Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is a story about an alchemist, who self proclaimed themself a necromancer, that once wielded a bow against death itself.   

Waking up in weird places wasn’t unusual for them, too many potions of whatever poison they most enjoyed swallowing at the time, but this one was different he couldn’t have walked this far alone. It was a pretty view, far more beautiful than anything he was accustomed to. Before him lay a small lake, its surface shimmering softly in the light, surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant flowers that bloomed in a riot of colors: as if time itself had slowed down.   

Nice he thought, almost too nice .   

A stranger greeted them, a young man with curly brown hair with red highlights, his figure was draped in weathered iron armor, sturdy and well-worn, his hands gloved and gripping a  shield; upon his head there were golden goggles, gleaming faintly in the sun.   

He was smiling, it looked natural on him. He was loudly singing a melody. “Hello.” They said even if  it was covered by the boy voice “is this like the introduction ?” they quietly giggled. “Well hello ! Traveler, destined adventurer, thrill seeker to the realm !” He shouted arms flung open like a stage performer addressing a crowd. As confused as they were it was interesting seeing someone so happy to meet them.   

Till the realization came: they  didn’t felt this weak in a long time, It almost seemed like someone had drained the magic out of him, or any kind of strength the necromancer owned in the past,   

They had no bow. No potions. Nothing.   

A chill ran down their spine.   

This wasn't a good sign.   

The guy who now revealed his name to be Tubbo started explaining. Apparently, a bunch of people had just woken up here. No warning. No memory of how. And none of them had their old belongings. No weapons. No tools. No magic. Whatever power they once had... it was gone. Stripped clean.  

Like something or someone had brought them here on purpose.  

A sudden bark drew their attention.  

They were surrounded by dogs at least a dozen of them sat scattered around, it was confusing.    

“there’s a lot of dog” the alchemist observed while reaching out and gently petting one of the dogs. “they look nice”   

“everyone is slowly trying to regain the power they once had” Tubbo said looking a them  

 “some use dogs” he added casually.  

In the distance, something massive caught their eye.  

A castle still under construction rising from the ground like a jagged stone crown. Cranes of wood swung lazily overhead, and yellow banners fluttered from unfinished towers, catching the sunlight like sparks. Hints of gold.  

Their mouth fell open. “How long did you say you’ve been here?”  

“Two days,” Tubbo replied casually, hands on his hips as he stared out at the structure.  

“That,” he added with a crooked grin, “is the Kingdom of Fools .”  

“ WHAAAT? ” the alchemist blurted, still staring in disbelief.  

“Yeah,” Tubbo chuckled. “The royal architect... she is completely insane.”   

Tubbo had started walking again, boots crunching against grass and stone as if they had places to be and time to burn. Aimsey trailed behind reluctantly, gaze still bouncing between the castle, the dogs, the broken sky, and everything else that didn’t make sense.  

"Hey," Tubbo said suddenly, pointing to a far rise on the left. "See that little roof up there?"  

Aimsey squinted. In the distance, barely distinguishable among the trees and brush, was a building with a deep wood rooftop and warm orange glow bleeding from the windows. Smoke curled gently from a chimney, and a crooked wooden sign hung off a chain, flapping lazily in the wind.  

“Looks… stable,” The alchemist admitted. “Which is more than I can say for most things I’ve seen.”  

“That’s mine.” Tubbo beamed like he’d just shown off his kid.  

“…Seriously?”  

“Dead serious,” he replied, grinning. “It’s a tavern. Got everything, the whole deal. It even has a second floor now. Didn’t at first, but I got bored and started stacking things.”  

“You built a tavern,” They said, slow and dry, “within two days of waking up with no powers or tools.”  

“Well,” Tubbo shrugged, “the powers might be gone, but the grindset remains.”  

There was a short silence.   

“Who even goes there?” They asked.  

“Everyone, eventually,” Tubbo said, waving toward the hills like that explained anything. “Some stay longer than others. Some come to trade. Some just cry over weird shit.”  

They didn’t respond right away. They just looked at it the little flickering light in the dark. The shape of something familiar, maybe even comforting.  

A tavern.  

God, that word alone made their bones ache. Taverns used to be a place of whispers. Of contracts signed in blood. Of mercenaries and promises and power, always power, hiding beneath the laughter and the cheap beer. That was where the necromancer once made deals.  

They didn’t like crowd then and, still don’t  

But they would be lying if they didn’t think it looked nice.  

“Looks, cool” Aimsey said flatly.  

Tubbo shrugged like it didn’t matter either way. “Thank you.”  

As the two walked further, Aimsey's eyes still flickering back to the castle, Tubbo suddenly said, “Oh forgot to mention something kind of important.”  

“Yeah?” Aimsey muttered, half-distracted.  

“Death works different here.”  

That got their attention.  

Tubbo stopped walking, turned to face them fully, arms folded. “You’ve got three lives. Three chances. After that? You’re out. Done.”  

Aimsey frowned. “Out as in… dead?”  

Tubbo shook his head. “Not exactly. You vanish. Like gone from this place until the clock resets. The Realm keeps track somehow. One full day must pass.”  

Tubbo’s smile thinned. “But it resets everything. Every power you earned back? Gone. Sometimes your memories too. Your body might change. Name. Face. Even who you are might be different.”  

“…What?”  

“Some come back better. Some worse.”  

Aimsey stared at him. “That’s... fucked.”  

“Yup.” Tubbo said, too cheerfully. “It’s the price, I guess. You get three tries to figure out who you want to be. Or who you used to be. After that... the Realm takes the wheel.”  

Tubbo started walking again, casual as ever. “So, y’know. Try not to die.”  

He tapped his temple. “Anyway, guess you know most of it now. I’ll leave you to it.” he said walking off   

“Wait... how do I regain my power? Mate, come back!”  

