Scott. Sausage could not quite make out what kind of clothing he wore, but they were the white and teal of the impostor god. A golden crown accentuated his servitude to this god, and Sausage already knew he would not be able to reason with this person.

The other was a grey cat with a purple hat and a specially-made matching purple cloak, holding intelligent conversation with the man dressed in Aeor’s colors. His name was Gandalf. That cat was talking. The Overworld was a weird place.

Hopefully, they didn’t realize what the compasses were for.

Scott and Gandalf turned their heads, hearing Sausage stir in his seat. They cast a glance in his direction and were met with a glare. If they expected a meek little captive, they were wrong. To show weakness was to admit defeat, so Sausage did not do such a thing.

The two looked at one another for a second. Their conversation would have to wait.

“You’re awake,” the man - Scott - stated. Sausage didn’t hide how he rolled his eyes at that ridiculous statement. Scott walked closer, with arms folded and a hateful gaze. “What do you call yourself?”

A wicked grin appeared on Sausage’s face. “I’m the Wither that will–”

“Didn’t they give you a name?” Scott asked. It was hard to tell whether it was a genuine question or an attempt to coax Sausage into giving him his name. “Do you not have an identity beyond being a part of the Wither?”

“This is all the identity we’ll ever need.” For they were the Wither, forever until the end of time. They were the Wither that would bring Exor back to the Overworld and destroy the impostor god. And, once that goal had been completed, Xornoth and Exor would find a higher purpose for their Wither, as heroes of their faith or enforcers to snuff out the very last followers of Aeor that could be hiding in plain sight.

“What about you?” Sausage then asked. “How did the impostor bind you to its horrific will?”

Scott shook his head, accompanied by a deep sigh. “I’m not answering any questions.”

Sausage nodded once. “That already says enough.” He masked the rattling of loosening chains - the corruption ate through it wonderfully - by trying to find a better position to sit in. “Now… where are my siblings?”

In another part of the cave, he assumed. However, asking the question would allow him to see Scott’s reaction. It would allow him to potentially glean more information from that face. Also, if they had been nearby, he would have heard fWhip by now. He would have heard Gem by now. They should have heard him by now.

They had to be nearby, even if these people kept the Wither separated.

“We’ll tell you after you answer our questions first,” Scott said in a cold tone - one that Sausage could not appreciate. He leaned forward, as far as he could without snapping the chains too early; the corruption hadn’t quite yet eaten through it all.

“I don’t care about your questions or whatever you think you are able to achieve,” he snarled. “I don’t care about your violent and cruel god, I only want one thing. Now, where are my siblings?”

A dissenting voice within wondered whether fWhip and Gem were even here. Whether he was the only survivor and his siblings were long gone. Two is bad but alone is worse. Wherever fWhip and Gem were, hopefully they were together, because it was bad to be all alone without the support from the Wither.

Scott shook his head again. “Gods, he is just like Pedro…”

Sausage didn’t know what that meant or who this Pedro was, but from the way Scott said it, Sausage believed it was an insult. It didn’t hurt him as much as Scott may have hoped, however, just because Sausage had no idea what the Lord meant with that.

Scott stepped away for a second, and the cat approached. Gandalf, if Sausage remembered correctly. He walked forward and stood still in front of Sausage. It was still rather weird to see a cat - an animal - with such intelligence.

“Your siblings are safe,” Gandalf said. “That I can guarantee you.”

That this cat spoke was also still weird, potentially weirder than seeing intelligence in his eyes. And, for an even stranger reason, Sausage felt inclined to believe Gandal when he spoke. Something about that voice reassured Sausage that both fWhip and Gem were indeed safe, wherever they may be held or hiding out.

“You and your siblings have proven yourselves powerful,” Gandalf continued. “All we want to know are your goals.”

“Our goals?” A dry laugh escaped Sausage’s lips. Did they not realize what the Wither wanted yet? “Our goals are to destroy everything your cruel god holds dear. You, who have decided that Exor was too powerful, that he must suffer in a dimension not of his own, will pay the price of the insult you’ve dealt. We will rise and raze your world to the ground if it means that it can bring our righteous god back  to the realm where he belongs. We don’t intend to wipe your impostor god from the face of the earth - no, that’s a fate he will inflict upon himself. Once Exor has returned and shows the people what they have been missing all this time, they will flock to him until there’s no-one left to worship your Unjust Stag. Once all has died down, perhaps we will meet again and I’ll slit your throat, to grant you the mercy of death without being forced to return and do the impostor’s bidding.”

Was it a smart idea to lay down the long-term goals of the Wither? Perhaps it wasn’t, but Sausage was proud of his mission and wanted to share it with these heathens. He wanted them to feel overwhelmed and lost, perhaps even forcing them to pray to their god only to be met with silence.

He did mean what he said last. The cat may have been granted intelligence by Aeor, and the Lord was stuck in Aeor’s servitude. Their minds may have been twisted beyond repair, deluding themselves into thinking that worshipping him was a conscious choice they made. Sausage could only feel pity for those lost souls, and it would do them a service to kill them for good. Their restless, brainwashed souls could finally find the peace they were longing for.

Gandalf stared at Sausage the entire time as the member of the Wither was speaking, and a few seconds later, too. Then, he turned to Scott. “I can see the similarities, too.”

Scott nodded in agreement, though he seemed rather annoyed.

Now, that confused Sausage. He pieced two and two together and realized that Gandalf was talking about this Pedro, too, especially with how Scott reacted to that statement. However, that was the extent of Sausage’s understanding. Were they implying that he resembled this Pedro? Did they imply that Sausage was so much like Pedro, and how were they able to determine that so quickly when all he had done was talk passionately?

It didn’t matter. None of what they were saying mattered. While they looked at one another, quietly conferred with one another, Sausage held the chains together with his hands. The corruption had done its job and now it was completely broken through. He glanced at the table where his sword lay. It was a trap, to go and reach for it; now that Scott had been up close, he had noticed the sword sheathed to his side. Scott may be able to draw his sword and stop Sausage before he had the chance to reach his own.

Chains it was, then.

They had been wrapped around his wrists, connected to one another. Now, Sausage held one half in either hand, but he only needed one. As soon as he dropped one half, he jumped up form his sitting position and took the other end of the chain he still held onto. 

The surprise gained him an extra second or so to act. He pulled Scott’s sword out of its sheath and threw it away, returning to the chains as his primary weapon. Now that the Lord had no weapon, Sausage was free to attack as he pleased. With one fluid motion, and before Scott could even react, Sausage threw the chain around Scott’s neck and started to pull it tight.

Corruption ran wild. It climbed up the chains without damaging its integrity or its strength. A small strand running up the iron, which then seemed to explode and expand rapidly as soon as it touched the elf’s pale skin.

Aeor’s vassal did not stand a chance. The chain obstructed his airflow, quickly suffocating him. Even if he were to remove the chain and stop the suffocation, the corruption spread across Scott’s skin, burrowing, leaving behind a trail of red he would not be able to remove. Scott, for his part, tried to reach for his weapon, for any weapon, for the chains to pull them off, for the corruption to rip it off, but it was to no avail. Sausage had the upper hand here and he wasn’t letting go.

After what felt like both an eternity and one second, Scott’s body finally went limp. Not a second later, it disappeared into a million particles of light. So he had passed away, yet Aeor had deemed it necessary to save his life. Of course. The next time Sausage would see the man, he’d kill him all over again.

When Sausage looked around, he noticed the cat was gone. Gandalf must have fled the scene, not being a fighter himself. It would be weird and weirdly impressive if he was, but alas. It meant that Sausage had one less opponent to worry about.

He dropped the chains - whatever corruption lingered on there would be left to fester in this cave. Sausage walked over to the table and picked up his trusted Netherite sword. He spotted no signs of sabotage; it was still in the same good state it had been in when Sausage was forced to drop it as he fell asleep. More importantly, he picked up the Nether compasses and took a glance.

Both pointed in the same direction, and a weight fell off of his shoulders. They were together, wherever they were. They were exactly the same, so his siblings were together and they were far away from this place. They were safe somewhere else, somewhere far away from here.

Two is bad but alone is worse. Time to fix that.

“Don’t worry,” he said out loud. “I’m coming home.”

Chapter Text

Rick did not want to go and see his Uncle. It was never good to be summoned and the guards giving him a sympathetic look in advance. He wasn’t sure whether he liked that or not - perhaps he liked it, so he could prepare for the harsh words that would come out of the Count’s mouth. He found himself slowing down as he climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway. Today, he would not hurry, for he had enough time. No matter how early he was, or whether he was on time, the Count was going to be in a bad mood and if he was late, it would not improve that mood in the slightest.

The guards waited for Rick to give them the signal to open the door. Their nervous glances didn’t help Rick calm his own nerves. However, he did not want to stall any more than he needed to.

The room hadn’t changed since the last time Rick had come, just like all the times before. The Count wasn’t in bed. Instead, he sat at his desk, papers in front of him.

Rick cleared his throat, his heart already beating in it. “You wished to see me, Uncle?”

The Count stood up and turned around. Rick had angered the Count before, he knew what the Count looked like when mad. Never had his eyes been more venomous than the way he was looking at Rick. A shiver ran down Rick’s spine. With one page in his hand, the Count slowly walked towards Rick and the room seemed to darken as it did, Rick’s full focus drawn to the Count’s furious face.

“What did you think you would accomplish?” The count almost spat out every word. “Tell me.”

Rick cleared his throat and straightened his back even more. Fear gripped his heart, in such a way that he didn’t quite know to deal with. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

The Count shoved the page in Rick’s face. It fluttered to the ground, but Rick managed to grab it before it could fall on the ground. The paper wrinkled a bit, and Rick almost flinched. The Count always liked the pages in front of him to be pristine. At a glance, Rick recognized what was written on the page: this had been part of the meeting notes that Gandalf’s assistant had sent over.

“Did you think you could get away with this?” The Count continued in the same venomous tone. “Did you really believe that I was too old or too weak to read your notes? Did you think that, by asking Lyra to write in this chicken scratch, I would be unable to decipher what was said during the meeting?”

Rick listened, but looked at the page. It provided notes about the Wither and their potential lineage. He looked up from the page at the Count - Rick would be dead ten times over if looks could kill.

“Uncle,” he said in the calmest, most stable voice he could muster, “I have told you everything of importance that was discussed during that meeting.”

“How dare you lie to my face?!”

Rick flinched. The Count hadn’t yelled at him in years. He said nothing and waited for the Count to finish.

“How dare you keep critical information from me? This Wither, this force that has been roaming around the Overworld… one of them is my son.”

A moment of silence. A moment to reflect, to decide, to do something. Rick knew exactly what he thought about the situation, and though the Count was furious, it was Rick’s moral obligation to point out to the Count when he was in the wrong. He may not go unpunished for this, but the Count would at least listen to the words without being able to dismiss them immediately.

“No,” Rick said. “He’s not.”

The Count reached out to the page, snatched it out of Rick’s hand. Rick released it at the right time, so the page didn’t tear, while the Count glared daggers at Rick.

“The notes are quite clear. They have been written by a trusted source, who would not lie about what had been said in the meeting. One of those boys resembles me in my youth. My son–”

“He’s not your son.” The words resonated around Rick, demanded silence. In an unexpected surge of courage, Rick looked right into his uncle’s eyes. A small voice wondered whether this was really the hill he wanted to die on, but Rick quickly silenced that voice. Now that he had the courage, it would be unwise not to act upon it. “That boy, as well as the other two, claims to be Netherborn. They have killed. They will kill again. The image of the son you have in mind clashes with the mindless soldier he’s been trained to be. Your son, as you see him, does not exist. He will never exist. He is not my cousin, and he is not your son.”

The Count seemed to weigh those words, took one small step back. Rick, despite the urge to flee and not return, remained in place and continued to stare at his uncle.

“Have you seen him yourself?” The Count asked, his volume and tone lower than before.

Rick shook his head. “No.”

“Then you have no right to speak about him.”

“By your own words, neither should you,” Rick retorted.

The Count narrowed his eyes and shook his head at his nephew. “That boy is my son. I have the right to speak about him as I wish. As for you… you didn’t want me to know. No, you kept this little detail all to yourself. I can see why. I can smell the fear. You are afraid that my son will take his rightful place as the heir of the Grimlands and that you would be cast aside as a pariah for good. You do realize your position is the one thing that makes them consider you a Grimlander, do you not? It blinds them to the fact that you are taking advantage of the situation.”

Rick took a moment to breathe. As per usual, the Count knew exactly where to hit him. The Count knew exactly the kinds of comment that would usually make him shrink away into himself and become the heir that the Count always wanted.

Except now, it was crystal clear that the Count never saw him as a worthy replacement, or even as a replacement. He would rather throw away the years of training that Rick had received in favor of his own son, presumed dead until a little more than a week ago, who was not at all who the Count thought he was. The realization was more than enough to make Rick’s blood boil.

After all these years, this issue was the one that made him snap.

“When have I ever taken advantage of my position?” Rick asked calmly.

“All the time,” the Count said. “I can see it happen–”

“No,” Rick interrupted him, dropping any respect he may have had for his uncle. “No. You want to see it happen. You see it because you want to see it, to justify blaming me for every little thing that goes wrong, even if I was nowhere near it. I never could do good in your eyes, I never will, and how you are treating me today is no different than you’ve treated me before.”

The Count looked incredulous. Rick had finally grown a spine, and he could not have dissent. “How dare you–”

“Go ahead, then.” Rick motioned at the desk. “Write him a note. Invite him into our county, into our home. Let him gather that intel to further the only goals he cares about. If you want a mindless, brainwashed soldier to one day lead the Grimlands to ruin, go right ahead. Take your chance, allow him to bring the enemy right to our doorstep. Let the streets run red, not with blood or redstone, but with corruption. That is all he will bring if you let him in.” 

Emotions got the better of him. Rick took a breath, trying not to yell at his dumbfounded uncle. At least Rick knew he wasn’t going to be interrupted.

“Between the two of us, only one truly cares about the Grimlands. Unfortunately, that clash appears irreconcilable. I’m sure your son - what little you believe is left of him - can take my place and take over my duties and responsibilities without issue.”

Rick turned around and walked through the door. The Count called his name, but Rick resisted the urge to stop or turn around. He made his decision. Today, he could celebrate his courage; tomorrow, he would face the consequences.

A few days later

Someone approached their clearing.

The Wither watched from the shadows. The man was alone. He wore light armor, which would be perfect for travel. He clutched a scroll in his left hand as though it was a sword, while holding a sword in his other hand. The heraldry on his chest was unfamiliar to the Wither; a black field split in two by a vertical red line with two ear- or wing-like white protrusions more to the top. 

The lone man stumbled around, reacting to each sound as though it was a prelude to a monster jumping from the bushes. The sun was still in the sky, however - the only monsters currently in this forest was the Wither.

“Hello?” the man called out, his voice trembling, stumbling over his words as he almost stumbled over a nearby protruding tree root. He was loud, but not too loud. Did he even want to be found? “Message for the Wither. From the Grimlands.”

Nothing. The man stood and watched, while the Wither cultivated his fear by being absent. He had to feel three pairs of eyes pierce into him, hooking in and unwilling to let go, increasing the man's discomfort every second.

“Is anyone there?” His voice rose and trembled even more. “H-Hello?I know you're out there. Somewhere. Hopefully…”

Though an activity like this was fun, it had the potential to grow very stale very quickly. Before the Grimlish messenger could say or do anything else, a crossbow bolt raced toward him and pierced his neck. The messenger dropped what he was holding and weakly grabbed the shaft. His strength rapidly faded, it wouldn't be enough. Whatever he would do, it would never be enough.

The Wither stepped out of the bushes the moment the messenger's legs couldn't carry him anymore. He fell, helpless to stop his life from slipping. fWhip picked up the scroll as Gem and Sausage finished off this messenger taking him out of his misery and making him pay for this act with his life. Nobody approached the Wither in their home turf (or camp) without being punished for it.

“We’re going to need to move our camp,” Gem said. They had been found by this one messenger, so who was to say that actual dangers to their cause wouldn’t be able to find them, too? Sausage and fWhip agreed with her statement, nodding along.

“Agreed. We’ve been here for too long,” Sausage said. He checked out the iron sword the messenger had dropped. His interest only went as far as its material - his superior Netherite weaponry could have easily sliced through this pitiful weapon. The one last thing this iron sword was used for was to see how far Sausage would be able to throw it through the trees. Not fare, it didn’t look like it had been properly balanced either - or, at the very least, hadn’t been perfectly balanced. He watched it fly until it disappeared from view.

He turned back around. fWhip hadn’t said a word. He’d broken the scroll’s seal and was now reading the words on that parchment. Sausage didn’t know how far along fWhip was, but the further he got, the more a grin appeared on his face.