But Tubbo was already turning away, his voice fading. “Byee.”  

The alchemist stood there, stunned. “What? I have to figure this out alone”  

“Alright,” he muttered “i can figure out this myself”  

Aimsey sat on the cold earth, staring out at the strange world around them. The lake, the dogs, the castle everything felt too vivid, too sharp, too real.  

Is this… hell? The thought came unbidden, darker than the shadows creeping over the land.  

A hell not of fire and brimstone, but a slow, endless exile a prison for souls who’d lost everything. No power, no purpose, no escape.  

Maybe this is where I’m meant to be, Aimsey thought bitterly. Stripped of magic, stripped of identity. A place to rot, forgotten.  

Their breath hitched at the weight of it all. The crushing silence, the absence of the old fire that once blazed inside them. It felt like death had swallowed them whole not once, but twice.  

But then, as their eyes traced the shimmering surface of the lake, something shifted.  

There wasn’t straightforward path, or an easy way: so they cut tree even if it felt like they couldn’t even hold their axe properly, their hands ached, dirt grinding into every cut hurting so fucking bad. They mined precious gems and raw metals, with the hope to gain even just a little fragment of what he had not so long ago.  

But they pressed on. Every slash of the axe, every strike of the pick, was a step closer to something… something they couldn’t even name but could feel in their bones. A purpose , maybe. A piece of redemption, perhaps, for all the terrible atrocities they did in the past.  

They paused, gripping the handle so tight their knuckles went white. The ache in their muscles screamed, but they refused to drop the axe.  

A sudden sharp snap echoed the handle cracked under their hands.  

They let out a harsh laugh, bitter and short.  

“Great. Just fucking great.”  

They threw the broken axe down and stared at the splintered wood like it had betrayed them.  

The world around felt unbearably vast, empty. The weight of everything they’d lost pressed down, heavy as stone.  

For a moment, He just stood there, chest heaving. The frustration, the exhaustion it was almost too much.  

Aimsey stood frozen for a second, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the splintered wood on the ground.  

Then, without thinking, their hands clenched into fists, fingers twitching like they were about to pull an invisible bowstring. A word rose to their lips, barely audible  a command, a spark of magic they’d called upon hundreds of times before.  

But nothing.  

No warmth, no power, no response.  

Their fingers opened slowly, like releasing a grip on something that had never been there.  

A hollow silence filled the air.  

“Right,” He muttered, voice bitter and dry. “Forgot. Don’t have that anymore.”  

They swallowed hard, the taste of loss sharper than any poison they’d swallowed before.  

For a long moment, they just stood there, hands empty, power gone.  

The alchemist sat on a slope of packed dirt and overgrown roots, legs folded under their, elbows on knees. The air was still, the way it always got before a storm  even if no clouds dared roll in. He’d wandered too far from the others to hear their laughter now, just the slow rustle of leaves and the distant lap of the lake.  

His fingers were covered in blisters. A dull ache pulsed in her wrists. He stared at his hands, remembering when they were steady  confident  the hands of someone who made life out of death, power out of ash.  

Now they shook.  

“God,” they muttered, dragging their fingers through her hair, “what even am I now?”  

A necromancer without magic. 
An alchemist without potions. 
A fighter without a bow. 

They let out a small, bitter laugh. “What a joke.”  

"Okay," they muttered, half to the dirt, half to themself. "You’ve been worse. You’ve had worse days. Right?"  

Their voice cracked a little.  

They shook their head, roughly. “No. No crying. Don’t be pathetic.”  

Aimsey took a slow, steady breath. Lowered their gaze. And before a single tear could fall, they dragged the back of their hand across their eyes, determined, almost angry.  

The night came and it only got worse.  

Darkness pressed down like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating. The strange sounds of the night echoed all around distant growls, scraping claws, low rumbles from the shadows that danced just beyond the flicker of the dying fire.  

The small hole they’d dug was cramped and uncomfortable, dirt cold against their back, rocks digging into their side. The thin bedroll offered little comfort.  

Sleep refused to come.  

Eyes wide, muscles tense, every noise set nerves on edge. The monsters weren’t close, but close enough lurking just beyond the faint glow of the campfire, watching, waiting.  

They stayed perfectly still, heart pounding but breath steady, as if that alone might keep the danger at bay.  

The night stretched on endlessly, thoughts spinning like restless wind.  

Memories. Regrets. Questions without answers.  

But no fear.  

Because fear was a luxury they couldn’t afford.  

They felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth.  

Maybe hell isn’t that bad.  

Maybe being nobody is better.  

Maybe, just maybe this could be a fresh start  

The idea was fragile, almost laughable. But it was there nestled deep beneath the despair, like a seed waiting for rain.  

For the first time since waking, They allowed themselves to breathe a little easier.  

Hope. A dangerous thing,  

At the start of the day, he gathered all the materials obtained from the grinding. All they had was a bed the plan was to build a small house. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be the Kingdom of Fools , or whatever it was called.   

Only problem?  

Where should they build?  

They met one weird guy.  

And usually they weren’t the types to trust any kingdom especially one made of fools, who builds a society around foolishness and expects anyone to take it seriously?  

The world around them felt too big, too open, and strangely unfamiliar. Every patch of land looked either too exposed, too uneven, or just... wrong. They wandered in circles, trying to picture their house somewhere, anywhere, but nothing quite felt right.  

Until they found something, it was far enough to feel private, but still close enough to a few builds they’d seen along the way. Nothing spectacular just a quiet, solid patch of land. But it felt right. Right enough to start building. Ash. Burnt marrow. The faintest trace of singed cloth.  

It was night, again  

The skeleton’s bones lay scattered, but the night was far from quiet. A low growl hummed through the darkness beyond the campfire’s fragile glow. They dropped the axe. Stepped closer. Their fingers brushed a charred bone shard. Their throat tightened.  

They felt in the cold night air, imagining flame. Imagining heat. Imagining the moment a soul left its shell behind.  

And the words came before they could stop them: "God, I miss the smell of burning bones. What kind of monster does that make me?  

They knew what they were. A monster, no different than those things stalking the darkness. Except… at least those creatures were driven by instinct, mindless hunger and rage.  

But they were different. They had thought, reasoned, remembered. Felt.  

A worse kind of monster, maybe. But if they were different, then why did the hunger claw at them with the same ruthless bite?  

Because, despite the magic lost and power stripped away, their body was still mortal.  

Still flesh.  

Still bone.  

Still burning with need.  

The hunger was a curse but a cruel reminder: life demands life.  

A strange comfort in that realization the monstrous and the human, weren’t that different and came from the same roots.  

They needed something to eat, they were starving, but the alchemist also checked completely their side of the river. So, without much choice, they stepped into the cold water. While swimming they heard a voice.  

They didn’t know how that voice would be the last voice that they’d hear before letting out their last breath.  

“Hello! Who’s that in the water?” they called calm.  

A woman emerged through the water. Her long purple hair clung to her shoulders, it almost looked like amethyst shards. She was just a little taller than the necromancer, enough to notice when she stood close. Strands of soaked purple hair clung to her forehead and jaw; some caught in the curve of her collar.  

Her eyes were of the darkest blue, like the ocean on a stormy night. Yet she still looked so bright, her smile, was the true sun breaking through the clouds of a tempest.  

“Hiyah!” she greeted, splashing water playfully as she swam closer, the ripples sparkling like scattered gems around her.   

Aimsey’s eyes flicked warily between the woman’s hand look several pieces of food wrapped in a worn cloth.  

The alchemist hesitated, throat dry. “May I… have some?” they asked, their voice barely above a whisper.  

They hated asking for help.  

“Sure” She softly replied, handing them multiple pieces without hesitation.  

“Thank you.” They said.  

Even though the woman kept giving food without stopping.  

“Oh!  wow what a day to be alive” A small chuckle escaped Aimsey’s lips, the first genuine sound in days.  

“Wait… who are you?” the alchemist asked cautiously, eyeing the bundle of food in their hands.  

She smiled. “I’m Ros! The royal architect around these parts. At least, that’s what they call me”  

The alchemist blinked, surprised, they didn’t expect the architect looked that. “Ros”  

“What’s your name then?” She asked   

“Aimee,” They replied, then caught themselves, their lips twitching in a small, nervous smile, “Well… Aimsey. Yeah, that.”  

“Nice to meet you, Aimsey,” Ros said, her voice gentle and sincere.  

For a moment, the world seemed to pause  

Both of them smiling.  

Both of them laughing.  

Both of them unaware of what that simple interaction would mean.  

Chapter Text

It was almost faction day, whatever that meant, Tubbo explained briefly to the alchemist what it was. Until then they just wanted to relex in their new house and maybe grind a little later. 

Aimsey had never thought much about home security. Mostly because up until now, “home” was just four walls, a roof that looked like it might blow away if you sneezed too hard, and a door that stuck every time you tried to open it. 

They stopped considering houses home a long time ago. 

Probably when they started running away. 

Probably after that night, the night where they lost everything and everybody they loved. 

Still, it was theirs. It was their house . Every plank nailed down, every creaky floorboard, every scrap of scavenged metal hammered into place done with blistered hands and aching arms. 

It wasn’t much. But it was more than nothing. And for Aimsey, more than nothing was a victory. Especially with building, he was very, very bad at it. 

They were halfway through patching a drafty gap near the roof when the day decided to go completely to hell. 

The sound came first, a wet, sucking growl, like something dragging itself through mud. Then came the vibrations. Heavy. Uneven. Too close. 

Aimsey froze mid-hammer, head tilted like maybe it was just the wind.  

It was never just the wind. 

The first monster slammed into the side of the house hard enough to make the boards shudder. The second one hit the door. The third… The third one just started hissing. 

“Oh no. Nope. No no no no” 

The wall splintered. A jagged claw punched through, inches from Aimsey’s face. 

They did the only logical thing: They dropped their hammer, scrambled backwards, tripped over their own pile of planks, and started yelling. 

“HELP! HELP HELP HELP! ACTUAL HELP, RIGHT NOW, I’M BEING MURDERED BY SOMETHING UGLY!” 

The door caved in. A flash of teeth. A glint of something that smelled like rotting sulfur and bad decisions. 

Aimsey grabbed the nearest object a, wooden stool, and flung it like it was a weapon. (It wasn’t.) 

The monsters didn’t even flinch. 

“Oh, this is so not how I’m dying” 

Something blazed through the dark. A streak of movement. A crash. The sound of stone splitting. 

When Aimsey’s eyes caught up with reality, Ros was standing in the doorway, dripping lake water, hair wild, a heavy, curved blade in her hands. 

Her voice was calm, almost cheerful, like she’d just wandered in for tea. “Hey Aimsey. You look… busy.” 

The first monster lunged. Ros moved like lightning. One swing, and it was down, scattering into dust and bone. 

The second monster hesitated. Wrong choice. Ros’s blade found its throat, and it dissolved like smoke. 

The third tried to flee. It didn’t get far. 

The silence after was thick. The only sound was Aimsey’s ragged breathing. 

Ros turned, wiping her blade clean. “You okay?” 

Aimsey blinked at her. Then at the wrecked doorway. Then at the pile of monster ash all over their floor. 

They swallowed. “…You’re insane.” 

Ros grinned. “Takes one to know one.” 

Aimsey let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks. For… you know. Not letting me die.” 

Ros shrugged, like it was nothing. “Anytime.” The silence after was thick. The only sound was Aimsey’s ragged breathing. 