“What does it say?” Sausage asked him.

“This leader of the Grimlands must have broken free of Aeor,” fWhip replied. He looked up from the scroll to his siblings, an excited look on his face “He’s calling one of us ‘son’, but he’s showing sympathy for our cause. He’s written down where we can find an End portal.”

Chapter Text

Though the past few days had been gray, the garrison was blessed with some sunlight today. Spending a prolonged amount of time within the dark oak forest was only bearable for so long, and feeling the warm sun caress your skin helped with the morale. You could never truly know what lurked within the darkness of the deepest parts of the  forest, where the canopy was so thick that no sunlight or moonlight ever reached it. 

The garrison’s camp had been set up in a clearing. At the edge of the camp, some large stumps remained that were yet to be removed, their pointed ends a testament to the resilience of Mythic lumberjacks. The wood had been used to construct this little base; they formed the frames of their tents, they were the watchtower that barely reached the same height as the surrounding canopy, and they were the training dummies shoddily constructed near the middle of this encampment. They were also the firewood supply that wouldn’t run out for the next few weeks, or perhaps even months.

A fire roared in the middle of their camp. August insisted on it. The smoke and heat repelled the creatures that would otherwise target these fine soldiers. Plus, as long as the fire burned, Mythic soldiers would prevail. August could barely remember where that superstition came from - someone must’ve told him, perhaps Sir Carlos. Still, it was a nice thought to have.

The camp was livelier than usual. Yesterday, August arrived with reinforcements - it doubled the population, now at a healthy sixteen soldiers. August hadn’t been too keen to comply with Lord Scott’s demands, but Sir Carlos had convinced him to go. The camp was deep enough in the dark oak forest and far enough from civilization that the Wither may not search here. August hoped his good friend was correct.

The soldiers around him were a healthy mix of seasoned warriors and young soldiers at the start of their careers. Each of them longed to go home just as much as they longed to serve their country. Would fate and the world be so cruel as to rip them away?

More often than not, his gaze was pulled to the western edge of the camp, where the ground sloped down into a yawning cave. They had lit it up to the best of their ability, dissuading any monsters from pouring out. A pathway of torches, courtesy of a previous expedition, led straight to the stronghold beneath the earth. What it was once meant for was still a mystery, but it did hold what the Wither so desperately desired: a way to go to the End.

They would not find it. August was certain of it. Sir Carlos not so much. Even at their advanced ages, it was good to see they could still amicably disagree.

The sun stood at its highest point when some of the soldiers engaged in conversation. Everyone was eager to hear the stories the old general had to tell from his time of service before the king and queen passed away. August gladly provided them with answers, as long as it kept their minds off of the threat some feared was coming their way.

“What do you think about Sir Carlos?” One of them asked after ten minutes of other discussions.

“What do I think about him?” August repeated the question. “He’s a good man, a good knight. He’s a stubborn one, too.”

That elicited some chuckles from the soldiers.

“I’ve been wondering, did he really look for the prince that entire time?” another soldier wondered - one of the younger generation. Some of their colleagues nodded and verbally showed their support for the question. “I mean, sixteen years is a long time? Are we sure he never gave up and just hid in a hole somewhere?”

Whatever kind expression and demeanor August usually maintained melted away. For a second, only the stern gaze of a general landed upon the soldier. Fresh-faced, hasn’t seen battle yet. They had never had the pleasure of seeing Sir Carlos, only ever hearing the stories told by his peers, which only bore a fraction of truth. It was easy to see why someone like them would make such an assumption, but that did not mean it wasn’t as hurtful or insulting as it was.

“Sir Carlos has been accused of many things throughout his career, but never of being a coward,” August said in a grave tone. “Has he been ashamed? Yes. Did he want to give up? As someone who has fought alongside him for many years, I can say without a doubt that there must have been moments where he felt hopeless. But his pride and honor would never allow him to give up. It may have hindered his expedition, but never halted it. He’s been away for sixteen years and I can guarantee you, he spent every day searching for the prince.”

The soldier who’d asked the question looked at Sir Carlos in disbelief. “Dear blood sheep, really?”

“Yes, really.” August punctuated it with a nod. “Now, I would prefer not to hear any more such outrageous claims about Sir Carlos. Understood?”

The soldier nodded and August relaxed again. He’d made enough of an impression that that soldier would not ask that question again. At least, he hoped it showed the young soldier that he shouldn’t speak so disrespectfully about one of the most venerated and decorated knight that Mythland had ever seen.

One of the older soldiers - one August had known for about five years - chimed in with a playful smile. “Didn’t Sir Carlos also fight a hydra near the border of the Cod Empire? Or is that claim too outrageous, too?”

August suppressed a chuckle of his own. He knew this soldier well enough to know he intended it as a joke and not as a serious question. 

“Now,” August said with a half-assed sigh, ready to play along. “Stories of that part of his expedition have been greatly exaggerated–”

The sound of a horn echoed through the camp, silencing everyone and everything but the fire. All eyes were pulled up, to the watchtower. One of the more senior soldiers, an old fellow who joined the army a few years after Sir Carlos and August did, had blown the horn given to her as she stood guard on top of it. As soon as it began, a knot formed in the stomachs of these soldiers and whatever good mood had been built up instantly disappeared.

Everyone knew what it meant, even if some couldn’t quite believe it.

“Jamie!” August called out to the soldier on the watchtower. “What do you see?”

Jamie opened her mouth to speak. No words or syllables escaped, only a gurgle after the crossbow bolt pierced through her throat and silenced her. She stumbled backwards and fell backwards, over the railing, back onto the ground. She landed with a dull thud, to the horror of her colleagues. Any hope of survival ended when she hit the ground.

Panic. These were well-trained soldiers, but the Wither was strong enough to strike fear in the hearts of even the most well-trained and the bravest soldiers. August knew it well, for fear gripped his heart, too.

“Prepare for battle,” August called out. Unlike them, he could not afford to show any weakness. Unlike them, he had to project some calm confidence that would hopefully allow them to feel braver than they were feeling.

Pandemonium. Everyone reached for their weapon - either a sword, spear, or shortbow - to stop the assault before it could begin. Except this fight had already begun and through the sheer panic, the enemy already had an advantage over the Mythic soldiers. None of them could fly, either, which gave the enemy another precious advantage.

They hovered above the campsite. The one with mechanical wings flew around in circles, trying to stay airborne for as long as he could, while the other two merely floated, aided by magic or the bloodred corruption. The one that controlled the corruption landed, while the girl stayed in the air. Though August wished he could focus on all three of them, his gaze was pulled towards the one who had descended.

His soldiers attacked the boy - he still looked like a boy. He walked off of the corruption platform as though what he did wasn’t an extraordinary feat in itself and started the massacre, backed up by his siblings above.

Well-trained and brave. One of the tenets of Mythic knights was to try, above all else. To try was all they could do as they charged and lost their lives, one by one, some more gruesome than the others. Magical energy beams, arrows and explosives rained down, and as August backed up, his back hit an invisible barrier that he couldn’t get through.

When he turned and placed his hand against that barrier, to confirm it truly was there, he noticed movement beyond this barrier. A soldier of Mythland, fleeing the scene. The soldier who had spoken so disrespectfully about Sir Carlos.

A faint smile appeared on August’s face, accompanied by a sigh. At least one of them would live. If they survived the forest and reached the capital city, Sir Carlos would know. He had to know.

Hopefully, August’s words would remain with the soldier for the rest of their days. He wouldn’t be around to repeat them.

August clenched the hilt of his sword and turned around, ready to face the threat head-on. The threat; the boy who controlled corruption as though it was nothing. Already, the corruption had spread beyond what August would have thought it to be capable of. Already, it crawled closer to the fire and doused it. A painful detail August glanced away from in favor of looking at the boy.

Most of the soldiers were already dead. August didn’t delude himself into a false sense of hope. As the boy turned his gaze towards the general, he didn’t watch with the gaze of a soldier. This was not a soldier; this was a caged beast who didn’t know better and acted like it had been taught.

The beast that looked at him bore a striking resemblance to the late king.

“You’re strong,” August said. “Resilient. Strategic. Just like Pedro was.” August shallowly bowed his head. “It is an honor to meet you.”

As soon as he bowed his head, the prince lashed out. Instinct took over and August parried the first blow, letting it harmlessly glance off of him. The first of many.

In any other circumstance, perhaps August would have survived longer. This was not a one-on-one fight. He had to keep the prince’s allies in mind as well, and his reflexes weren’t as quick as he wished they would have been. August already knew he wasn’t fighting to win; he was fighting to last as long as he possibly could. If talking did not persuade them, perhaps pure combat and skill would. It may not have the result that August would hope for, and he would never be around to see it, but it was worth a shot. To give them something to ponder in his absence.

An ill-timed movement. He stepped aside at the wrong time and left his chest vulnerable. One swift strike later, iron pierced into his body. With all his remaining energy, rapidly flowing out of the wound, he looked up at the boy - blessed blood sheep, he did look like Pedro - and smiled warmly. 

It lasted but a second. August collapsed and allowed the darkness to carry him away.

The writer of the note had been correct: a cave descended into the earth and, presumably, led to the End portal.

The encampment was silent. Corpses didn’t speak or shout or beg or cry. Yet, one was able to hold Sausage’s attention.

An older man. Silver hair and beard, brown eyes. Good with a sword, but with slow reflexes. If he had been younger, perhaps he would have lasted longer against Sausage. Now, he lay lifelessly on the ground. On his back, his empty eyes forever staring upward until carrion eaters would find his remains and feast on them.

One more life to add to his long list of accomplishments. Another victory, another conquest.

So why was this one different?

He spoke about Pedro. The name hadn’t been familiar in the heat of battle. The adrenaline faded and now he could think more clearly. Pedro - the name that the cat and the elf had used as well. They had spoken about Pedro like they knew him. They had compared Sausage to him.

This soldier had mentioned Pedro, too. Instead of complaints and thinly-veiled contempt, however, he sounded proud. Confident and glad. He called it an honor to fight him.

Sausage wished he could wrap his head around it. He wished he could understand what they meant. He did not know this Pedro, though it started to feel like he should know. Except he shouldn’t know, he was Netherborn. He only had Gem and fWhip and Master Xornoth and Exor, as well as the many piglins he’d tried to befriend in his early youth who all inevitably died when Master Xornoth designated them target practice. He didn’t know a Pedro. He shouldn’t know a Pedro.

Should he?

“Sausage?” The voice of fWhip called out, violently pulling him out of those strange thoughts. Thank Exor for that.

“Coming.”

He spared the corpse not even a final glance. The corruption nearby eagerly leaned in closer to consume it before the Wither had even reached the End.

Chapter Text

The End was everything the Wither hadn’t expected it to be.

The stone-like ground they walked on felt spongy beneath their feet, almost like overgrown  Nether hyphae pressed flat against the surface. The air was breathable, yet heavy - it took more effort to take those breaths. Their limbs were met with some resistance in the air. They likened it to wading through lava while fully submerged, but with less resistance than that. Beyond their footsteps and breaths, the world was quiet and dark. Only the pale yellow stone-like texture on the ground formed a sharp contrast with the darkness of the Void that surrounded them that swallowed all light, sounds, and warmth. It wasn’t cold, but the distinct lack of warmth gave them goosebumps.

The Wither looked at one another. This place was so much more different and alien than they had thought. Stranger than even what Master Xornoth described. Yet, the characteristics of this strange land should not stop them. 

Near the middle of this island, eight obsidian pillars of varying lengths rose up and up and up, some so high that they couldn’t see the top. They craned their necks up as high as they could to the smallest towering pillar, atop which they saw the popping purple and red of the unstable crystals, turning and whirling in place. The crystals they would need to destroy to keep the Ender Dragon from regenerating her health.

These pillars formed a circle - or, rather, an octagon - encircling a creature of such great majesty that it took the Wither’s breath away. She sat in the middle, her front legs folded across one another. Her patient purple gaze was aimed at the Wither, waiting for them to approach. Though she was sitting down, her size was larger than anything the Wither had ever come across. A majestic beautiful intelligent creature, watching out over the End.

A cruel creature that held back Exor’s might.

The Wither approached with all the confidence they could muster. They passed through two of these pillars - spaced out far enough away for the dragon to pass through - and the dragon stood up. On all fours, with her wings spread, she appeared even taller than before. Perhaps not fear, but anxiety gripped the hearts of the Wither.

I know why you are here. Her voice echoed in their minds, clear as day and light as a breeze. Unoppressive, inviting even. Are you certain you wish to proceed?

“You can’t change our minds,” Gem said defiantly, clenching the wizard’s staff she stole from the Crystal Cliffs. “We will take what you have been wrongfully keeping in your possession.”

This is not what you desire.

“Oh, this is exactly what we want!” Sausage said, ready to jump into the fight. “We’ll take your life and your egg.”

You desire what I guard. You do not desire my death. She left a pause, her piercing purple gaze lingering on each of the members of the Wither. It made the Wither feel seen in ways they hadn’t quite experienced before; naked, alone, yet comfortable. 

The Dragon turned her head to the nearest edge on this island. Should you wish to exit the End now, you must take a leap of faith. You will be spared. You will go somewhere safe.

“And where is that? Aeor’s cold grasp?” fWhip finished placing a crossbow bolt into his crossbow and grabbed a fireworks rocket. He shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

The Dragon made a head gesture - one that could almost be seen as a respectful nod.

Very well. You have been given your chance. I shall give you no more.

The Dragon inhaled as she projected those words into the Wither’s mind and released it with a powerful blast. The Wither barely dodged out of the way in time, their skin growing numb and their muscles growing weaker where her breath had impacted them. They only had one glance to spare at the Dragon before they decided to attack.

Their training came back to them. The Wither would have to focus on taking down the crystals atop the pillars. Gem and fWhip had practiced to do so, while Sausage would remain on the ground and created a safe haven of corruption, from where he would operate.

The Dragon proved to be an even more formidable foe than anticipated. Though Gem and fWhip dodged and weaved best they could and eliminated the crystals from a distance, the Dragon was extremely maneuverable as well. Her talons dug into flesh, her roar and wings hitting them and nearly knocking them out of the sky more than once, and her tail was something they had to pay attention to. In the meantime, down below, Sausage’s distraction wasn’t going as well as planned, either. He was supposed to hurl one-foot chunks of corruption at the Dragon, hoping to distract her and to lure her towards him. He was ready to take most of the damage during this fight to allow Gem and fWhip to do their work. Yet, the Dragon was clever and intelligent. She knew what was important, and she knew how important it was to ensure nothing threatened her airspace.

Even so, it was fWhip who shot at the final End crystal. It was his bolt that shattered the crystal and his actions that made the Dragon cry out in pain. Instead of a fearless roar, it was more akin to a wail of pain; one that almost washed over the wither, too, as pain and sorrow.

No. No time to think about that. The Dragon was weaker, her flight capabilities more limited. They had the upper hand and they shouldn't give it away.

Sausage drew his sword and, alongside the corruption he’d been growing, charged after she had landed, while Gem and fWhip remained in the air to support him. The longer they fought, the more they got used to these strange, alien conditions of the atmosphere of the End, the more deadly they became. They fell back and relied on their old training, now even more efficient as they acclimatized.

The Dragon didn’t stand a chance. She defended herself to the best of her ability and managed to hurt some of the Wither, but she soon found herself overwhelmed. With no healing to rely on, against the most efficient fighting force in all the realms, there was little she could do.

Sausage struck the killing blow, piercing his sword into her lowered neck and leaving a long, deep gash behind through which the corruption could easily reach her on the inside. It spread as rapidly as it could, with a little push from Sausage himself. The Dragon’s throat closed as she no longer could breathe, cut off from her air supply. As the Wither gathered in a safe spot, the Dragon clawed at her own throat and neck in the hopes of ripping that corruption out of her. It had no real effect, however, and she soon lacked the energy to do anything but lie down and die, her final breath a gurgle.

A gurgle. No cry, no roar. A gurgle.

One that nonetheless ran deep.

The body disappeared, slowly evaporated in front of their eyes. Though none of the Wither had expected to see the particles slowly float off of the Dragon, they weren’t surprised either. She had worked together with Aeor to lock away Exor’s power; of course the impostor would want her to be reborn 

The Wither mentally prepared for another fight, but it never started. Instead, all of the particles that once were a part of the Ender Dragon coalesced in the middle of this unusual arena. Together, they created something that looked like an egg, charred with the Dragon’s purple accents - a sign that they had been victorious. They had done it. They had slain the Ender Dragon and unlocked Xornoth’s potential and Exor’s power.

Why did it feel so sad?

The Wither would not find the word. Later, they might recognize that they mourned the Dragon. They mourned the majestic, powerful force in their way. Slowly, a shockwave moved across their hearts into their minds as the weight of their actions started to crush them. 