Aimsey hesitated, words slipping out before they could stop them. 

“My knight in shiny armor.” 

Ros tilted her head, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “What was that?” 

“Nothing.” Aimsey coughed, busying themself with brushing ash off the floorboards. 

Absolutely nothing. 

Ros was halfway through checking the monster ash for anything salvageable when Aimsey spoke again, leaning casually against the half-broken doorway like they hadn’t just been five seconds from dying. 

“So,” Aimsey said, “the next time something wants to kill me, I’ll scream and you’ll come save me, right?” 

Ros’s smile tilted. “So the next time something wants to kill you…” She tapped her temple as if storing the thought. “…you scream, and I’ll come.” 

Aimsey arched an eyebrow. “From the castle? That’s quite a run.” 

Ros nodded, dead serious. “The castle’s far, yeah. But I’ll run for you, Aimsey.” 

Something in her tone made Aimsey’s chest tighten in a way they didn’t care to examine. They hid it with a smirk. “You gotta keep your step up then. Don’t want my knight in shiny armor turning up late.” 

Ros laughed, the sound bright and warm against the cold night air. “Guess I’d better start training.” 

Aimsey looked away quickly, pretending to fuss with a cracked plank. “Yeah. Don’t slack.” 

Ros turned to leave, boots crunching on the dirt path. Over her shoulder, she called, “And Aimsey? Maybe build stronger doors.” 

Aimsey snorted. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll add it to the list right under stop screaming for help like a pathetic idiot.” 

Ros just grinned wider. “I don’t think you’re pathetic” 

Aimsey froze mid-step. 
Something tickled their leg. Then their arm. 

They looked down just in time to see a giant spider legs as long as their forearm, eyes glittering like wet beads climbing up their clothes. 

“…Uh,” Aimsey said flatly, “this seems bad.” 

Ros glanced over, utterly unfazed. “Wait. The spider likes you.” 

The spider clicked its mandibles softly, not threatening almost… friendly. 

Aimsey blinked. “…Yeah. I see that.” 

The spider settled comfortably on their shoulder, mandibles clicking like it was purring—if purring sounded like tiny scissors snipping air. 

Ros grinned. “Well. Have fun with your new eight-legged roommate. Byeeeeeeee.” 

Aimsey gaped after her as she strolled off. “Wait—RO—Ros! You can’t just—oh my god it’s making eye contact. ” 

They smirked, giving the spider a casual pat. “Well, you’re really not hurting me, so… cool. You stay there, Jeremy. I’m gonna go grind.” 

It's was faction day ! 

Cool right?

god they sure weren't excited.

Aimsey was going to the tavern anyway, because they still had a to deliver something to Tubbo.

Aimsey kept their head down and their hands busy. Mining. Smelting. Grinding until their muscles burned and the blisters on their fingers had blisters. Bit by bit, the piles of raw ore turned into something more steel, diamond, tools that felt good in their grip, armor that gleamed even in the weakest light. 

But it was close enough to make them feel less naked in this strange place. 

By the time the armor was done, Aimsey felt… if not safe, then at least a little more like themself. 

So, when their wandering took them past Tubbo’s tavern, they didn’t think much of it. Until they heard the noise. 

The place was buzzing laughter, voices, footsteps thumping against the floorboards. But cutting through it all were two very distinct voices, sharp enough to catch from the street. 

Tubbo, sounding defensive. 
And someone else a woman’s voice, crisp, sharp, and somehow way too refined for a building that sold whatever swill Tubbo called ale. 

Aimsey slowed, curiosity gnawing. 

The second voice was deliberate, enunciating every syllable like a knife point. “That was a grossly negligent act bordering on biochemical assault, Tubbo.” 

Aimsey’s brow furrowed. What the hell? 

The woman went on, words flowing quick and precise, “Do you have any comprehension of the repercussions of contaminating an alchemical mixture with… with urine ?” 

Aimsey’s brain hiccupped. Wait. 

They stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the warm glow and chaos. Tubbo stood behind the counter, looking like someone caught halfway between a scolded child and a raccoon defending a trash can. Across from him stood a woman in deep blue robes, glasses perched perfectly on her nose, her hair a neat brown streaked with blonde bangs that caught the firelight. Her blue light eyes looked like a clear sky 

“I’m telling you, I didn’t !” Tubbo’s voice. 

“You did ,” the woman snapped back, her words crisp as glass breaking. “You’ve been  pissing in the potion, haven’t you?.” 

Aimsey blinked. Wait, what? 

Tubbo’s voice shot back, even louder, “Why would I ever piss in a potion bottle?! That’s insane!” 

“Because you’re you!” she said, with the absolute confidence of someone presenting the final argument in a trial. “Tubbo, there is urine in that bottle.” 

“It’s not mine !” Tubbo yelled, slamming something down on the counter. “You think I’d risk my reputation... ” 

“You don’t have a reputation,” she cut in. 

The tavern went quiet for a half-beat before Tubbo sputtered, “That’s okay, rude. But still, No,I haven’t!” 

Aimsey finally stepped through the door, eyebrow raised. “He did what...” 

Oh! Aimsey, hey welcome to the tavern!” he said quickly, seizing the chance to change the subject. “Ignore her, she’s just...” 

“I’m just telling the truth ,”The woman cut in without looking at Aimsey. 

Tubbo talked right over her. “So yeah, great to see you now, uh… can I have those two diamonds you promised me?” 

Aimsey’s brow furrowed. “God, give me a second. I came here for this , and now everyone’s yelling about someone pissing in bottles. How hostile.” 

The woman in blue crossed her arms. “Sorry. I’ll… table the bodily fluids discussion for now.” 

Tubbo grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Good.” 

“Right,” Aimsey said, straightening up. “Diamonds.” 

“Diamonds,” Tubbo repeated, a little too eagerly. 