Gem looked at her brothers to try to find solace. She found her brothers were doing the same. None of them could understand the sorrow in their hearts.

“We shouldn’t feel like this,” Gem said, clutching the staff. “We shouldn’t.”

Sausage and fWhip silently agreed with her. That silent agreement doubled as their consent for what Gem was about to do.

Gem raised the staff, allowing it to act as a catalyst for the magic she called upon.  A pale white light shone from the tip of the staff and seemed to expand, like a dome started to form from where it began. Yet, it soon fizzled out around the edges and like stardust fell on top of the Wither. They let it happen; they allowed this soothing stardust to quell the sorrow and to allow it to enhance any other powerful positive emotions they ought to be feeling right now.

As soon as the spell was cast, Gem lowered the staff. She looked at her brothers, and they looked at her.

Smiles crept across their faces, bursting into grins that erupted into jubilant laughter, and they knew that the spell had worked. They were now fully able to celebrate their victory over such a strong creature. It didn’t matter that they had to artificially push the sorrow down; they were not supposed to be feeling that either way. This was the only way forward, and the Wither thus celebrated what they had been able to do.

Well done, my Wither.

Though jubilant and cheerful, the Wither stifled their excitement. Their gazes turned immediately to the smallest pillar. Again, their breath was nearly taken away at the sight.

Master Xornoth. They almost blended in with the darkness of the Void behind them. Their piercing red eyes and wide red grin now had accents of the purple that used to belong to the Dragon. Most importantly, the greatest sign of their devotion to the Dark Stag and their ultimate power had become manifest. Two antlers, growing where their horns had once been broken off, now graced their head. A truly powerful sight.

Instinctively, the Wither kneeled and bowed their heads, waiting with bated breath for the next words to grasp their minds and to demand to be heard.

Master Xornoth descended from the pillar. Their footsteps barely echoed in this suppressive environment of the Void, yet it reached the Wither’s ears. Their Master walked past them at the same pace, not stopping once, continuing to where the Dragon had once rested and guarded the greatest treasure in the world.

Rise.

The Wither obeyed. They lined up and stood at attention, their hands behind their backs and waiting for their next command. Master Xornoth stood at the edge, holding the charred egg in their hands. They looked at the egg

You have returned my power to me. You killed the Ender Dragon and paved the way for Exor’s return. You have passed your first test.

Master Xornoth placed the egg on the ground and turned to the Wither. They felt seen, naked, unprotected in Master Xornoth’s strong gaze. It was enough to make one feel unsafe in any other circumstances, but the Wither had grown accustomed to those feelings.

I can finally walk the Overworld again. I shall look for the perfect location from where Exor may return. Until then, you must keep the dragon egg safe. You must keep it out of enemy hands. Do you understand?

“Yes, sir.” Three voices, perfectly in sync in both words and tone. Practiced, perfect. Exactly as Master Xornoth wanted.

Do not disappoint me.

Chapter Text

The Cod Empire, fortunately, no longer burned.

Yesterday, out of absolutely nowhere, the Wither decided to drop in and wreak havoc on the capital city. Jimmy hadn’t expected them, but they showed up nonetheless. Eager to cause chaos and destruction, they descended upon the town. Crossbow bolts and explosives soared through the air. Magic crackled as the wizard cast her spells. All the while, corruption burrowed throughout, popping up and scarring the landscape for decades to come.

Jimmy confronted the Wither. It didn’t end well.

When he awoke, he put on the Codfather mask and ran outside, though his muscles protested every little movement. The Cod Empire was in flames and the Wither fled the scene, leaving the people below to pick up the pieces.

Fortunately, the Cod were a resilient people. They mourned their losses, they cleared the rubble, and focused on the rebuilding efforts.

Even so, a shiver had run down Jimmy’s spine. Before the attack, it rolled down his spine so slowly that Jimmy wondered whether a centipede or some other bug was crawling down his back. But there was no bug and the feeling persisted. On its way down, it had gripped Jimmy’s heart. It skipped a few beats before it was released, and the shiver slowly continued. A strange feeling settled within his stomach and heart - some sort of lightheadedness below or the beginnings of nausea that refused to develop, yet stuck around in that first phase.

Jimmy had never felt something like this before. It subsided after ten minutes, and yet he could not shake the feeling that something was irreversibly, terribly wrong.

An hour or so later, the Wither attacked. Still, he could not say that feeling was an omen for its attack. Instead, it reminded him of a conversation he'd had with Pixlriffs a few days prior.

“Do you think they'll be able to make it?” Jimmy had asked his good friend. “To the End?”

Pixlriffs had waited a few seconds to respond. “I don’t doubt they are capable.”

“Yeah, but do you think they'll ever make it there?” Jimmy had looked at Pixlriffs, and noticed the concern in his gaze. “Pix?”

Again, Pix had waited. His million-yard stare betrayed the knowledge he carried, courtesy of the Vigil. Eventually, he did look at Jimmy again 

“I believe we will be seeing more of them in the future,” Pix had said. “And yes, even in the End.”

Jimmy nearly shuddered when he remembered the conversation in tandem with that slow shiver. That same feeling slowly spread across his chest again. Had the Wither gone to the End, as Scott had feared? Had they succeeded in their mission and done what their master had asked them to do? If that was the case, Jimmy didn’t want to know what their next steps would be.

He chose to focus on his people and the destruction the Wither has wrought. He chose to ignore that gnawing sense of doubt that threatened to tear him apart. All the while, he wore the mask and even without it, he forced as much confidence on his face as he could muster. Even if he failed in that regard, his resilience and bullheadedness may inspire his people to act in a similar way. They, too, were resilient and Jimmy admired their power, their will, their strength, how they didn’t give up in the face of major adversity.

Fortunately, the Cod Empire didn’t have to go through this alone. He asked for help from his closest neighbors,and the response was overwhelming. The Ocean Queen would share some of their fish and coin with them and keep the ocean calm, while Mythland promised sturdy wood and other resources to rebuild the capital city with. Gilded Helianthia also promised help: a small caravan of food was already on its way when Pearl replied to his message. Jimmy hadn’t believed such quick response would be possible, but Gilded Helianthia wasn’t too far away. It wasn’t too far-fetched that a caravan from Gilded Helianthia would reach the Cod Empire within a day.

As he helped his people clear the rubble, something caught Jimmy’s eye. It would be quite a strange sight if he wasn’t used to it; a magnificent giant goose waddled over on the road, ridden by the Farmer Queen herself. Her choice of clothing - the familiar green dress - may not be the best for traversing the Cod Empire or to clear the rubble, but he had never seen her leave with mud stains or wrinkles in her dress.

Now, she rode up to him, drawing the attention of the people. Whispers rose as the Codfather excused himself where he’d been helping and approached the Farmer Queen.

She immediately found him in the sea of faces and a wide smile appeared on her face.

“Jimmy!”

“Pearl.” He was glad to see her, though some concern did creep in. Where was the caravan she promised? “It’s so good to see you. Do you have–”

“Relax, it’s coming,” Pearl said. “They’re just crossing the swamps. I wanted to ride ahead.”

She looked him over. His hands were dirty, grime under his fingernails. His face was sweaty, his hair a mess. His clothes were dirty as well, as they ought to be when you’re trying to clean up the material damage the Wither left behind. He’d seen the corpses. He’d witnessed their burials, too.

“How are you doing?” she asked. 

Jimmy sighed and shrugged. “I’m okay. I think.”

Yes, he died. The Wither had killed, but he was okay. He almost felt as good as he did before the respawn that was granted to all rulers. That didn’t mean the psychological scars healed along with his body. Once again he was hit with the privilege of being the Codfather. The dead - those who did not survive the attack - did not have the chance to awaken in their beds. They had their one life, and that was it. Somehow, Jimmy was allowed to live just a little longer, just because he wore the mask that declared him as the ruler of the Cod Empire. Sometimes, it didn’t feel fair.

“And your people?” Pearl then asked.

“We’re coping,” Jimmy responded. “We have good allies. We can… we’ll survive this, like we’ve survived previous invasions.”

In a distant past, Mythland had attempted to make the Cod Empire part of their own. That did not end well on either side, and a peace treaty had been signed. Though they officially belonged to separate alliances, the Cod Empire and Mythland had good trade relations and behaved like good neighbors.

When Jimmy looked at Pearl again, she surveyed the land like he had done before. Unlike a day ago, there were no more corpses to be observed, but the damage was still substantial enough for her to get a good idea of what had happened. Jimmy had told those he’d asked for help about the Wither attack, and now it was Pearl’s turn to see the damage that they wrought.

“Do you know why they attacked you?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t true. He had an idea. Perhaps, with a fellow ruler by his side, this was the best place to share his concerns. “I saw them up close. I… I don’t know. I think they might have been celebrating.”

Pearl raised an eyebrow. “Celebrating?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy nodded. “I know it sounds weird, but hear me out. I’ve seen children play, even teenagers. I’ve seen them in their competitions, racing through the streets. The Wither almost seemed to have that same joy on their face when they attacked us, as though this was the icing on their victory cake.”

Teenagers should not be joyful when they ruined other people’s lives. They should be at home, rebelling against their parents and hanging out with friends and figuring out what they want to do with their lives. They shouldn’t be doing this .

“It’s not normal,” Jimmy added. 

“No, it isn’t,” Pearl agreed.

“They killed me,” Jimmy continued. “I-I mean, they tried to do it. I couldn’t let them destroy my home, I couldn’t. I stood up to them, they chased me around. I almost got away from them, I think but– the girl, she flew around, cut me off. She had Gandalf’s staff. She pointed it at me. She could’ve killed me then and there, easily… she didn’t.”

The image had been carved into his memory. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see her still standing there, the tip of Gandalf’s staff almost completely in his face. She had no reason not to send one of those pale beams of magic straight at him. In those few seconds, he forgot he could respawn and his life flashed before his life. A strange moment where he both wanted to continue to fight and had already resigned himself to his fate.

Instead, he lived. Instead, her gaze softened and she pulled the staff away from him. Instead, she did not lift a finger to kill him. It had confused him in the moment, but since then, theories had formed.

Instead of her, an explosion from behind impacted his body and knocked him into the ground. He woke up in his bed afterward.

“She spared me,” Jimmy finished his story. “Her brothers did not.”

All the while, Pearl listened with a hopefully open mind. She didn’t interrupt and didn’t ask questions, just silently listened to his story. When he was finished, she nodded her head once.

“She must have had a good reason,” she said.

“That she didn’t want to kill.” Jimmy wholeheartedly believed it. Somewhere, deep down, she didn’t want to kill and saw a moment where she wouldn’t have to do it. Either because she thought this was her moment, or because she knew the heirs of Mythland and the Grimlands were behind her and she knew they would finish the job for her. He still perished, but it wasn’t by her hand. It had to mean something.

“That she wouldn’t reveal.” Pearl shot him a sympathetic glance. “Jimmy, I would love to believe there is some good inside of them that they can act upon. I know you don’t like to think of them as soldiers–”

Jimmy shook his head. “Oh, I hate that.”

“–but they’re smart,” she continued. “They attack and have their reasons for it. If they celebrated something, that was their reason to destroy and to kill. At the moment, they don’t seem the type to just spare you.”

Jimmy sighed. Pearl had a point, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Everything the Wither had done so far, had been with a reason. Until now; until they had to celebrate something. His mind was launched back to yesterday, to the slow shiver that sank down his spine, and he glanced at Pearl.

“They celebrated something,” he said. “I mean… did you–you felt it too, right? Yesterday, your heart dropping for a few seconds? A slow shiver?”

The look Pearl shot him said everything he needed to know. Her nod all but confirmed it.

“What do you think it is?” she wondered.

“I think…” Jimmy took a breath. “I think Scott was right to worry they’d reach the End. They did something there.” And celebrated afterwards by coming to the Cod Empire and causing destruction.

The look Pearl gave him was one of concern, of deep worry that he could not shake no matter how much he tried. She understood what he had already understood in his heart, but which he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet. 

“Xornoth has power again.”

Jimmy had been a child when Xornoth had been locked away. Either he was too young to remember, or he’d categorically removed those memories from his mind, unable and unwilling to think about all the terrible things he’d witnessed and that his little child brain could barely comprehend. He’d hoped that would be the end of it, that he would never have to go through something like that in his life.

Now, the Wither forced him to.

“Thanks for the supplies, by the way,” Jimmy told Pearl with a more serious tone than before. “We’re going to need them.”

Chapter Text

The clearing where the outpost sat, was quiet. A breeze slowly made its way through, playing with the fabric of the few tents that had been mounted. The watchtower was empty, only able to hold a vigil. The training dummies served as a silent witness to the brutality that the Mythic soldiers stationed here had gone through. Their corpses still littered the camp, and the campfire was somehow still burning.

In the middle of it all, three teenagers - soldiers - believed this was the perfect place to stay a little longer and to linger in their victory.

The spoils of said victory sat near the campfire itself. The flames licked this dragon egg, yet its scaly shell remained cold to the touch. Its blackened state nearly mimicked the void itself, the home from which it was stolen. For this egg was necessary to return Exor back to the Overworld.

Of course, it was the Wither’s top priority to keep it safe. fWhip preferred to stay in the watchtower, a bolt already notched on his crossbow. Sausage patrolled the surrounding area, but never strayed too far. Gem stayed in the middle of the camp and tended to the egg, still contemplating about the precautions they could take to protect themselves.

“Do you think we need to move camp?” fWhip asked his siblings. He’d asked the same question yesterday, after they had defeated the Dragon. Yesterday, his question was shot down and the conversation turned into a need to celebrate their victory by destroying a town. They didn’t want to alert Mythland to their location, but the Cod Empire was similarly close to their hideout.

Today, fWhip tried his luck again.

“Do you think there are risks?” Gem asked him.

“There’s always risks,” fWhip responded. “Such as staying in an enemy outpost with no idea whether these dead will be missed.”

“Nah, we’re good here. At least for another day!” Sausage said. “We’ve got cover, we’ve got space, and nobody will miss these soldiers yet.”

Perhaps the attack on the outpost had not yet gone noticed. The Wither suspected these soldiers did not have a great way to communicate with their higher-ups in Mythland. Furthermore, they had only recently spotted the new group of soldiers that headed to this outpost. Though they had no insight into the soldiers’ rotation schedule, but they assumed the next batch of soldiers would come in a few days. They had some time on their hands, if all went according to their mental image of the situation.

“You’re right,” fWhip said, with a deep sigh. “I guess it can’t hurt to stay here for another day.”

Sausage nodded, confident in what he had asserted. fWhip had conceded that Sausage had been right, and that was all that he could ask for at this moment. Though he was supposed to keep his eye on the treeline and the road leading into the outpost, he figured that if people didn’t miss these soldiers, he could take a break for a little while.

Sausage walked over to where Gem was sitting. She stoked the fire, ensuring that it still burned brightly and that its flames still licked the Dragon's egg. The Wither figured, if the Dragon egg was going to bring Exor to the Overworld, it better get used to the Nether's temperatures. The Void, after all, was a cool and chilly place, with temperatures that the Wither hadn't been used to. It would stand to reason that the egg then also wasn't used to higher temperatures. When Xornoth would bring a portion of the Nether into the Overworld, it would bring the temperature along with it. Perhaps a gradual increase would be better for the egg.

Not that it mattered all that much, or that this campfire would even come close. It was worth a shot, though.

“How's the egg?” Sausage asked. He had suggested some corruption for it to rest on. What he produced, however, didn't even come close to how warm Nether flora was to the touch.

“Still here. Still alive.” Gem placed a hand on the egg, perhaps to confirm it was indeed still alive. Her calm behavior suggested as much.

Gem's eyes stayed on the egg, fully in awe of what they had accomplished. “I can't believe we've got it.”

“Me neither,” fWhip responded, climbing down the ladder of the watchtower. It was just small enough that activating his mechanical wings was not worth it.

“I can’t believe we killed a dragon.”

It still was bittersweet. Any sorrow had been long isolated and destroyed, and their manufactured joy had since faded. Still, pride burned within them, the knowledge that they took down one of the greatest forces alive a boost to their confidence. They did not think about that hollowness in their chest - they didn’t want to think about it or talk about it - and instead focused on all the ways this act had made them feel good.

Those reasons were fewer than those for feeling bad.

“Not just a dragon,” fWhip said, that pride tinkling in his eyes and the tone of his voice. “The Dragon. We killed The Dragon and we got her egg!”

Sausage tilted his head slightly. “Where do you think Master Xornoth will bring Exor back into the world?”

“It’s gotta be somewhere spectacular,” Gem said. “Maybe they’ll even bring a bit of the Nether into the Overworld.”

That thought alone was enough to turn their attention to the future again and how glorious it was going to be. They could almost see it: this world, covered by corruption, unchanging and all-encompassing. Every soul in this sorry world would be freed from Aeor, no longer bound to its will and worship. All would be well, and all would see Exor for what he truly is. A just god who did not oppress anyone, and a great world when the impostor god had been destroyed.

A beautiful future indeed.

They couldn't relish this feeling for too long. The silent dark oak forest had begun to make a lot more noise; leaves rustled, twigs snapped. The wildlife had figured out the Wither was too dangerous to stay around for too long. Something - someone - else approached.

Instantly, the Wither was on high alert. Instantly, they came closer to one another, trying to figure out what or who approached. fWhip lifted his crossbow again and checked how many explosives he still had left. Sausage grabbed his sword, contemplating whether or not he would use corruption. Gem stood up and summoned her pale white wings, ready to soar if needed. The staff hummed with magic, even more so now that Gem was on higher alert.

The three of them looked at the treeline, in the direction from where the noise had come. With their gazes fixed on that treeline, fWhip released the bolt notched in the crossbow and sent it flying. Two seconds later, a body dropped out of the bushes, the bolt stuck in its chest where the heart would be.

fWhip notched another bolt while Sausage charged forward and Gem hovered closer. From the treeline, men - soldiers from Mythland, much like the corpses lying around - approached them with the intent to fight. Some seemed more hesitant than others, but they charged nonetheless. 

Poor little soldiers, following useless orders that would send them to their deaths - so they attacked the Wither, and the Wither fought back.

This was, simply put, a slaughter. The Wither gave everything they had, and the soldiers struggled. It didn’t take long before chaos took the battlefield, the soldiers lost control of their situation, and the Wither painted the soil red.

Sausage’s last victim was one of the last soldiers standing. He was about to strike down this one soldier when they gasped for air and dropped their sword. Sausage frowned - normally, these soldiers wouldn’t drop their sword. Or their shield. Yet, this one left themselves completely undefended. They looked directly at Sausage while he attempted to find his bearing in an unfamiliar situation.

“So it is true…” the soldier sputtered out. “You do look like… our king…”

Somehow, that was enough for Sausage to become curious. So many people had supposedly recognized him, the soldiers they had fought seemed to realize something that Sausage did not know, and now this final one used their final moments to declare that he did not just look like this man called Pedro, but that he looked like the Mythic king.

“What do you mean?” Sausage grabbed the soldier’s armor and pulled him closer. “Speak. What do you mean?”

A bit of corruption crept across his left arm, barely made it past his hand. Corruption in these lands was as good a threat as any. Yet, the soldier didn’t flinch. He coughed up a bit of blood, some staining his lips as it turned into a half smile.

Sausage had learned not to flinch away from anything. Yet, this unusual behavior creeped him out.

“Long live the king…”

A crossbow bolt pierced through the soldier’s neck. Blood splattered against Sausage’s face. In a matter of seconds, Sausage was holding a corpse. He let it drop to the ground and turned his head to where fWhip was standing.

“Why did you do that?” Sausage said. “They were mine!”

“Too slow, brother,” fWhip simply declared, notching a bolt into the crossbow. He didn’t need to - everyone was dead. “If you’re gonna play with your food, make it a little more explicit next time.”

Sausage opened his mouth, to argue that he hadn’t been playing with his food, but closed it soon after. They were the Wither - they did not take prisoners, nor did they question people. Yet, Sausage had just done so. The soldier had declared their fealty to the crown they served. Even so, they had been looking directly at Sausage as they did so. The deteriorating mind of a dying, desperate soldier.

Or perhaps a symptom of a wider problem that Sausage had yet to figure out. Whatever it was, something didn’t feel quite right about it. It brought a level of discomfort that he wasn’t used to.

They had to get out of here.

“This patrol found us,” Sausage eventually said. “Should we move camp?”

“Nah, we’re good,” fWhip said. “They’re all dead. It’ll be a while until their bosses know about it.” 

“We’ll be alright, Sausage,” Gem said, in defense of fWhip’s point of view. “We can stay here, at least for tonight.”

“Just tonight,” Sausage said. His gaze caught the Dragon egg, untouched near the fire. “Then, we move. We can’t afford to be too stationary while we hold the egg.”

Sausage couldn’t afford to grow a burgeoning sense of curiosity, nor could he satisfy it. The result may be disastrous.

Chapter Text

Dead.

All of them, dead.

The Wither had carved through the soldiers. Like a thunderstorm, they destroyed everything in their path. Everyone at the outpost perished, and the soldiers sent to relieve them had come one day too late. One day, and they might have been able to stand a bigger chance against the Wither.

Perhaps death was inevitable. Perhaps, by being one day late, the Wither only staggered when corpses fell to the ground.

One had survived. One had arrived back at the castle in the evening. They had no wounds, but their face showed the trauma induced by watching the Wither do what they did best. Though in shock, this one soldier had been able to share the news: the Wither had taken over the outpost. The relief group had heard the story and chose to fulfill their duties. The one soldier shared the news with Sir Carlos before the adrenaline faded and they grew silent and distant.

Sir Carlos had thanked the soldier. Had asked that the soldier be taken care of, taken to the infirmary. Check to see if they had received any wounds beyond the psychological. Sir Carlos retreated to his office afterwards, slumped down in his chair, and stared into the fire of his hearth.

Dead. All of them, dead.

August.

He shouldn't have been at the outpost. Sir Carlos had tried to stop the general from even going to the outpost. 

"Why would you be there?" Sir Carlos had asked him. "The people need you."

"Exactly," August had said. "Which is why I'm going to the outpost."

Scott had placed great importance on the Wither not going to the End. Deep within the Mythwood, one such entrance into the End could be found. The outpost masqueraded as a normal outpost, though it guarded something extremely important and dangerous. If Scott hadn't made such a big deal about the End, perhaps August would not have been persuaded to go and guard it himself.

Sir Carlos balled his fists. Anger. It would not lead him anywhere good. Still, it bubbled deep within him with no clear outlet. August was dead. One of the regents of this country, murdered by the rightful heir.

Worst of all, if the Wither had targeted the outpost, it must have had a good reason. So far, they had only targeted the more obvious targets. Sir Carlos could not see the Wither attack a lonely outpost deep in the Mythwood, far away from society and centers of population, unless they had a proper goal. Unless they knew exactly what they would find if they descended into the tunnel near the outpost.

August had tried to protect that entrance. He paid the price with his life.

He shouldn't have been there.

Sir Carlos stifled a scream. He would leave unleashing his anger to a lonely moment in the woods. In his office, in the castle, he could not release it. Not when everyone listened. Not while everyone turned to the one authority figure Mythland had left for guidance and hope and solace. How cruel the world is, to prevent Sir Carlos from mourning in the way he wished. 

August should be here. August should be sitting next to him, talking about the next steps. Instead, his corpse rotted in the outpost, where the Wither had bunkered down.

Close to the Dragon Egg.

Anger. It moved him. Sir Carlos stood up and sat down again, at his desk. A single candle lit the space around it, provided enough light. He picked up a quill and stared at the empty sheet of paper in front of him. Whatever words he'd write, all others with a similar sheet of paper would be able to read the message. As he lifted the quill and dipped it in ink, his hand was shaking. His mind was racing, trying to process everything while this crazy, stupidly young plan demanded his attention. 

Anger won. He put the quill to the paper and started to frantically write.

August is dead. The Wither raided an outpost that leads to the End. They must have the Dragon Egg. I'm taking it back. If you want to help, meet me tonight.

The message had not been the best-written message in the world. He could have added where to meet, could potentially have expressed how urgent the matter was. Even so, after writing it, he did not check for responses. He ordered a group of soldiers to get ready for a trek to the outpost. Already, he could see the nerves on their faces. Already, he could see the fear of death in their eyes. It should have been enough for Sir Carlos to back out and leave them home. However, his rage could not allow this. The more people came, the more targets the Wither had and the easier it would be for one of them to grab the Dragon Egg and to run and hide.

More people would die. He quelled those thoughts with the prospect of victory. August died to protect the Dragon Egg, he could not have died in vain. Sir Carlos would make sure that August would not have died in vain.

Sir Carlos did not have to go alone. Waiting outside of the castle, as day turned to night, allies showed up.

Jimmy arrived first. The Codfather came alone, wearing his suit of armor and Codfather mask. He spared no words for Sir Carlos, only a grim nod and the promise to let Sir Carlos stand in silence. Perhaps Jimmy could have said something - it would've broken that silence, it would have pulled Sir Carlos out of the thoughts that were consuming him. 

Not much later, Pearl arrived. Sir Carlos had always envied magic, especially the type that made it easier to travel. The Codfather must have swum here, controlling and riding the tides, perhaps on the behest of his sister. Pearl, on the other hand, didn't have any waterways that connected to Mythland. Instead, her innate connection to the earth seemed to have helped her out. Sword in hand, she approached like the warrior queen that she was. 

"Are you sure you want to do this tonight?" Pearl asked Sir Carlos after a greeting.

"It has to be tonight," Sir Carlos responded. "Before the Wither moves again. We must go tonight."

Pearl nodded in response, though she did not quite seem to agree with his methods. Sir Carlos couldn't care; he was just glad that someone as competent as Pearl decided to come and help.

Joel arrived last. The King of Mezalea came from the docks, where a rowboat sat between the larger ships. Lizzie must've had quite the evening, carrying her brother and husband over to Mythland as quickly and safely as possible. Joel breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he'd arrived right on time. He, too, greeted Sir Carlos. Joel was just about ready to fight the Wither and take back the Dragon Egg, the most enthusiastic of the assisting rulers.

Sir Carlos waited a little longer. Just a little - he had no idea if anyone else were coming. Yet, when all the soldiers - all twenty-four - had finished gearing up and were ready to go, Sir Carlos could no longer justify waiting. He gave the order and the group left.

Pearl aided them. Her magic and that connection to the Earth significantly shortened their journey. It almost felt like they were walking at four times the speed they were used to, even if it didn't feel like they were walking any quicker than they were used to. Still, the trees zoomed by faster, even though time remained untouched. A strange feeling, yet a welcome one. The sooner they reached the outpost, the better.

Rules were established, orders given. The Dragon Egg had to be retrieved at all costs. Either someone walked away with the Dragon Egg, or nobody would leave at all. The rulers agreed to be the main force to attack and draw the attention of the rulers, so that the foot soldiers could focus on either providing back-up to the rulers or to grab the Dragon Egg themselves. Sir Carlos had first put himself in the group of rulers - he was one of them, now, so why shouldn't he. His colleagues, however, persuaded him to join the group that would try to get the Dragon Egg. Like August, Sir Carlos did not have any royal blood coursing through his veins. Like August, he would die and not return upon death, despite being a ruler.

As they approached, Sir Carlos could feel his heart beat in his throat. He tried to steady his breathing, but he couldn't stop his hand from trembling. He could only ensure that he hid the shaky hands and that nobody saw them. As their commander, he ought to not show any fear. He should show strength and hope and should try to project that onto everyone else. He wasn't certain who he was kidding, though - Pearl's presence alone was enough to calm the soldiers enough.

A campfire glowed in the distance. A soft, orange light that broke the encroaching darkness of the dark oak forest. The soldiers dimmed their own torches and slowed their gait. On approach, they would be quiet and careful. The closer they came without being spotted, the better. In the best case scenario, the rulers would have the upper hand in an ambush that they had laid themselves.

The Wither sat around the campfire. They seemed to be cooking some food, loudly talking about some weird thing that had happened to them in the past. The way they so callously spoke about using piglins as target practice made Sir Carlos' stomach churn. Perhaps Rick had been right after all: these may be teenagers in age, but they were hardened, uncaring soldiers. They hadn't even moved most of the corpses, now stumbling blocks on their way closer to the campfire.

The stench of death hung in the air. It could escape via the clearing, unimpeded by the canopy. Yet, it still lingered. How could the Wither even stand it? It almost made Sir Carlos and a few of the soldiers throw up, but everyone was able to keep it in. They could always do this afterwards. The element of surprise had to be kept for as long as they could.

The closer they came, the clearer their target became. They had a more and more detailed view of the Wither and its individual members as they approached. In between them, near the fire, sat a large egg with black scales and purple veins. The Dragon Egg, close to the fire. Their target.

Sir Carlos had to have it.

He turned his head to his colleagues. Jimmy, Pearl, and especially Joel seemed ready to go. Sir Carlos only needed to nod to let them loose.

So he did.

Joel let out a war cry, followed by the soldiers, and they charged. The sound startled, the Wither, unaware of the threat that was lurking until it made itself known. Gem immediately grabbed the staff on the floor that the rulers recognized as Gandalf's staff. fWhip reached for his crossbow, ready to shoot. Sausage - the heir of Mythland - drew his sword while something grew around his sword arm. Something vile, something so evil that Sir Carlos would not have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself. Corruption, crawling, growing across Sausage's arm and parts of his chest as he got ready for the fight.

The Wither collided with their assailants. fWhip stayed on the ground, but that didn't make him any less deadly. The rulers clashed with the ambush, but Sir Carlos found he could barely pay attention to the chaos around him. He only had eyes for the Dragon Egg. It hadn't been moved out of the way from where he'd first seen it next to the campfire, but the Wither still hovered near it. One of his soldiers took their chance and dashed forward, towards the Egg. Gem had spotted them, however, and a pale white energy beam shot through the soldier. They perished before their body hit the ground. The Wither were fighting, but at least one of them kept their eye on the Egg. If one of them did, it was not far-fetched to believe the others also paid attention to their prized possession. 

Jimmy decided to go for it, too. Joel and Pearl and the soldiers provided ample cover for him. He almost seemed to sneak past the soldiers, swiftly passing them by like a shadow. Only when the campfire cast its light on him did he become visible again.

Gem turned. She pointed her staff at Jimmy. For a second, the world stood still. For a second, nothing happened. 

Another second passed, and nothing happened still.

Jimmy took one curious step towards her and tilted his head. Gem did not move, her gaze still as cold as it had ever been. Even so, she did not shoot him the same way she had carelessly thrown away the lives of the soldiers. For a second, they forgot all other hostilities on the field.

Pearl charged at Gem, taking her chance to occupy the wizard. At the same time, fWhip noticed the easy target and shot at Jimmy. The bolt whizzed through the air, and easily found its target. It pierced through Jimmy's throat, stuck in there. Jimmy suffocated and died as Pearl engaged Gem in combat. Jimmy didn't immediately die, though. He choked on his own blood for a bit longer before his body stopped moving and it dissipated in many different particles of light. He would be reformed in his own bed, in the Cod Empire. They could no longer count on him.

A cry of pain echoed across the clearing. It pierced through the hearts of any who heard it, and heads turned in its direction. Joel had slowly made its way over to fWhip, standing mostly in the back. Sausage had been too preoccupied to notice, or had trusted his brother too much. Joel had come closer and closer until he'd reached fWhip. This member of the Wither must not be too comfortable being on the ground and exposed, as the way he cried out when Joel's sword cut into him.

Joel did not allow fWhip a moment of peace. After that first strike, he continued to keep up the pressure, hitting fWhip every once in a while. With each hit, fWhip weakened. He backed away, in the direction of his siblings. Every step was shaky, every new shot missed. He always seemed to be one second away from falling, and his siblings noticed.

Gem and Sausage had heard the scream, too. Gem and Sausage saw how Joel was going after fWhip. So, they immediately turned all of their attention to the man who dared to hurt their brother, unleashing hell upon him.

This was the perfect moment.

Sir Carlos rushed forward, towards the campfire. The Dragon Egg lay untouched and unsupervised. Pearl stood there, too, paying close attention to the Wither. She had let Gem engage Joel, in favor of protecting the soldier who would decide to go for the Dragon Egg. 

Sir Carlos picked it up. If the circumstances had been a little different, he may have been a little more reverent. The scales of the Egg were warm to the touch, its purple veins softly pulsating to a heartbeat. The little one inside the Egg was alive.

Sir Carlos lifted his head and looked at Pearl. She nodded at him.

“We need to go,” she said. “I can cover for you.”

“Thank you.” Hopefully, those words were able to convey everything he felt coursing through his veins. The gratitude for fighting, for helping him, for covering for him. For helping him achieve his goal.

“Fall back!”

The remaining soldiers listened. Fortunately, with Joel and now Pearl engaging with the Wither, they had the time and space to start rushing away. Sir Carlos followed behind them. The trek to the castle would be a little slower without Pearl guiding them through the night, but hopefully the Wither would be occupied killing the other two rulers and making them respawn. Hopefully, they would want to tend to the wounds of one of them before pursuing those who retreated. Hopefully, they would be distracted enough to know too late whether or not they still had the Dragon Egg in their possession.

They did not, however. Sir Carlos clutched the Dragon Egg the entire time as they returned home. They had achieved victory.

It wouldn’t bring back the soldiers they’d lost, though. It wouldn’t bring back August.