Aimsey sighed, reached into their pack, and pulled out two gleaming stones that caught the firelight. They set them down on the counter with a soft clink. Tubbo’s eyes lit up like he’d just been handed a dragon’s hoard. 

The woman’s gaze darted between Aimsey’s armor, tools, and the diamonds. “Wait. Hold on. You already have diamond? You came here yesterday.” 

Aimsey shrugged. “Yeah.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “ How ?” 

“I stayed awake all nights,” Aimsey said casually. 

The woman adjusted her glasses. “Nights… plural?” 

“Mmh-mmh.” 

She blinked. “Bloody hell.” 

Tubbo tilted his head, curiosity outweighing his diamond greed. “You grinded diamond gear in, what, forty-eight hours?” 

“Felt longer,” Aimsey muttered, running a gloved hand over their helmet. “Didn’t really stop to eat much. Or sleep.” 

The woman gave them a look somewhere between impressed and horrified. “You’re either incredibly dedicated or… mildly deranged.” 

Aimsey smirked faintly. “Can’t it be both? 

Aimsey leaned an elbow on Tubbo’s counter, swirling what was left of their drink. “So… is today faction day or whatever?” 

Tubbo looked up from polishing a mug like he’d been waiting for that question. “Yep.” 

“…And where are we meeting?” 

Tubbo grinned. “Right here.” 

Aimsey blinked. “In your tavern?” 

“In my tavern,” he repeated, like that was the most natural thing in the world. 

The tavern’s door creaked, spilling firelight into the night, and one by one, the figures who would shape the Kingdom of Fools filed in. 

Owen came first. A tall jester, all in orange, bells chiming softly as he ducked his head through the frame. His grin was painted on not literally, but in the way it clung to his face, sharp and practiced. Every step looked like a dance, every glance like a secret joke he wasn’t ready to share. He laughed once, low and quiet, and the sound was almost too smooth, too polished the laughter of a man, that looked too. 

Clown followed. Where Owen wore chaos like silk, Clown carried it like fire. His robes burned red and black, trimmed in char like ash left on a battlefield. Diamond armor glimmered beneath the folds unnecessary protection for an archmage, but he wore it with pride, as though daring anyone to challenge the contradiction. His gaze was sharp, calculating, eyes that flicked over every face in the room like he was already deciding who would burn first. 

Ros. 

She didn’t need to announce herself; her presence did that for her. Purple hair caught the lamplight like polished amethyst, her eyes steady and calm as her hand brushed the hilt of the curved blade at her side, she was simply stunning. 

But there was also something so annoying hidden behind those blue eyes, complete devotion for her king, she couldn't stop looking at him with such, unshakable loyalty, so stubborn, so unyielding, it was maddening. Ros eyes sparkled at his presence. She kept nodding and agreeing with every little things that man said. 

And at the heart of it all sat Foolish . The King of Fools. 

He shouldn’t have looked like a king, but he did. His muscles rippled beneath skin that gleamed like molten gold, as if sunlight itself had been distilled into flesh. and his emerald-green eyes gleamed with something both bright and predatory. Shark’s ridges traced his arms and shoulders, subtle yet undeniable, as if the ocean had sculpted him in secret. Immortal, radiant, impossible. He leaned back with effortless command, his crown reflecting the firelight in a halo of gold, as if daring the world to try and take it from him.

Aimsey’s stomach turned. 

 Crowns were lies shallow baubles for shallow men. But Foolish wasn’t a man, and somehow, that made the crown worse. 

The room shifted as Tango slipped in, wiry and restless, his gaze darting like a blade always searching for a sheath.  

Not far behind, Pangi dragged himself through the crowd. Young, scarred, his pangolin scales glinting beneath his ragged clothes. Long red hair fell in wild strands around his face, a patchy beard clinging stubbornly to his jaw,looked horrible, he really should just give up. Sunglasses hid his eyes, turning them into dark, unreadable voids. He looked tired in the way only those who had already bled for a cause could look. He had scars all across his face. He was laughing loudly at a joke Aimsey didn't catch. With a mischievous, stubborn joy.

Beky was impossible to miss. Where Tubbo looked like a raccoon caught raiding cupboards, Beky was precision wrapped in blue robes. Glasses perched perfectly on her nose, brown hair falling neat save for blonde streaks that caught the firelight. Her words were knives, each syllable deliberate, honed, impossible to ignore. If Tubbo’s tavern was chaos, Beky was order sharp, unforgiving order. 

And then the air changed. 

The door opened again, and Bad walked in. 

Everything grew quieter, as if the tavern itself sensed him. His cloak barely stirred, dragging shadows with it, long dark hair falling like ink around a face that seemed unnervingly open. His eyes glowed pale white no pupils, no warmth but instead of threatening, they carried a strange, unblinking curiosity, as if he didn’t fully understand what he was seeing. Yet his mouth was curved in a gentle, almost friendly smile, the kind that made people relax... yet there was something off about it, the faint twist of a murderer.

Too friendly. Like the smile of a man who could end you with a thought and would laugh with you over drinks five minutes later. 

Foolish’s gaze flicked toward him, and the tension thickened. And somewhere between them something jagged, old, and poisonous. 

Ros’s jaw tightened. Her loyalty pulled her toward Foolish like a tide, but her eyes never left Bad. 

And Aimsey, drink halfway to their lips, thought grimly: 
This wasn’t a meeting. 
This was tinder waiting for a spark 

The tavern had gotten too loud. 

Maps slid back and forth, voices clashed, and chairs scraped over the floor like blades drawn from sheaths. At the center of it all sat Foolish, gold skin shimmering faintly, his emerald eyes fixed on every speaker in turn. He didn’t need to shout; his silence was enough to hold the room. 

Bad leaned back in his chair across from him, cloak dragging shadows over the floor, white eyes gleaming like moons. His smile hadn’t faltered once. 