Chapter Text

The Wither had never felt more terrified in their lives.

Everything had gone so well. Everything had worked perfectly; taking the outpost, finding the stronghold from there, going to the End and claiming the Dragon Egg. A true victory that they ought to be as excited about as they could be. Master Xornoth could finally continue their plans to free Exor. On top of that, Master Xornoth entrusted the Wither with the Dragon Egg until they found a suitable location where Exor could finally return to the Overworld and cover it with corruption. All had been going so well.

Until it didn’t. Until someone had been able to sneak up on them. Until those people dared to ambush the Wither and actually harmed one of them.

Sausage and Gem rushed to fWhip’s aid as soon as that short man slashed into him. They killed the man, who turned to dust; a ruler who decided to interfere with their plans. The survivors were smart to retreat, and Gem and Sausage could turn their full attention to their brother.

fWhip lay on the ground, groaned in pain. His hand pressed against the largest slash, one across his chest. Smaller cuts on his arms showed how he had been able to protect his vital organs. He attempted to put a hand on the ground and to push himself up. 

“Don’t,” Gem said as Sausage placed his hands on fWhip’s shoulder to gently make him lie down again. “You’ll make it worse.”

fWhip struggled against them for a moment. He fought through the pain, gritted his teeth, his gaze filled with vengeance. “The Dragon Egg…”

“We know, now lie down,” Gem responded. “You’re in no state to do anything. Let us help.”

fWhip was right, though. Whenever one of them looked at the campfire, the black-scaled Dragon Egg no longer sat there. They couldn’t be sure when it happened, but they had lost the Dragon Egg. More importantly, they had disappointed Master Xornoth. They had failed Master Xornoth. The thought alone already formed a knot in their stomachs. They had to remedy this situation as soon as possible, they needed to have the Dragon Egg before Master Xornoth figured out they had lost it.

A shiver ran down their spines - if Master Xornoth found out, they would be punished for their incompetence. It would be deserved, but it would be better if Master Xornoth never found out that this happened.

fWhip knew that as well as Gem and Sausage - and it likely was his main motivation for trying to get back up.

“fWhip…” Sausage’s voice had a threatening undertone. “You need help. Please.”

A few more moments of struggle before a disgruntled grunt escaped fWhip’s lips. He no longer tried to push himself upright, but he also did not like the position he was in.

Gem and Sausage glanced at one another and wordlessly got to work.

Gem walked over to their main camp area, where they had put their supply bag. From it, she pulled some ingredients from which she could make emergency medical supplies, such as healing potions and makeshift bandages. Their hubris had prevented them from preparing these before tonight - they were the Wither, after all, they didn’t need potions of healing or bandages. Except they did, and Gem prepared the mixture. Her magic was destructive at best, yet one small spell with little power was part of her arsenal. It was barely worth it to use this healing spell, except while she prepared these brews. She had learned the recipes by heart, and her hands instinctively pulled everything together to create this potion.

Sausage, on his part, also rushed to their camp. He grabbed some of the blankets they had stolen off of random clothes racks after their raids and returned to fWhip. He positioned the blankets and bed sheets on top of one another, to provide the best and most comfortable makeshift bed that fWhip could ask for. Once he’d finished, he created a large pocket of corruption that gently and carefully picked up his brother and then also gently placed him down on top of the blankets. Sausage had also taken a pillow, upon which fWhip’s head now rested.

“Are you comfortable?” Sausage asked.

“As can be,” fWhip responded, once again through gritted teeth. The struggle not to show any weakness, even in front of his siblings, persisted. “This hurts like hell.”

Sausage nodded. “I know.”

“Respectfully, you don’t.” A small pause, another suppressed groan. “This is so… we have to get the Dragon Egg.”

“Not now.”

“I’m well aware. I hate it!” fWhip let out a frustrated sigh. “I should’ve gotten him. He might’ve been a smaller target, but he wasn’t that nimble. I should’ve shot him more–”

“It’s not your fault. You did your best,” Gem said. The bottle held some opaque liquid. “Here. This should help.”

Sausage helped fWhip sit up so that he could drink the potion. It didn’t taste particularly well, but it did its job all the same. The wounds closed and the healing process was accelerated, but it was no painkiller. fWhip would be alright, but he would be in pain still.

“We need to get that Dragon Egg back,” fWhip said. “How could we– it was right there. How could we let it slip out of our hands?”

“We are going to take it back,” Sausage said. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure out something.”

They would have to. Retrieving the Dragon Egg was their utmost priority, right after getting fWhip back up to full health. The Wither was only as strong as its weakest member, and fWhip currently fit that bill. That, and Gem and Sausage couldn’t stand to see their brother hurt.

“This plan has to have been concocted by Aeor’s puppet,” fWhip continued through gritted teeth. Even though the wound had closed, he still clutched the skin where the wound was. “Who else could have known? Who else would know the Dragon had died but the impostor god? It must have been him.”

It must have been. Gem and Sausage agreed - who else would have sent their agents to sabotage Exor and take the Dragon Egg from the Wither? Though they could see it in hindsight, their belief that they were untouchable had been smashed. Aeor was in charge of this realm, and he had agents that wanted to sabotage them everywhere. In future, they needed to be more careful when constructing plans. Perhaps, the next time they decided to search for the Dragon Egg, the empires of this land would be better protected and guarded.

“I know,” Sausage said. “You’re… you’re still hurting.”

“I verify much am,” fWhip replied and sighed. “If we’re not going to try to get the Egg back tonight–”

“No, you’re not,” Gem said.

“– then at least I could get some sleep in.” fWhip turned his head to Gem. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep right now. I need some help.”

Gem nodded. She knew exactly what fWhip wanted.

Sausage stayed with their brother, while Gem returned to her small alchemy station where she’d made the healing potion. She could do nothing against the pain, but she could help fWhip sleep. 

It would be peaceful. No dreams, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just a quiet time that would allow fWhip to sleep without the pain keeping him from falling asleep or waking up. fWhip would awaken refreshed, even if there was nothing better than your usual, natural sleep. Gem also knew this particular recipe by heart, and she easily and quickly whipped up some of the sleeping potion. Clear as water, barely distinguishable from what they had scooped up out of the river earlier. Even so, it was more potent than water could ever be.

She’d made one potion too many. That was alright; Gem could present the one potion to fWhip and keep the spare on hand.

She held out the potion, and fWhip took it from her. As quickly as he could, fWhip gobbled up the sleeping potion. He took a deep breath when he was finished and gave the bottle back to Gem. The effect was quick, but not instantaneous. fWhip lay down on the blankets that Sausage had placed and tried to make himself comfortable, looking up at the stars and his siblings’ faces.

As he slowly dozed off, silence reigned. The stars above had silently witnessed the theft, and the moon had given no warning. Within this silence, their own disappointment grew and a knot formed in their stomach. The empty space where the dragon egg should have been taunted them. They had to get the Dragon Egg back as soon as possible. 

fWhip turned his head to Gem. “Don’t worry…” he said, his tone low and his words slurred. “We’ll get the egg soon enough…”

“Rest, Whip,” Sausage said at a similar volume, his tone tender. “Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

fWhip nodded weakly, now barely able to keep his eyes open.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow…” Gem echoed his words, watching fWhip give in to the potion.

fWhip closed his eyes and he slept. His breathing became more regular, and Sausage made sure that fWhip was indeed lying in a position that would be best for him at the moment. Once Sausage was satisfied, he joined Gem at the campfire.

“He’ll be okay,” he said. “I mean, his wounds have healed. Now the pain just needs to go away.”

Gem nodded once. Her gaze watched the dancing flames of a dying campfire, her mind running wild. Though she attempted to keep her thoughts in check and to stay on the beaten path, a dangerous plan had popped up. One she could barely contain.

“So…” Sausage then said, in an attempt to keep the conversation going. “The Dragon Egg’s in Rivendell.”

Rivendell. The name they had learned to associate with snow-capped mountains and valleys with icy rivers, with cyan roofs and wooden walls, with the sickly golden antlers of the impostor god. The prison of the  Chosen Champion, forever trapped in service to evil, his mind broken beyond repair. There was no salvation waiting for the Lord of Rivendell, only release.

Of course, if Aeor wanted to hide the Dragon Egg, where better to put it than close at hand, within his own domain?

“Probably,” Gem responded. “It is Aeor’s domain. But we’re capable. We could do it.”

“We’ll go first thing in the morning, once fWhip’s better,” Sausage confirmed. They could not doubt their abilities, for this was exactly what they had been created for. The question was only how quickly they would be able to retrieve what had been stolen.

“We could go now,” Gem said.

A beat of silence. Gem’s gaze still followed the flickering firelight - she didn’t need to see Sausage’s face to know he disapproved.

“What?” A quiet question was all he could say.

The plan had breached the containment of her mind. No turning back now.

She turned her head to Sausage. He sat in silent disbelief, waiting for an answer and hoping it would satisfy him. Though Gem approached the next part of the conversation with determination and confidence, they both knew her answer wouldn’t satisfy.

“The l onger we wait, the more time they have to hide the Egg. The more time they have to put protections in place, to keep us away. Our best chance to get the Egg as quickly as possible is to go right now.”

Sausage glanced aside, in the direction of where fWhip was sleeping. Oblivious to what was unfolding.

Sausage shook his head. “We can’t do it.”

“We can,” Gem tried to convince him.

“No, we can’t. We can’t go anywhere.” He motioned in the direction of their brother. “If you wanted to go right away, why did you even give him that potion in the first place?”

She looked over at her sleeping brother. He’d been in a lot of pain not even five minutes ago, grimacing and fighting against it. He seemed at peace, now. 

“He needs to rest.”

“And we don’t?” Sausage grew more and more agitated. The implications of what Gem suggested came to the forefront, and he viscerally disagreed. “Gem…”

“We could go and get the Egg,” she said. “We’ll be back before fWhip even wakes up–”

“No.” Forceful, yet expected. When Sausage spoke, Gem stopped talking. Her plan… she had realized how bad of an idea it is. Her heart tugged at her, screamed at her not to do it. Gem agreed, the plan was terrible. Still, she could not help but to consider it, even if it violated one of their core tenets. One that would break her heart.

What would she regret more? The perfect opportunity to be a good soldier, or leaving her family behind?

“No,” Sausage repeated. “We’re not doing that. Two is bad–” 

“–but alone is worse,” Gem finished. “I know.”

What would hurt more?

“So we’re not doing it,” Sausage said definitively, as though he spoke for both of them. “We’re staying here. Once fWhip is better, we will seek out the Dragon Egg together. We work together.”

For the Wither was a unit that best operated when its three members worked together. Splitting off wasn’t not tolerated, but highly discouraged. Two is bad, but alone is worse. It would only cause suffering and heartache.

Yet…

“Okay,” Gem said. “You’re right.”

Sausage sighed in relief. The muscles he’d tensed up relaxed again. “Thank you.”

Silence, again. More comfortable this time, now the dust had settled and they were no longer arguing. Both had always preferred that kind of silence; arguments were always quickly resolved, for they could not stand to be mad at their siblings for too long. In this silence, they could agree that it had been good fWhip hadn’t been awake. He already was dealing with pain, he didn’t need the emotional turmoil of seeing his siblings argue with each other.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Gem then said. “Do you want some as well?”

Sausage nodded. “That would be great.”

Gem stood up, walked over to their supplies. They had a small supply of water and some bottles standing next to it. She filled up one of these bottles.

She glanced over her shoulder. Sausage was checking up on fWhip, wasn’t paying attention to her at all.

Gem took a second bottle and poured the second sleeping potion into it. It didn’t quite look identical to water, but without a clear point of reference - and in the flickering light of a campfire - it wouldn’t be easy to compare the potion with the water. Fortunately, she would know which bottle contained the potion. She would know which to hand over.

She walked back to Sausage, who’d finished his inspection. She held out the bottle with the potion for him, holding her own bottle of water close to her.

Sausage, bless his heart, didn't suspect a thing. He took the bottle presented to him without a second thought. Gem brought her own bottle to her lips, to lull him into an even deeper false sense of security as she drank from the water. Even if he had suspected something, watching Gem drink and the time it took her to prepare all this should have squashed those suspicions.

Sausage drank the potion as Gem watched.

Something was wrong, and he knew it. He had taken the first few sips confidently, but that confidence soon waned. By that point, he had already lost. Only a few sips was enough to succumb to the sleep it would induce. Sausage had taken it before, but tonight, he hadn’t expected it. Perhaps that was why he was so slow to react and why he drank so much of it before he realized what was going on.

“Gem?” he asked, turning his head to her. “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry.” The words weighed heavily on her, and only dragged down Sausage’s morale even more. I’m sorry ; two simple words that carried that weight and explained everything. Sausage immediately dropped the bottle and looked at his sister. Already, his gaze was slowly becoming more and more unfocused.

“Why?” he asked her. “You can’t– you shouldn’t have–”

“We have to get the Dragon Egg back,” Gem said. “As soon as possible. Before Master Xornoth finds out. I have to get it back.”

“Gem…” Sausage didn’t sound angry. He pleaded with her as his legs failed him. Gem caught him, and gently helped him sit and then lie down. Within Sausage, he waged a silent war against the potion; a war he would lose eventually. Until then, he stared up at his sister. Until then, Gem stayed close and held on to him.

“Alone is worse,” Gem said. Her voice nearly broke. “I’m not leaving fWhip in that position.”

Sausage shook his head. His attempts to sit up failed and soon, his limbs were too heavy to move and his breathing slowed down. Even so, he forced his eyes open time and time again to stay with Gem for as long as he was able.

“But you–” A yawn interrupted him. He almost slipped, but pushed himself to consciousness again. It wouldn’t be long now.

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to give him a confident smile. It appeared rather sorrowful instead. “I’ll be fine. When you and fWhip wake up, I’ll be here with the Dragon Egg.”

“Gem… I…”

He lost the fight. His eyes shut and he failed to open them again. His body fully relaxed as Gem watched, fighting to keep tears from rolling down her cheeks. The Wither don’t cry, after all. Not even for their family.

She turned her back, for but a moment. There were more blankets at their makeshift campsite. More blankets to move, so that her brothers could at least sleep next to one another. With a trembling hand, she straightened out the blankets. With that same trembling hand, she called upon magic that would make it easier for her to move Sausage on top of the blankets. Finally, she put blankets on top of her brother.

Once she was finished, she stepped back for a moment. Both her brothers, asleep. If they hadn’t been lying on blankets, if they hadn’t been breathing, the sight would have broken her. Even so, it already did.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry. But this is a chance I have to take. I’ll be back soon. Master Xornoth won’t even know the Dragon Egg had briefly been stolen.”

Master Xornoth had been clear. Keep the Dragon Egg safe. Do not disappoint me. Losing it after barely a day would fall under disappointment - severe disappointment, that would certainly be followed by punishment. She couldn’t stand her brothers’ shouts of pain and the silence that followed it. She hated seeing them hurt, and the one way to prevent it was to get the Dragon Egg.

She didn’t leave her brothers unprotected. The least she could do was to set up magical shields and barriers, to ensure that nobody would be able to harm them or see them while they were defenselessly asleep. Safety measures, as another show of her love for them. The compasses in her pocket - the one pointing at fWhip and the other pointing at Sausage - she placed in a spot where they would easily see them. Exor forbid, if something happened to her, nobody would use the compasses to find her brothers.

Besides, she would come back in the morning. She would return triumphant with the Dragon Egg. She would have saved the day. She could take her brothers being mad at her for being reckless and disobeying one of the core tenets of the Wither.

Two is bad but alone is worse.

The wrath of Master Xornoth would be even worse than that. She could take the risk. 

She should take the risk.

“I’m sorry,” she once again told her sleeping brothers. “I’ll be back.”

Gem conjured her pale-white magical wings and flew away into the night, towards Rivendell.

Chapter Text

Get the Dragon Egg.

That lone thought pushed Gem to continue, despite everything. Exhaustion set into her bones and clouded her mind. She flew as quickly as she could, her wings as pale as the moonlight that guided her to the mountains in the distance. The fear in her heart kept her focused and awake. She needed to get the Dragon Egg, and she would not have Master Xornoth be disappointed in them. She would not have Master Xornoth punish them for their incompetence. It inspired her to fly faster and faster.

With every inch she flew closer to Rivendell, a different type of fear grasped her – almost primitive, more visceral, and more difficult to ignore.

Two is bad but alone is worse.

The mantra had been drilled into her head from a young ago. Master Xornoth made her and her brothers parrot it until it showed up in their dreams and randomly popped into their heads. Enforcing the mantra until it became philosophy was much tougher than infinitely repeating the phrase. Whenever the Wither left, they left together. If one was left behind, either intentionally or by accident, all three suffered the consequences. Staying together wasn’t just a strategy - it was a necessity. Separation was allowed, but only as part of a larger plan that would allow them to reunite. They flew together, fought together, walked together, served together. The Wither has three heads, each valuable only as a part of a larger whole.

The Wither learned their lesson. Master Xornoth reinforced the philosophy from time to time, until it was second nature. Until long-term separation was no longer an option.

Gem’s heart ached, her mind screamed at her to turn back. She was abandoning her brothers. She left them to fend for themselves, the Wither had lost one head. She kept her hands clenched around the wizard staff so they wouldn’t tremble. She consciously took deep breaths to prevent panic from sweeping over her and rendering her incapacitated. She couldn’t be incapacitated, she was flying. She was going for the Dragon Egg.

I’m back soon . Neither fWhip nor Sausage would hear this message, though she thought it as if they would be able to hear it. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. I’ll be back with the Dragon Egg. The Wither will be whole again soon.

Perhaps she wasn’t just trying to address her brothers. Perhaps they were how her own conscience decided to manifest itself – a conscience she needed to soothe. Master Xornoth would surely forgive this act when she returned triumphant with the Dragon Egg.

The temperature dropped slightly as she reached the mountains. In the meantime, the sky had changed, too. From the darkest black with stars dotted across it, to those same stars fading as the sky grew lighter. Such a gradual change was often imperceptible in the moment, but made visible with time.

Gem had hoped to search and infiltrate in the middle of the night. Instead, she would have to do with an early morning mission after a night without any sleep.

Sleep… it would be great to sleep. Already, she still fought against it, to suppress the yawns and to stay awake. She could sleep when she had achieved her goals.

The city below her was peaceful and quiet. Some of the torch- and lamplight still burned, though it would soon be diminished. She let it lay below her, for they were not where her attention lay. If anything, Rivendell would not hide the Dragon Egg in the home of one of their civilians - it was too important to leave it there. No, if the Dragon Egg was anything, it was inside the palace or the church, or any other important building that portrayed the Imposter God’s oppressive golden antlers or exemplified its wicked teachings.

The streets were not as peaceful as she had first thought it was. In some of the streets, walking two by two, a group of soldiers marched through. Anything to keep up the illusion of safety and peace, she supposed. If they wished for peace, all they had to do was to renounce Aeor. Yet, she knew none of them would ever do that as long as they lived in the impostor god’s domain.

In the sky, she knew she was untouchable. Even if they spotted her, they wouldn't be able to do anything to her. Experience with these soldiers has taught her that their range was laughably small. Perhaps the castle had better protections than that false worship festival, but they still wouldn't be able to touch her. They would be helpless against her and her magic, strengthened and channeled through a staff created by one of their own.

The castle itself was quiet as well. Movement on the walls drew her attention - the guards, in an attempt to keep their Lord safe. An attempt to keep anyone from trespassing and stealing the Dragon Egg in their possession. 

Though Gem wanted to get it as soon as possible - both to avoid Xornoth’s wrath and to keep as much of the cover of dusk as she could - she knew the benefits of patience. She didn’t know the castle all that well. She circled it a few times, every time noticing more and more about the guards. They stuck to their regular routes, barely watching her. She identified a total of five possible entrance points, none of which she believed to be more beneficial than the others for the purposes of locating the Dragon Egg. If it were somewhere in there, it would be far from conventional entrance points. It would be deep underground, not easily accessible. Gem had to be ready to fight through hordes of guards going in and going out, as well as memorizing the routes she needed. A good entrance point would therefore be a good exit as well.

A streak of light flashed through the sky, not far from where Gem hovered. Its sickly cyan nearly collided with her - instead, it missed her by only a few inches. It jolted her more awake, made her mind race, made her more alert. That was unnatural - where did it come from?

Another one. From below, from the castle walls, from little figures that stood there, another cyan streak rushed her way. Gem dodged out of the way, her focus fully on the castle. They'd spotted her.

No matter. She could still do what she set out here to do. They would not stand between her and the Dragon Egg for long.

Gem raised the staff, used it as a catalyst for her magic. She sent pale white beams to the walls. It destroyed some parts of the walls, crumbling away beneath the force of her magic. She attempted to find the guards who had access to arcane means to shoot back at her - and they did shoot their cyan beams at her. Her own attempts to stay nimble, however, made it easier for these sorcerers to blend in as well. Gem had a hard time identifying them, though she tried. Combat had been initiated; no backing out now. They were going to die and she would move on to the soldiers inside the castle who guarded the Dragon Egg.

Next to her ear, the sound of breaking crystal nearly deafened her. The wind picked up as she glanced over her shoulder. A large hole sat in the middle of one of her wings, the magical energy that kept it stable still shattering and flaking off. In stunned silence, Gem stared. This had never happened before; she hadn't ever thought that it was even possible. Yet, her wing failed and the wind relentlessly beat against her.

Not the wind. Her other wing could not carry her weight on its own. She plummeted to the ground, rushing ever closer.

Panic. She had simulated falling before, a long time ago. She'd never truly fallen, but this was a scenario they did practice. In all the strategies she'd been taught, one of her brothers was always available to catch her as she slowed herself down. Instinct dictated her to do her part, yet she realized too late neither Sausage nor fWhip was present. She was on her own and she had to save herself.

Her wings. 

Her best bet was to resummon them. It might help, even if the process would take a little longer than she would want. It hadn't been a part of this strategy for that reason, but Gem had to do something. She refused to die on Aeor's tainted soil; she refused to let Aeor have that victory.

Her wings unfolded one moment before she crashed. Pain and shock instantly caught up to her, numbed her. For a moment, it almost felt like she was floating still with notable pins and needles all across her skin. She groaned and tried to reorient herself, yet found it difficult to focus on anything but the pain rushing through her body. Drifting in and out of consciousness, she pushed herself nonetheless. She needed to be awake, to stay alive. She needed to get the Dragon Egg and kill the guards that were about to kill her.

They were quicker. The soldiers surrounded her, their voices fading in and out. Some cold metal was placed around her wrist, the feeling tight and foreign. They grabbed her under her armpits and pulled her to her feet, some of the voices confused, others vindictive.

Through blurred vision, Gem could see the outlines of the soldiers. How dared they?

Energy building up within. The staff may have slipped out of her hands, but she only had that tool for a moment compared to the rest of her life. She needed only that magical energy from within, bolstered by Exor, and she needed her hands to wreak havoc. Her movements may have been restricted, but they were close. They would die.

She thrust her arms and hands forward, to release that deadly magic.

The guards did not die. The magic she called upon still swirled within, violently so. It was supposed to have released, it was supposed to drain the guards until they were nothing but skin over bone, withered husks of what they once were. Instead, through that same blurred vision (slowly improving) the guards still crowded around her.

“The manacles worked…” one of the guards sighed in relief.

Gem could barely understand what was going on. Everything raced through her head, and therefore nothing came to mind. She would make the connections, she was certain of it, if she wasn’t caught, if she wasn’t sleep-deprived, if she wasn’t alone.

She was alone.

Two guards pulled at her, pushed her away from where she had crash-landed. Gem attempted to refuse them and to stay in place, to free herself from the chains, but to no avail. She was not physically strong, especially when six guards or more decided to gang up on her.

“What happened?” an unknown voice asked. “I heard the sound of combat–”

The guards stopped pulling at her to move and instead held her tightly in place. The person behind her on the right spoke. “This one flew right above the castle. We stopped her before she could do any harm.”

“What do we do with her, milord?”

Milord.

Gem focused her gaze, to try and overcome the blurriness. The man in front of her - blue hair, cyan and white and golden attire, a cold gaze in his eyes - matched with what Sausage had described as the Lord of Rivendell, the Champion of Aeor himself. Her mortal enemy.

She tried to hold his gaze - other things demanded attention. Exhaustion slowly worked its way through her, her whole body was still extremely sore, and standing in place made her realize how weak she was standing on her legs. All of her attention was funneled to staying awake. Staying alive. Especially with the Lord of Rivendell glaring at her.

“Good job,” he congratulated the guards. “Put her in the dungeon. The other two will soon follow.”

The potion had soothed fWhip to sleep. The pain had stayed with him, throbbing and demanding attention until the very moment that he fell asleep. Just as gently, fWhip slowly pulled himself from the depths of darkness and grogginess. The morning sun tickled his face while the blanket still gave him a warm hug.

For a few blissful moments, he stayed here. The pain had numbed to the point where fWhip could only feel it if he moved too quickly or pushed against the areas where the wounds had been. The morning was beautiful, his little cocoon a little too comfortable. Not even the growing stench of the rotting corpses could sour this moment.

I should get up. There’s work to do.

Even so, he stayed and listened to the birds in the distance for a few seconds longer. A few seconds of peace and quiet. A few seconds more of respite.

He couldn’t stay idle, though. Idleness killed. His hands already were getting restless and he could not stay in that moment forever. Moments were only moments, after all, and a glorious future beckoned – a future that he actively had to work towards to make it work.

Sausage lay right next to him. fWhip hadn’t consciously registered his brother being this close to him; it was normal, after all, to stay closely together, even when they slept. The less space the Wither took up, the more viable hideouts were available to them. Besides, the company and proximity was rather nice. Sausage was still fast asleep himself, and fWhip didn’t want to disturb him.

As he got up, he moved as slowly and gently as he could. Sausage didn’t stir; he had to be quite deeply asleep, then. fWhip would leave him be, stretched his arms and looked around.

Gem wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been lying next to him or Sausage. fWhip figured she would be up and around, perhaps already cooking breakfast, yet he saw nothing but the corpses of the soldiers they’d slaughtered. She wasn’t in sight.

Discomfort crawled up his spine. He had a bad feeling about this.

No. It’s fine, it would be fine. Gem was around here somewhere. She’d  just wandered off a little too far away, just out of sight. Knowing her, she might be looking for some edible mushrooms in the forests. It was rather difficult to find food in this  world, but at least they could always rely on mushrooms and pigs.  Their supplies had been running a little low, she definitely had the foresight to gather as much as she could in the dead time when her brothers were still asleep, making the most of the time they had, as was what Master Xornoth taught them. She was fine.

They were alone. They had to be; the space where the Dragon Egg once sat was empty, the fire now nothing more than dying embers. Nobody else would be stupid enough to try and kill the Wither in their sleep. Gem was able to safely explore the nearby areas.

“Gem?” he called out, walking around the perimeter of their camp. “Gem! Where are you?”

The birds sang a song of solitude and silence. That same  discomfort morphed into an emotion that should feel foreign but was more of a long-time friend: fear. Pure, unbridled fear.

fWhip rushed back to Sausage, back to their camp. He immediately fell to his knees, grabbed his brother by his shoulders and started to shake him.

“Sausage!” he tried to keep panic out of his voice, but failed miserably. “Sausage, wake up! Gem’s… she’s…”

He trailed off. Sausage should have been awake by now. Though he could be a heavy sleeper sometimes,  danger always awoke him. The distressed voices of his siblings would wake him, ready to protect them with everything he had. Now, Sausage stayed asleep – he didn’t even flinch. The only times he would stay this deeply asleep was when…

fWhip stood up, walked over to their little cooking station, where Gem had made more of the sleeping potion. A million questions mingled with a million uncomfortable feelings, none of which connected and none of which stopped the maelstrom.

 He stopped in his tracks. His gaze had fallen on two small compasses. One pointed towards Sausage, while the other followed fWhip to a fault.

Gem’s compasses.

The Wither would need to move today. For their own safety, they could no longer stay in this destroyed outpost. They would need to move. How was their sister able to find them if they moved?

Dread and despair swept across fWhip and nearly made him cry. He stopped himself. The Wither didn’t cry.

Two is bad but alone is worse.

“Gem, what are you doing?”

Chapter Text

Even in the ever-cold temperatures of Rivendell, Pearl was protected by the land. She could still walk around in her evergreen dress and not feel the frigid winds that brushed against her skin. She had packed little, for this journey was rather impromptu and she wanted to travel light. In that same vein, when she arrived at the castle, she had come alone, without any retinue. Her journey was one of great importance, and nothing could slow her down.

On the way to Rivendell, as well as waiting for Scott in his castle, her mind returned to that night. Two nights ago, she and her allies banded together to retrieve the Dragon Egg. This mission would always end with losses; Joel, Jimmy, and more than half of the soldiers that accompanied them. Sir Carlos, fortunately, survived. She had extended the protection of the land to him as much as she could, but he had to travel home at a much slower pace. At least the Wither dared not pursue - one of their own got hurt.

Now, one of the Wither was exactly what had drawn Pearl to the snow-capped Alabaster Heights.

Scott came to greet her. She had arrived in the evening, at a time where he likely wouldn’t normally welcome any visitors to the castle anymore. However, he knew that she was coming - and for his friends, he usually made an exception if they did not travel for official business.

Pearl put a polite smile on her face and nodded once. “Hi, Scott.”

“Hello, Pearl,” he said in a somewhat jovial tone. “When you said you’d come to visit, I didn’t think you’d made the journey this quickly.”

Normally, Pearl traveled by usual means - on horseback. In this case, however, she decided to travel with the land guiding her. She walked, yet the land ensured she’d arrive sooner than if she had taken a horse.

“Of course I came quickly,” Pearl responded. “I’ve got urgent matters to discuss with you.”

Scott nodded - perhaps he could already guess where this was going, but Pearl believed he might also be instantly wrong.

“About the Dragon Egg, correct?” Scott said. “I presume it is safe now. I haven’t heard much beyond the update that you have taken it from the Wither.”

“It is in Lizzie’s care now,” Pearl confirmed. “She is going to put it somewhere safe within her empire, beneath the waves, where the Wither won’t easily find it.”

Pearl had been present when the hand-off happened. At noon, the Oceanic delegation arrived at the Mythic harbor. Pearl had stood back and witnessed as Sir Carlos, with all the caution and care in the world, handed the Dragon Egg over to Lizzie. It almost looked small in the Ocean Queen’s grasp, but she too handled it with extreme care. Exor would no longer be able to use it for nefarious reasons, and the Wither had lost its trophy.

“Though,” Pearl continued, folding her arms, “now that you’ve mentioned the Wither… Scott, why didn’t you tell us that you have one of them in your custody?”

The mood in the room shifted ever so slightly, but it did shift. Scott’s normally calm and carefree smile soured a little and he straightened his back a bit. All the small signs that he was repositioning himself within the conversation to implicitly exert control were not going to work on her.

“I never said such a thing.”

“You didn’t have to.” It had been rather obvious. “I spoke with Gandalf yesterday. In that conversation, he mentioned he had gotten his staff back. That you had delivered it to him. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Only one person wielded that staff after stealing it, and it wasn't one of the boys.” 

Scott watched, listened. Then he sighed deeply.

“Sometimes, you’re too smart for your own good.”

“It’s not that difficult to connect the dots.” She couldn’t bring it in herself to glare at him, but her disappointment remained. “Is it just the girl?”

“Just the girl,” Scott confirmed. “She came in the early morning, I believe directly after you took the Dragon Egg from them. My guards overwhelmed her and she’s been in our custody ever since.”

Something about his tone… Pearl didn’t like that nearly-bragging tone, that underlying sting of hatred. Almost as though her incarceration vindicated him. As though he was proud of it. Something about that tone suggested something that Pearl wished was only a false assumption - that he treated her less than ideal.

“How is she?”

“She’s secured in the dungeon.”

Pearl shook her head once. “That didn’t answer my question.”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t think it needs further explanation.”

“It does.” Pearl had never liked to confront her friends in situations like these. Yet, if it helped to protect someone, she would press the issue. “How is she doing?”

Scott sighed. “She’s safe. She has access to food and water. She has magic-dampening manacles. She’s secured.”

That wasn’t enough. Pearl had hoped Scott would speak in different, more humane terms, but he hadn’t. His explanation wasn’t enough.

“Where is your dungeon?”

Scott’s face dropped. He knew where this was headed. “Pearl–”

“You’re not going to stop me.”

“And you don’t get to barge into my dungeons to talk to a serial killer. She’ll kill you if she has the chance.”

“She already has.” Her gaze had hardened, her own tone more firm. “Scott, I want to see her. I have to talk to her.”

Scott shook his head and scoffed. “She doesn’t like to talk. I’ve already tried.”

“Isn’t she a follower of Exor?” Pearl pointed out. “I’m assuming that’s still the case. Of course she won’t want to talk to you.”

“And you really believe she’ll talk to you?”

“I don’t know.” Despite heightened emotions, it was always good to stick to what little truth you had. “I still want to try.”

“You’ll be wasting your time.”

“Then I’ll waste some of my time. I’ll never know unless I do it.” Scott didn’t need to be there. He didn’t need to stand beside Pearl the entire time; in fact, Pearl would prefer for Scott to not be there, based on the fact that she wasn’t talking in his presence. “Who knows, something surprising may happen there.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, “perhaps she’ll try to use physical force to assault you now that magic’s not an option.”