“Yellow,” Foolish said at last, his voice carrying over the storm. “The banner of the Kingdom of Fools. If you want safety, structure, a future worth building, then you stand with me.” 

Ros’s hand hit the table first, palm flat, conviction blazing in her purple gaze. “Always.” 

Owen followed with a laugh that sounded like bells cracking. “A king needs a jester.” 

Clown said nothing, only shifted so his diamond armor glimmered against the firelight answer enough. Tango leaned over, muttering something sharp to Pangi that made the younger man laugh. Both raised their hands like it was nothing, like choosing sides was as casual as ordering another drink. 

Foolish’s golden grin widened. 

But then Bad leaned forward, his smile cutting sharper, voice smooth as oil. “Or,” he said, “you could stop playing house under a crown and join me.” 

The room hushed. 

“The green faction,” Bad went on, tapping a gloved finger against the map. “I don’t need a crown to lead. I don’t need devotion. I need people willing to admit the world is chaos and that trying to cage it is madness.” His white eyes swept the crowd, calm and unyielding. “If you want freedom from his leash, you walk with me.” 

The silence lasted only a beat before Foolish’s jaw tightened, light sparking faintly at his skin. Ros bristled, her knuckles whitening against the wood. 

Pangi’s laugh faltered. Tango nudged him with an elbow, muttering something Aimsey didn’t catch. For a moment, it seemed certain they’d both stay yellow. 

But then Pangi’s smile faded. He looked at Foolish, at Ros, at the golden banners pinned to the wall. Something in his expression shifted not loyalty, not rebellion, but pity. 

He exhaled slowly, pushed his chair back, and crossed the room to Bad’s side. 

The tavern shuddered at the sound of his boots on the floor. 

Foolish didn’t move, but the light at his skin pulsed once, sharp as a heartbeat. 

Ros whispered his name, even if it wasn’t exactly clear what she said. 

And Aimsey sitting near the end of the table, halfway through a drink they suddenly didn’t want anymore groaned. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

Tubbo, slouched beside them, threw up his hands. “Here we go. Civil war in under three days. New record.” 

Beky adjusted her glasses with a snap, her tone razor-sharp. “Idiocy. All of it. Yellow banners, green banners you’re children fighting over crayons.” 

Aimsey smirked faintly, bitterness curling at the edges. “Guess that makes us the only adults left.” 

Tubbo snorted. “God help us if that’s true.” 

Beky tapped the map with two fingers. “Fine. Yellow and green can tear each other apart. But some of us don’t bend the knee. We don’t play crown or chaos. 

Her gaze swept between them, sharp as glass. “Blue. Neutral. Practical.” 

Tubbo’s grin widened instantly. “Blue tavern faction, baby.” 

Aimsey raised their mug, dry as dust. “Fuck it. Blue it is.” 

“Cheers” Beky exclaimed. 

For the first time all night, the three of them laughed short, sharp, real. 

The factions had been born. 

Yellow. Green. Blue. 

The tavern hadn’t quieted. If anything, the arguments had only gotten sharper now that everyone wore colors in their heads. 

Foolish leaned across the table, golden skin shimmering faintly in the firelight. “You don’t even have a structure, Bad. Green isn’t a faction, it’s a sulk.” 

Bad tilted his head, expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. “Structure is boring.” He tapped the table once, firmly. “Green is better because it isn’t Yellow.” 

“That’s not a reason,” Foolish snapped, exasperation bleeding into his emerald eyes. 

“It’s a perfectly good reason,” Bad said, calm, almost cheerful. “You’re annoying.” 

Ros smothered a laugh against her fist. 

Foolish’s jaw tightened. “You can’t just start a faction because you don’t like me!” 

“Yes, I can,” Bad replied instantly. His tone was flat, matter-of-fact. “That’s how choices work.” 

For a moment Foolish just stared at him, mouth half-open, as though trying to summon the words to argue with someone who had weaponized stubbornness into an art form. 

“God” Foolish groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.” 

Bad only smiled, a faint glint in his white eyes. “And yet, here I am.” 

It should’ve been terrifying two immortals locked in conflict, light and shadow across the same map. Instead, it was ridiculous. They bickered like lovers who had been trapped together for centuries, like two sides of an argument too old to die. 

“You’re literally doing this for nothing,” Foolish pressed. “Just say it, Bad. You want to be difficult because you can’t stand not being the center of attention.” 

Bad blinked slowly. “No. I just think crowns are ugly.” 

Tubbo snorted so hard he nearly spilled his drink. Beky rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath about “idiots with god complexes.” Aimsey pressed the heel of their hand into their forehead, fighting laughter and a headache all at once. 

The Kingdom of Fools and the Green Faction weren’t enemies. 

They were just fucking annoying.  

Tubbo stood and clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, enough talk inside. Come on everyone, outside.” 

They spilled out of the dim tavern into the crisp evening air. The crowd was restless, whispers swirling like autumn leaves. Tubbo led them to a clearing not far off the same place Aimsey had woken up two days ago. 

Near the edge of the clearing floated a strange sight: a large wooden block, glowing faintly with a number etched in glowing digits 10,000 alongside a ticking timer counting down. 

Tubbo cleared his throat, voice steady and serious. “These are the quests. Each faction has a task they must complete before the timer runs out.” He gestured to the floating block. “Usually, it’s gathering materials. If the deadline isn’t met…” He paused for effect, eyes scanning the crowd, “…every member of that faction loses one life.” 

“WHAT?!” Ros’s voice cracked, disbelief and anger mixing fiercely. 

“Ten thousand wood blocks?” Beky groaned, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. “Come on…” 

Aimsey started laughing, eyes sparkling with mischief as she immediately lunged for the nearest tree, swinging her arm back to chop. Beky couldn’t help but chuckle, joining her. 