“Or she might not,” she retorted. “There have been signs. She had opportunities to kill Gandalf and Jimmy, but she stopped. She hesitated.”

“She didn’t hesitate when she and the other two killed my people.” Scott said coldly. The tension hung between them, and Pearl let it stay there. She wasn’t going to defend the girl’s actions during the massacre - that was wrong and terrible. Pearl had only wanted to make the point that, when she was up against a singular person, she usually hesitated. It appeared that, with physical distance came the necessary mental distance to be able to commit these horrible actions. Perhaps she would attempt to attack Pearl - and if so, Pearl would see it happen.

“Do you really think that she’ll be different?” Scott wondered. “She won’t be. But sure, if you really want to be disappointed and get hurt, be my guest. If you insist on wasting your time, go for it - but I’m not letting you waste mine.”

Pearl nodded curtly. Scott wasn’t going to accompany her. “Thank you.”

Dark clouds rolled in from the east. According to the guard that escorted her to the dungeon, the temperatures would soon drop even more as snow and - more likely - hail would fall from the sky. Pearl watched, though not because of the danger or nuisance it would present. The evening sun still caught that side of Rivendell with its light, and the stark contrast between the lit-up foreground and the darkened sky always gave her a moment of pause. Light and dark, in harmony, to create a beautiful sight.

She couldn’t linger too long. The guard did not seem to hold the sight to the same beauty standards that she did, and he continued to the back of the castle. The castle itself sat on a somewhat even plateau, with a perimeter around the walls. Though no threats would present themselves from the back, Scott’s ancestors still wouldn’t put a back entrance in the walls. It would only lead into the mountains, and in case of future wars, they wouldn’t want to leave a weak point in the back for their potential enemies to exploit.

So, Pearl followed the guard as they guided her around the castle itself, to the back - closer to the mountain. Where that rough stone that rose into the sky met the plateau, a couple of ever-burning torches had been placed. They could not beat away the cold, but they did provide visibility for the guards.

Pearl didn’t see it at first, though she could guess what it was on approach. As they came closer, the carved entrance became visible behind the guard at the door. A spruce door was retro-fitted into the carved hole, reinforced with iron and steel and a lock that took at least one minute to open. The guard at the door stayed outside, while Pearl and her guide went inside.

Inhumane. That was the first word that popped into Pearl’s head. She entered into a long, wide hallway with iron bars regularly blocking the way forward. Only near these bars and the gate, torches lit up the space. Within the faint light of these weak flames, it became apparent that the same carved aesthetic remained within the mountain. This did not feel like a completed construction site; this only felt like someone had carved out this tunnel - without smoothing any of the surfaces - and had left it like this. But the dungeon had been here for a long time, so this had been a deliberate choice.

After passing through the fourth set of bars, the hallway finally splintered off into different corridors. These corridors, at first glance, were narrower than the main hallway and only the barest minimum of torches was used to light it up. Pearl was led through three more sets of iron bars and gates before they turned into the right-hand corridor.

The cells closest to the hallway were empty. As Pearl passed by, the same design choices came back: someone carved cube-shaped holes into the walls with rough surfaces and left it at that. A set of frigid iron bars separated the cell from the corridor and the only item in the room was a thin human-sized mat that prevented a prisoner from lying on that rough ground. All the while, Pearl had not spotted any device - mundane or magical - to raise the temperature by even a few degrees.

Cruel. The second word that came to mind.

At the end of the corridor, in one of the last cells, the guide stopped. Pearl approached more slowly, already bracing herself for the sight she would see. With one more subtle deep breath, she stepped in front of the cell.

The cell had the same shape and rough surfaces as the others. The mat had been pushed aside, some of it coiled into itself. A plate stood near the door, the beige mass of mashed food inside barely identifiable. The water inside the cup stirred slightly; it was warm enough in here that the water hadn’t frozen, but it was still cold enough that some slivers of ice drifted on top of it. Both appeared to be barely touched. And the girl - Gem - sat in the corner.

Gem hadn’t noticed her visitors - or, if she had, she didn’t acknowledge them. Watching her, Pearl’s attention quickly shifted to her clothes; though a full and form-fitting bodysuit, its thin fabric left little insulation against the cold. Perhaps ideal in the warm Nether wastes, now nearly torture in Rivendell. She shivered and shook, barely able to hold still. She sat with her back in the corner, her legs pulled up to her face and kept in place by her arm. She had buried her head in her knees, her quiet mutterings lost in the act of shivering.

Instantly, Pearl’s heart broke. This girl was a danger to society, a mighty warrior, yet incarceration and the cold seemed to have broken her. If Scott saw a terrorist, Pearl saw nothing but a terrified teenager nearly dying of hypothermia.

“It is rather cold here,” Pearl told the guard. “Could I get a warm blanket, please?”

The guard frowned at her. They hadn’t expected the question. “My lady?”

“Please.”

The guard hesitated for another moment and then nodded. They walked away, at a quicker pace than when they came, and left. As soon as the footsteps had faded, Pearl moved.

Scott had given her a key, too. She’d asked for one, and he reluctantly gave it to her. He must have already suspected the reason why Pearl would ask. Still, he trusted her enough. Still, Pearl could not use that key to open the cell. It clicked into place, the iron groaning as Pearl pushed against them. She entered the cell and left the door opened.

The muttering had stopped. Gem lifted her head ever so slightly, a pair of wary and suspicious eyes now on Pearl. She grabbed herself more tightly, though she couldn’t stop shivering.

“I won’t hurt you,” Pearl said. “You’re cold. I can make it a little warmer, but I’ll need to come closer.”

Gem’s suspicion never wavered. Yet, when Pearl approached - one slow step at a time - she did not flinch away or push herself deeper into the corner. she stayed in place, even as Pearl stood in front of her. Even as Pearl sat down on her knees next to her.

She sat there for a little bit. Pearl kindly gazed upon Gem - how she wished to know what was going on inside her head. Her suspicion was still present, but a hint of curiosity had appeared as well. Gem was still staring at Pearl as well, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something bad to reaffirm her beliefs that this world was rotten and needed to be cleansed.

Pearl moved slowly. Her deliberate movements hopefully dissuaded the girl from fighting back. She came closer, outstretched one arm and slowly placed it around Gem’s shoulder. She used the gentlest touch, yet Gem flinched a little. Pearl did not move her arm away, instead letting it rest there for a little while. She allowed Gem to acclimatize to it before Pearl gently pulled Gem into a hug.

She resisted. She didn’t expect the hug, nor that it was going to happen. Still, she didn’t have a lot of energy left. She didn’t have the energy to resist for too long, and soon she allowed Pearl to pull her closer.

Pearl had always had a strong connection to the land. Not only could she cloak people or increase their speed, but the sun also had her back. She summoned that warmth from within her to allow it to radiate from her. That gentle warmth of a pleasant summer day lapped out of her up to a couple of feet away. It didn’t have too big of an area of effect, but it was enough for what Pearl wanted to achieve.

A quiet sigh escaped from Gem’s lips. As the warmth lapped over her, the girl almost melted in Pearl’s arms, instinctively leaning in closer to that warmth.

“A warm blanket is coming,” Pearl told her. “I’m staying until it arrives.” 

Gem still shivered. She did not respond, only focused on finding the relief of warmth within this embrace. The warm blanket may not be as effective as Pearl’s embrace would be, but it was a good substitute until Pearl had the opportunity to speak with Scott about these pitiful conditions he had Gem stay in.

Gem had stopped muttering. Instead, other sounds came from her. Stifled sobs and sniffles, shivering and shaking as well, attempting to hold in whatever emotions troubled her most. Whatever those emotions were, they wished to be released and Gem refused to let that happen.

“If you need to cry, you can do so,” Pearl said in a gentle tone.

“No.”

The longer Pearl sat there, the more anger bubbled within. Anger towards Exor and Xornoth and the environment that Gem had been raised in. Anger towards the upbringing, the beliefs and morals Gem (and her brothers) had been brought up in. Anger towards Scott - not for his mistrust of the Wither, but how he dared put a child in a cell as horrible as this. The world was a cruel and unfair place, Pearl was more than aware of it, but that didn’t mean they had to make it cruel for others. You can incarcerate someone without needlessly punishing them. You can make someone see the error of their ways without reminding them every single moment that they had done wrong by putting them in this miserable situation.

“My lady.” The guard’s voice echoed in the hall. “Slowly step away from the prisoner.”

Pearl turned her head. The guard carried the blanket in one arm, trying to look as threatening as they could. Whatever leverage or power they thought they had, didn’t work. Pearl was a guest here and she would comply with the rules, but she could always refuse. She was the Farmer Queen, after all, and far more powerful than any guard.

“I’m going to let go now,” Pearl told Gem. “The blanket’s arrived.”

With quicker movements than before, Pearl let go of Pearl and stood up. Gem seemed to retract back into herself as the source of heat moved away from her, hit with the frigid temperatures of the cell once again. Pearl did not leave the cell, but as she stood in the cell door, she did hold out one hand.

Finally, the guard realized what was going on. They shook their head. “I don’t think I’m allowed–”

“I’m allowing it,” Pearl said with an authoritative tone. Then, more gently, “Don’t worry. I’m going to discuss this with Lord Scott after I leave. For the time being, you can leave the blanket here.”

The guard hesitated, glancing from the blanket to Pearl and to Gem. At long last, they handed over the blanket. Pearl thanked them with a nod before turning around. She crouched down in front of Gem and draped the blanket over her shoulders, tucking her into it. Gem let it happen, grateful for a bit more warmth.

“I’ll be back,” Pearl promised. “I don’t know when, but I’ll be back.”

For one moment, she waited for a response. None came. Respecting Gem’s silence, Pearl stood up again and followed the guard back outside, locking all the iron barred-doors behind them. Already, she was thinking of what she would tell Scott and how to convey to him that this was not a good place to keep prisoners.

Chapter Text

Gem released a breath when she stepped into the warmth of the castle.

Perhaps it wasn’t all that warm in these halls. Perhaps it only felt exaggerated because her prison did not have even an ember to keep her warm. Either way, she stepped out of the frigid cold of the Rivendell dungeons into the castle, which just felt warmer by comparison. 

She slowed down her pace; the guard behind her prodded in her back with a baton. The message was clear: don’t stall.

She tightened her grasp on the blanket, still wrapped around her shoulders. Behind her, two guards ensured that she wouldn’t do anything stupid and wouldn’t stall. On her right, just one or two paces ahead, Lord Scott of Rivendell walked. He’d insisted that Gem’s blanket be taken from her, as she may be hiding something underneath it. Pearl, directly to Gem’s left, went against him. She’d given her the blanket and therefore knew that she wasn’t hiding anything. Even now, Pearl walked beside her, not behind or ahead - right beside her.

The silence was deafening - yet, the silence itself told a story. The guards followed orders, did their jobs like the sheep they were. The Lord of Rivendell and Lady of Gilded Helianthia likewise did not share any words with one another. Gem could almost feel that tension, caught in the crossfire as the subject of said tension. She did not mind, though - the more discord among her enemies, the better.

After traveling a few minutes through these halls, they came to a tall door. One of the guards stepped up to open it and hold it open for the Lord, the Lady and their prisoner to enter through it first. Scott entered first, then Gem and then Pearl. The two guards stayed at the door.

At first glance, Gem wasn’t sure what to think about it. Natural light filtered in through a large window on the back, the curtains drawn back. A big bed stood beneath the window, already made. On the right wall, rows of cabinets were filled with all kinds of books and reading materials. A tall white and teal vase stood in the corner, and a circular fuzzy carpet covered parts of the polished wooden floor. Torches, covered in glass, burning forevermore, provided extra light in this space, ensuring that the darkness would never find a foothold here.

Gem wasn’t sure what to think about it.

Her wrists itched. Her nails tried to dig as far underneath the cold iron of the cuffs as she could to relieve herself, though it mostly did not work. Now she wasn’t freezing to death, the itching had become more pronounced. She would have to live with it.

“You’ll be staying here while you’re in my custody.” Lord Scott spoke with a cold, distant tone. “Don’t even think about escaping. The windows have been magically reinforced, making them unbreakable. The door is locked from the outside and guards will stand guard. As soon as they hear something suspicious, they are authorized to enter the room and make you stop your suspicious activities. The opportunity you have been given–” He briefly glanced in Pearl’s direction. “–is not permanent. If you step out of line, if you choose to attack or break out, you will lose any privileges given to you today. You will return to the dungeons and you will never come out of there again. Do you understand?”

A cruelty, how much Scott’s tone reminded her of home and her Master. As he spoke, she’d straightened her back, watched him with unblinking eyes. She said nothing, however - Scott was the enemy, above anyone else, and he did not deserve an answer.

Pearl placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Gem had to fight the urge to push it off. Precedence had shown her that the Lady had no ill will towards her. It would be unwise to push away or otherwise alienate the only person here who was willing to help her.

“You’re in good hands here,” Pearl said. Her tone was kind and as warm as the smile she’d put on her face. “You’ll be warm. You’ll be fed. You’re not going to die of boredom, either.” Now she cast a quick glance at Scott. “This is at least better than your previous cell, isn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it was. Gem, however, said nothing. One word could lead to another and then another. Looking at Scott, one rogue word may be enough to make him move her back to the frigid dungeon before she ever had a chance to explore this space. So she pressed her lips together and merely nodded once in response.

Pearl watched her for a few seconds before she released the girl. Then, she turned to Scott. “I intend to stay here a little longer. I know you do have other duties and matters to attend to, so you don’t have to stay for that.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “You want to stay?”

“Not forever,” Pearl responded. “I just wished to have a bit of a conversation with her. But I doubt you would be interested in what we’re discussing.”

Gem wasn’t quite sure what she thought about the situation. This was the second time that Pearl had come to her and the first time she expressed wishing to spend more time with her. It was a good call to try and get Scott to leave the room, though - the sooner he was gone, the quicker Gem would feel more at ease. The mere presence of the impostor god’s champion was enough to make her want to rip his intestines out, over and over again until the impostor god gave up on resurrecting him.

Scott raised an eyebrow and stayed silent for a few moments - perhaps he was thinking this through. Then, he sighed and nodded.

“Very well,” he said as he walked to the door. “If she hurts or attacks you, the guards are right outside.”

“I won’t need the guards, but thanks for the offer,” Pearl said.

Scott did not respond to that. He merely walked back to the door, which closed behind him. It wasn’t locked; perhaps because Pearl was still in the room, to ensure they could quickly reach her in case of trouble. Those guards didn’t know there wouldn’t be any trouble today. For today, Gem did not wish Pearl any harm.

Still, as soon as the door closed, Gem relaxed her shoulders and partially shrunk back into the blanket. 

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Pearl said, referring to Scott no longer being present.

Gem nodded again. “It is.”

Any kind of pity she felt towards the Lord of Rivendell had been lost in that dungeon. The impostor god was a cruel god, imposing its will onto the unwilling. Its champion was the most egregious example, but even so, its followers were always brought back from the dead to continue spreading its will. A pitiful existence, especially when so much of your behavior was dictated by another entity. Dropping a non-believer into a frigid cell with no warmth whatsoever appeared too cruel. The impostor god, from what Gem had heard, preached peace - quite ironic - and assimilation. Freezing your enemies - followers of Exor - to death did not look like peace or assimilation. That was cruelty for cruelty’s sake, and Gem had reason to believe this may not have been a direct command from the impostor god. That might just have been the Lord of Rivendell being vindictive - and he’d shattered any kind of goodwill Gem may have ever felt toward him.

Now, only Pearl remained. She, too, must’ve been touched by the impostor god, though it wasn’t as obvious as with Scott. She glanced over her shoulder, at the door behind her. 

“He’s usually kinder,” Pearl remarked in defense of the champion. “He smiles a lot, too, but…”

“Not today. Not around me.” Why would he? She had saved many from the grasp of the impostor god alongside her brothers, and the impostor god’s champion was imbedded with the feeling of loss. He could not see how their actions had been a mercy, even if the Wither’s initial reason wasn’t quite as noble. 

Gem’s gaze was drawn to Pearl, still an enigma to her. What could she get out of the Lady in the green dress? What could she do to keep her placated and on her side? Still, a question remained - one Gem needed to be answered.

“Why did you come?” Gem asked her poignantly, her gaze fixated on the Lady.

Pearl watched her curiously. “In what sense?”

“To my cell. Here. Why did you come?” Why did you help me?

She was there, in front of Gem. She must have been touched by Aeor, because she had been killed before today and yet here she was. They scorched part of her lands, killed many of her subjects. Even if she hadn’t been taken by the impostor god, Gem knew the lady had no motive to help her. In fact, Pearl had every motive to want revenge and to take it out on the Wither.

So why did she choose to help Gem, when she could just as easily have ignored her?

“Because you’re a kid,” Pearl responded. “You–”

“I’m grown.”

Exor had told her - she and her brothers were grown now. Her form molded from Netherrack, a distillation of lava flowing through her veins, Exor had a reason to create them as babies instead of as adults. To learn, to grow, to be able to do more when they are grown than they would have been able to if it had been their first day of life. Exor and Master Xornoth had deemed them grown, so she was grown. She was not, as Pearl called her, a kid.

“Okay. You’re grown,” Pearl conceded. “In the Overworld, based on what we define as adulthood, you don’t look fully grown yet. You look like a teenager. We have rules on how to handle young delinquents, but Scott had treated you like an adult.” She paused, waiting to see if Gem needed any clarifications. When she didn’t acknowledge this, Pearl continued.  “Someone your age shouldn’t have been in that dungeon. Only the worst of the worst belong there.”

The worst of the worst, huh? Since when is trying to save and improve the world such a terrible crime?

“He should be in there, then,” Gem said.

Pearl said nothing for a moment. Another trait showed itself to Gem: diplomatic. Pearl was a diplomatic person. She couldn’t agree with Gem, but she didn’t immediately jump to Scott’s defense either. Pearl knew, deep down, that what Scott had done was wrong.  That was something Gem should pay extra attention, too, and perhaps mention some distrust toward Scott in future. Pearl saw her as a kid, as someone who needed protection; perhaps she could lean into that as well.

“In any case,” Pearl said after a little while, completely ignoring what Gem had said before, “I saw that you needed help. This is as much as I could do for you. Bring you into a more comfortable position.”

“Why?” Gem asked. One more aspect needed to be cleared up. “I attacked you. We killed you and many others since we arrived in this world. You should want to put an end to us.”

Because that was what Master Xornoth would ask of the Wither to do. Because that was what Scott had been doing; what the task force that stole the Dragon Egg had done. The world ran on vengeance and vindication, and Pearl’s behavior towards Gem was odd and, for the moment, incomprehensible.

“It doesn’t have to end in death,” Pearl responded plainly. “Death is too final for too many, and it doesn’t solve anything. A good conversation goes a long way. And it’d really be a shame if the world lost you.”

Gem said nothing. What Pearl just said taught her so much about the lady. Those words, though, were more profound than Gem thought they would be. In a way, they made sense. In a way, they were rather nonsensical. Why wouldn’t you react? Why wouldn’t you kill? But then again, Pearl grew up in a completely different environment than Gem and that part of Pearl’s belief system may well be largely influenced by the impostor god.

Still, they touched Gem in unforeseen ways.

“I do need to leave soon,” Pearl continued. “If you want to, I’ll be back to visit. To talk more. Without prejudice, without judgment. Does that sound good to you?”

That would be perfect.

“Yes, I’d… I think I’d like that.” Gem nodded once, to affirm her words.

The smile on Pearl’s face grew a little wider. “Then I’ll see you next time.”

Pearl walked away, to the door. She opened it; through the door, Gem could see the guards on the other side. Their weapons were at the ready, almost waiting for Gem to start running through them. But she stayed in this room, and the door closed behind Pearl, finally locked.

She was alone again.

So much bombarded her at once. The weight of the world - the weight of her imprisonment - made itself present. No matter how warm she felt, she grasped the blanket tightly, almost to wrap herself to the point of being immobilized. The warmth reminded her of home, but it could not rival the heat of the Nether. The cuff scraped against the blanket, scraped against her skin, made it itch even more. Any attempt to relieve it failed. 

Along with all of that, the feeling of being locked in began to crush her. The cold had numbed her mind, stalled any rational thought related to anything but clinging to any bit of warmth she could find. Freedom had always been with her - open skies and going anywhere she wanted, wherever she needed to go. She had come to appreciate the night’s sky (not so much its monsters) and the beauty it provided. She and her brothers always slept under the open sky unless it rained, and she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Now, she was stuck between four walls with no way to move anywhere else.

Her brothers…

The loneliness crushed her the most. Two is bad but alone is worse. She thought about her brothers - about fWhip and Sausage, in the dark oak forest, waiting for her, wondering where she’d gone and how to help her. Her brothers, worried sick about her whereabouts, ready to exact their vengeance upon those who dared lay a hand on her - something she would fiercely do herself if fWhip or Sausage had been in her position.

Perhaps that was why she wrapped herself so tightly. It had been… she couldn’t tell how long she’d been in that cell, but it had been too long since she’d been near her brothers, too long since she’d held them and helped them and heard their voices and caught their scent. Too long on her own. fWhip must’ve been fully recovered at this point. Oh, how she wished to know what they were up to.

How she wished to fall into their arms and be whole again.

She’d been trembling before; the freezing cold made her. Now, she trembled not because of the temperature, but because of the emotions trapped inside. She fell to her knees, bowing her head. It almost felt like she grieved them - grieved their absence. She fought to let the emotions out, yet fought to keep the tears at bay. She’s the Wither, even in these dire circumstances.

She’s the Wither. The Wither doesn’t cry.

Chapter Text

Gem hadn’t returned.

She was a smart woman. She knew what she was doing, she knew how to quickly solve a problem and then return to debrief with her brothers. Yes, she usually wouldn’t leave them behind for a solo mission - two is bad but alone is worse - but she must have thought this was the best course of action.

No. fWhip and Sausage shouldn’t defend what she did. She could have easily asked Sausage for help and left fWhip with all of the best protections they could both provide, even if that situation was not ideal, either. The absolute worst that could have happened, had actually happened: Gem had left her brothers behind for a solo mission a while ago, and she hadn’t yet returned.

fWhip’s wounds healed, though it could never have undone the knot in his stomach. Sausage, likewise, hadn’t been able to sit still ever since he woke up from the potion-induced sleep, worried sick.

“Pack your things,” fWhip said. “We’re going to find her.”

“What?” Sausage was snapped out of his thoughts, appeared to be disturbed. “But… what if she’s okay? What if we can’t find her and she can’t find us? She doesn’t have her compasses–”

“She will,” fWhip interrupted his brother’s concerned ramblings. “If she’s fine, she knows to return here. We’ll hide her compasses, mark their location for her. She’ll be able to follow them to us as easily as we are able to find her.”

As fWhip had thought, Sausage had briefly forgotten about the existence of the compasses. Quickly, he fished the one that should point at Gem from his pocket. The needle remained calm, steady, and pointed to the east, somewhat south-ish for one or two degrees. It wasn’t going erratic - she was still in the Overworld. It did not move all that much, which meant she was either far away or she was remaining still.

The image of an unmoving corpse invaded their minds. Their sister, lying face down on the ground, one or more limbs sitting at unnatural angles, the pool of blood beneath her expanding every second. Sausage shook his head, attempting to dispel the image. Gem wasn’t dead - she couldn’t be. He could see that fWhip was doing the same, clutching his own compass that pointed at their sister.

The brothers made eye contact. Without saying another word, Sausage started to pack up their stuff and fWhip hid the compasses that Gem had left behind. He picked an unassuming spot, one that the people of this world would easily pass by. He marked it, though, with a symbol only the Wither knew. Gem would be able to see it.

“Are they hidden?” Sausage’s voice called out behind him. Everything had been packed up. 

fWhip nodded. “She’ll know where to find them.”

Sausage nodded once in response. He took out his compass pointing at Gem again, and fWhip did the same. With their supplies and everything else packed up, it was time to leave this dense forest behind them. It was time to follow that compass with where Gem was. Sausage created a platform of corruption, while fWhip readied his mechanical wings. He stepped onto the platform with Sausage, who made it rise high up in the air. Once they’d reached a certain height, fWhip grabbed his supply of rockets and leapt off the platform, immediately igniting the first rocket to truly become airborne.

So, they continued to follow the compass.

Too slow. The landscape crawled along beneath them. They knew they were making progress, they knew they flew as quickly as they could, even if the landscape beneath them discouraged any thought of progress. The dark oak forest did quickly fade away, the forests turning into rolling hills. To their right, fields upon fields of yellow were tended to by what could barely be called ants from their height while a giant beanstalk protruded from its center. The forests grew dense again, the trees now taller and the air warmer. Instead of the darkness of the dark oak, they now saw the vibrant greens of a seemingly endless jungle beneath them. All the while, the sun above imperceptibly changed its position, marking the passage of time.

Somewhere above these trees, the needle moved further to the south, and the brothers corrected their course. They glanced at one another as they realized the compasses lead them away from the jungle, to a snowy mountain range. That was where they entered the Overworld from. That was where the impostor god had its stronghold.

Of course she would be there. Gem had told Sausage explicitly what she was planning to do. Master Xornoth wouldn’t even know the Dragon Egg had been stolen. Where else would she be but Aeor’s stronghold, where the Dragon Egg most likely was being kept safe?

The absolute worst place to be captive - if she even was held captive. The brothers barely wanted to imagine how horrible it must be in there, all alone to be tortured to the breaking point. She was strong, she was capable of defending herself, and yet… What could Aeor do to her in solitude? Would she be broken beyond recognition, or would she decide a swift exit from this world was more preferable than becoming a pawn for the enemy?

They needed to find her. 

They needed to punish this place for what they dared to do to Gem.

They needed to ensure they would not end up in the same position as Gem, as much as it hurt not to immediately launch an attack.

They stayed at a distance, waited for the evening sun to sink even further behind the mountains and for darkness to be cast on the castle grounds. Guards crawled across the premises like ants, all alert. They may be evil, but not stupid - they knew the Wither would not give up on one of their own. If Sausage and fWhip wanted to find their sister, they would need to be extra careful flying around.

Sausage enlarged his platform. fWhip would not be flying around solo this evening; he’d stay near his brother, ready to shoot at any guards who may spot them. The risk of going on his own, however, was too big of a risk.

Quietly, they descended on the castle. fWhip pointed out where the guards were while Sausage piloted the corruption platform to where the compasses pointed out Gem was located. Gliding past the towers and walls and windows, it wouldn’t be long until they were spotted.That was an inevitability. The only question that mattered, was whether or not they would reach Gem before any alarm bells rang. Before the whole castle was on even higher alert and would shoot them down at first sight.

The tension rose. The closer they came, the quicker the needle in the compass moved around. Sausage attempted to keep a steady hand and a sharp focus, yet he could only think about his sister. fWhip’s attention similarly wavered. Standing right next to him, he often glanced at the compass, hoping that it would somehow indicate how close they had come. However, that was one of the features this compass did not have. The compasses showed no distance, only whether or not the person it was bound to is still in this world and the direction they were in.

“There!”

Perhaps fWhip spoke a bit too loudly, but he could barely contain his excitement. A large window two floors down, the light in the room lit. A human shape - their sister.

Sausage immediately lowered the platform. The shape in the window became clearer, sharper. Gem had her hands placed on the glass, hope and anguish and longing in her eyes - oh, the longing. If she could have melted her way through the window and joined her brothers, she would have done so in a heartbeat. 

She wasn’t doing anything, however. fWhip and Sausage immediately clocked it as odd. Something was wrong.

fWhip raised his crossbow and, nearly point-blank, shot at the glass. He expected it to shatter, to fall away and shower all of them in a million shards. They would all be covered in blood, but they would be fine, for they would be reunited. The bolt that raced towards the window impacted it, though it bounced off and harmlessly fell to the ground below. Sausage attempted a break-in with a slim corruption tentacle that sprouted from the platform, yet it did nothing.

Perhaps that was why Gem wasn’t trying to break out - she might have already tried and realized it was pointless.

Shouts - far off, but Sausage and fWhip picked up on them. They had been spotted.

Gem turned her head sharply, in the direction of the door. Whatever she heard, her brothers could not hear through the glass. When Gem turned her head back to her brothers, another emotion crossed her face. Grief. The pain that accompanies losing someone.

Finally, one hand lifted from the glass. She moved it, waving them away. At the same time, she enunciated in an exaggerated manner, so that they would know what she was telling them: go away.

Sausage and fWhip glanced at one another. Neither of them felt comfortable with their sister’s request.

“I don’t want to go,” Sausage said.

fWhip nodded in agreement. “Me neither. We’ve got to–”

A streak of energy surged past them from above. The boys looked up - a guard, some sort of mage, had found their position and decided to take action, alerting others to the Wither’s location. They had been spotted, and now they were also being shot at. They couldn’t stay for much longer.

One more glance at Gem. One more chance to see her, help her, free her.

Desperately, she shooed them away. Just go.

“We’ll be back for you,” Sausage said.

“We’ll find the Dragon Egg,” fWhip added. “We’ll come back.”

Another streak of Aeor’s magic shot their way. They couldn’t stay.

They couldn’t help her.

Sausage commanded the platform to fly away, straight to safety while dodging the guards shooting at them. All the while, fWhip and Sausage watched Gem’s silhouette in the window until she disappeared.

Gem still had her hands pressed against the window. If she had her way, she would break the window with her strongest spells and join them in the air. She would accompany her brothers to safety and construct a new, better plan to try and find the Dragon Egg. She would hug them and stay close and be near. Instead, she watched them leave - they grew smaller every passing second, another second of safety where they weren’t shot down like she had been. Every second her heart ached more and more, and she leaned in as closely as she could. She balled her hands into fists, her gaze never leaving the horizon until her brothers had fully disappeared.

It almost felt like losing them all over again.

The door behind her burst open. She turned to look; Scott, followed by six soldiers marched into the room, thunder in his eyes. Instinctively, Gem moved away from the window and assumed her stance as if she were facing Master Xornoth: back straightened, hands behind her back, gaze on him. Though Master Xornoth was still gentle in their own way, Scott only portrayed fury.

“What the hell was that about?” Scott snarled, pointing at the window. “Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Gem answered truthfully. “Likely from the mountains, there’s more cover there–”

“Did you call them here?” Scott continued relentlessly. “Did you tell them to come here?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“How would I have contacted them?” Gem spoke up in defense of herself. She showed him the cuffs. “They weren’t anywhere near here. I have no way of communicating with them.”

Saying it out loud made that part of the truth sink in more deeply. She had no way to communicate with her brothers at all. She wouldn’t see them, hear their voices, talk to them. She would be cut off from them, just as she had been mere seconds ago, before Scott decided she had to be guilty of something that she wasn’t responsible for.

“Even so, they came here for you,” Scott said in a still furious and accusatory tone. “They came to rescue you.”

“They weren’t able to,” Gem responded, trying to stay calm. Still, she could see their faces through the widow, as heartbroken as she was when they had to leave her behind. “They won’t be back.”

“You are barely ever away from one another. They will be back.”

“I can’t go with them.” She attempted to keep her voice from trembling, though she wasn’t sure how much Scott picked up on. “You’re keeping me here.”

“So you’re telling me you’re not trying to escape?” Scott wondered, his tone still hostile. He expected an affirmative answer that he could spin into something that it was not. Yes, she wanted to get out of here - however, she wasn’t currently trying to escape. She knew too little, had too few facts about Rivendell and the castle. Escape may be in the future, but not right now.

“No, I’m not,” Gem responded in the most steady voice she could muster.

“Why’s the vase broken, then?”

Gem glanced aside. The vase - that was what he thought he was going to catch her on?

“I was looking through the books,” Gem answered. “I heard the commotion outside. I thought my brothers had come, so I rushed to the window. I must’ve caught the vase as I ran. I didn’t hear it break, I was only focused on what was happening outside.”

“You couldn’t hear a vase break?”

“If you had a sibling that you hadn’t seen in a while, wouldn’t you want to see them?”

Her heart beat in her throat. She clenched her cuffed wrists behind her back, didn’t look away from the Lord no matter how much she wanted to cave. It was best to comply as much as she could - and yet, she was part of the Wither, and she had a responsibility to push back against the wickedness of the impostor god. A trait that manifested now that its champion came close to putting her in more harm. She may not be able to shoot concentrated energy through his stomach, but she could stand up for herself and her innocence.

Even if it could cost her everything.

Perhaps the worst part was his silence. It did not fully mask his intentions or feelings all that well. His impatience, his fury, all of it radiated off of him - and Gem tried not to show her contempt or the fear found beneath.

“Clean it up,” Scott eventually told the guards, his own gaze fixed on Gem. “One more misstep, and you’re going back to the dungeons.”

Without saying anything else - without waiting for an answer - Scott turned around and left. Four of the six guards stared at her suspiciously while the other two cleaned up the shards. One of them approached for an impromptu search of Gem and the immediate surroundings. They searched for a potential wayward shard that they believed Gem had hidden. They did not find anything, however, and returned to the side of their colleagues.

All the shards of the vase were picked up and cleaned, brought outside of the room. Nothing of the vase remained. The door locked behind the guards and Gem could finally breathe again.

Alone, once more, with her thoughts, the loneliness and the knowledge her brothers were alright, but unable to hold them herself.

Soon. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon she would hold them again.