Tubbo shook his head but continued, trying to keep order. “As you can see, each faction has a different quest.” He pointed at a smaller green block floating beside the main one. “Green faction needs 1,000 irons.” 

Then a glowing amber bottle floated near the yellow faction’s spot. “Yellow needs 500 honey bottles.” 

Finally, the big glowing block with 10,000 on it hovered over the blue faction’s spot. “And Blue well, you have to gather 10,000 wood logs.” 

Chapter Text

So far, the quests had been unfolding nicely. At least that was the case for the blue guys. Despise this, it still was exhausting, so far, the quests had been unfolding nicely. At least that was the case for the blue guys. Despise this, it still was exhausting, they weren’t in the terrible situation like the greens with only two members, provided that let’s just say the weren’t the army that the yellows were. 

Tubbo kicked at the dirt as they trudged along the path back from the forest, a bundle of wood slung over his shoulder. “Ten thousand logs,” he muttered. “Ten thousand. Who even counts that high?” 

“I could” Beky muttered. 

“Anyway, those look like one hundred at best, mate” Aimsey called, sprinting a few steps ahead. Their hands were empty. 

Tubbo squinted. “Oi, why are you sprinting? You’re not even carrying anything 

Aimsey turned with a grin sharp enough to cut. 

“Well, thanks you noticed. I already put a big part in the faction quest, so I’m taking a pause to watch my faction members suffer. I also must wait for the tree to grow.” 

“I can’t argue with that, but also why would they make us cut so many trees? Whoever did wants to destroy the world and we are helping them.” 

Tubbo stopped dead in his tracks, blinking. “…Okay, wow. Way to kill the vibe, Beky.” 

Aimsey snorted. “You’re saying you don’t want to question the mysterious overlords demanding deforestation?” 

“No!” Tubbo said quickly. “Well yes! But not while I’m carrying all this weight!” He adjusted the logs before another one slipped loose. “Let me suffer in peace first.” 

Tubbo lasted maybe an hour before he got bored. 

One minute he was chopping trees with all the determination of a raccoon clawing through a garbage bin, the next he was yelling something about “efficiency ratios” and “maximum wood per swing.” By the time Aimsey glanced up, Tubbo had already vanished into the hills, a diamond axe slung over his shoulder, muttering about

“solo grindset.” 

That left Aimsey standing with a pile of oak logs and a problem. 

The quest demanded spruce. Not oak, not birch, not the random sticks Tubbo insisted counted as “bonus logs.” Spruce. And there wasn’t a single spruce tree in sight. 

Beky was the one who broke the silence, arms crossed, glasses glinting in the afternoon light. 
“We’ll need to go further,” she said flatly. “The local biome is insufficient.” 

 “…Fair.” Aimsey rubbed the back of their neck. “So, what?” 

Beky’s lips curved in the faintest, most dangerous smile. “We could do a boat trip” 

The boat rocked gently at first, just the steady rhythm of Aimsey’s rowing and the soft slap of water against the hull. But halfway across, the wind picked up, turning calm ripples into sharper waves. The boat swayed harder, tilting enough that Aimsey had to grip the oars tighter to keep them steady. 

A sudden swell hit the side. The boat lurched. 

Without thinking, Beky reached across and wrapped an arm around Aimsey’s shoulders, pulling them closer to steady herself. 

Aimsey blinked, wide-eyed, caught between laughing and choking. “Uh, hi?” 

Beky’s eyes flicked up at them, sharp and teasing. “Careful there. Wouldn’t want you to ruin the balance of the craft,” she said, deliberately slow.  

“Right, balance. Totally not because you were about to tumble on me,” Aimsey shot back, cheeks heating. 

Beky smirked, squeezing just a little. “Maybe I like the view,” she murmured, letting the words hang between them. 

Aimsey swallowed, pretending to look at the horizon, but their pulse betrayed them. “Uh… sure. The, uh, view,” they mumbled, tone uneven, while trying not to lean *too* much into her arm. 

Beky laughed softly, a low, warm sound that made the boat feel a little smaller, a little closer. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.” 

“Adorable?!” Aimsey sputtered, turning slightly to glare at her, though their lips twitched. “I am not—” 

“adorable,” Beky finished for them, grinning. “Exactly.” 

Aimsey groaned but couldn’t hide their smile.  

Beky leaned back just enough to let them catch their balance, though her hand brushed Aimsey’s shoulder again on the way. “Better keep rowing, or you’ll make me do all the work,” she said.  

Aimsey rowed harder, laughing despite themselves. “Oh yeah, sure. I’d love for you to do all the work!” 

“Let's go left.” Beky said pointing.  

“Why?” Aimsey asked 

“It's more likely to find spruce.” 

“That's some made up bullshit.” Aimsey said chuckling.  

The trip wasn’t easy. The waves grew choppier as the wind picked up, and twice Aimsey nearly lost the oars when the boat lurched against hidden rocks. The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the water. 

Just when Aimsey was about to complain again, Beky leaned forward suddenly. “There.” 

On the far bank, dark green shapes loomed above the rest of the forest tall, straight, and unmistakable. Spruce. 

Aimsey grinned despite themself. “Well, damn. You were right.” 

Beky didn’t smile, but her tone softened just slightly. “Of course I was.” 

By the time they reached the shore, the air was cooler, carrying the sharp, resinous scent of spruce needles. The trees towered like spires, their branches tangled in shadow. 

Aimsey hopped out of the boat, axe in hand, and smirked at Beky. 
“Alright then. Let’s get grinding.” 

And for once, Beky didn’t argue. She just raised her own axe, sharp and deliberate, and together they stepped into the forest. 

The forest echoed with the rhythmic thwack of axes. Every now and then, a bigger chunk of wood would split with a satisfying crack, sending a spray of pine needles into the air. Aimsey’s arms ached, but the exhaustion felt… good. Focused. Grounded. And having Beky nearby, teasing, made it feel lighter somehow, almost fun. 

“Careful, Aimsey,” Beky said, ducking as he swung too close to a branch. “Or you’ll take out your own foot.” 

“Pfft,” Aimsey said, grinning despite themselves. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” 

They worked in tandem, axes rising and falling, sweat prickling their skin, muscles straining. The teasing never stopped. Beky would jab at them verbally, commenting on their form, their speed, their “cute attempts” at proper technique. And Aimsey… secretly thrived on it, laughing, poking back, letting the playful tension linger. 

By the time the sun dipped low, painting the forest in amber light, they had a sizable pile of spruce logs, each one marked with the faintest burn from friction and effort. Both were sore, both were tired, but both were smiling more than they had in days. 

Beky dusted her gloves off and leaned against a tree, watching Aimsey collapse onto a fallen log, arms spread like a triumphant, exhausted hero. 

“You survived,” she said, smirk curling her lips. 

Aimsey tilted their head, chest heaving. “Barely. But I’d say we make a good  

team, don’t we?” 

Beky’s grin widened, sharp and teasing. “Oh, absolutely.” 

The boat creaked under their combined weight as they pushed off from the spruce forest shore, the pile of freshly cut logs balanced precariously between them. Aimsey grunted with every stroke, muscles screaming in protest, while Beky sat at the stern, casually keeping the logs from tipping over. 

“Think we could have carried less?” Aimsey panted, water slapping the hull. 

Beky smirked, leaning back with her hands behind her head. “And risking not having enough wood, never” 

Aimsey stopped mid-step, waving dramatically toward a crooked little cabin tucked against the river.  

“Fair enough.” The alchemist answered. 

The rest of the trip passed with waves rocking the boat in playful rhythm. They laughed at small mistakes logs rolling, oars splashing water over the edge, and Beky mock-complaining about Aimsey’s rowing technique. Occasionally, their shoulders brushed; neither mentioned it, but neither pulled away. 

The boat bumped softly against the bank near Aimsey’s house. 

“We did it, baby,” Aimsey said, voice triumphant.  

“This is my house,” they announced proudly, then added with mock formality, “Oh hey, house. Oh, who’s that? Hello, sir.” 

Beky was already in the house 

“And my sons,” Aimsey replied without missing a beat, gesturing to two creepers in a boat hissing outside the house. “That’s Beky—yes, I named one after you, don’t ask questions—and that’s Yamon.” 

Beky stared at them flatly. “I was about to kill them, before you told me their names” 

Aimsey snorted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Right. Totally normal.” 

Aimsey trailed after, muttering, “Just going into my house, that’s fine…” 

Beky ignored them, wandering around with her usual sharp gaze.  

“Did you just set your spawn?” Aimsey asks 

“You can take a bed if you want,” Aimsey said, waving vaguely at the corner. “Just, uh, don’t break the chairs. They’re… cool.” 

Beky crouched, inspecting one of the janky stools. “You call this a chair?” 

Beky crouched in front of one of Aimsey’s chests, flicking it open without asking. Her eyes darted across the cluttered inventory like a hawk scanning prey. 

Aimsey gasped. “What are you doing? Are you stealing?” 

“I’m not stealing,” Beky replied crisply, “I’m observing. Perusing.” 

“Pererusing what?” Aimsey blinked. 

“Perusing,” Beky repeated with a smirk. 

Aimsey and Beky went separate ways, Beky took a well deserved pause, while the necromancer kept submitting woods. 

Until... 

The clink of glass echoing softly followed by approaching footsteps of a familiar purple head. They were going to submit some of the amber light bottles gained, but her gaze fell in something different. 

Aimsey bent to gather another stack of wood logs, they were all that wood that looked so heavy, their muscles flexing. Sweat glistened faintly at their temples. And Ros for some absurd reason couldn’t stop looking. The idea that the person she saved only a few days ago from monsters, the same guy who just was screaming for help, looked like that, so unbothered, so powerful... It was weird Ros spent so much time gaining her power and without any problems in less than two days... Was she behind? Was she a burden for her faction?  

The Royal Architect wasn’t exactly staring, yeah sure Aimsey had impressive muscle. But she was thinking but it sure looked like staring from the necromancer perspective. 

“Something wrong with my face?” Aimsey asked, grinning. 

“Huh?” Ros blinked. 

“Or on my shirt. You’re staring.” 

Color shot to her cheeks. “Oh, no no no, I only thought they looked pretty heavy.” 

Aimsey chuckled. "Well,” They shifted another bundle onto one shoulder “They are, but I guess it gets easier” 

“Keeping all the bees in line must be also a difficult time.” 

Beky presence silently returned, she was taking all the wood to the faction area. She overheard the last part of the conversation.  

"Aimee, they’re using bee, my theory only makes more sense." 

“See? Told you.”She muttered under her breath with a smirk, 

 "Your‘re so right, god" 

Beky disappears taking the spruce away 

"Such a clever women" Aimsey said smiling her attention then returned on the purple haired women in front of him 

"But yeah I bet the  bees must be hard work too" 

"Ros smiled, a little rueful. “Well, sure. We’ve got a lot of hands, even the king helps sometimes. But, you know…” She paused, rolling up her sleeve to show pale skin peppered with angry red welts. “I’m still full of bee stings.” 

“Fucking hell.” The words escaped before Aimsey could stop them. Their hand shot up to cover their mouth. “Sorry. I know you don’t like swearing.” 

Ros laughed, light and unbothered. “Don’t worry. But yeah… they’re pretty bad. And I’m the only one in my faction who gets this many.” 

"Bee don't like you" Aimsey said giggling 

“I guess they don't” Ros said putting on a half-smile.