Chapter Text
The war was over.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the server was quiet. Lettuce had fallen, his tyrannical reign finally brought to an end by the combined efforts of those who had refused to bow. The makeshift base that had served as their headquarters for the past month was now filled with something none of them had felt in weeks: peace.
Well, almost all of them.
Parrot sat perched on a raised platform near the center of the room, his broken wings tucked carefully against his sides as he reviewed the last of the post-war reports. Despite the victory, his sharp avian eyes never stopped moving, always calculating, always planning. That was simply how he was built. Lettuce might be gone, but that didn’t mean threats didn’t still exist.
Theo was sprawled across a nearby couch, his own wings draped over the edges as he dozed. Unlike Parrot, Theo had no trouble relaxing. The battle had been won, and in his mind, that meant it was time to rest until the next fight came along. Simple as that.
Spoke was fiddling with some kind of trap mechanism at a workbench, occasionally letting out a soft chuckle as he tested a new spring-loaded design. The voidling’s dark form seemed to shift and ripple with amusement as the contraption snapped shut on empty air. “Beautiful,” he muttered to himself.
Egg sat in a corner, a worn leather journal balanced on his knee, a quill scratching softly against the page as he documented the events of what everyone was already calling the Lettuce Arc. He was a writer, not a fighter, but he’d been there through it all, recording everything. His calm, observant gaze occasionally lifted to scan the room, cataloging the state of his friends.
And then there was Wemmbu.
The chaotic end dragon hybrid was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, his claws clicking against the stone floor with each step. His wings, a beautiful mix of deep purple and black, twitched irritably behind him. He wasn’t sure why he was so restless. The fighting was done. They’d won. Everything should have felt great.
But something was nagging at him. Something he couldn’t quite name.
His golden eyes kept drifting to the far corner of the room, where a figure sat alone, separated from the rest of them by at least twenty feet of empty space.
Flame.
The wolf blaze hybrid hadn’t moved from that spot in hours. He sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn up slightly, one arm resting across them. A strip of dark fabric was tied securely over his eyes—he never took it off, not around anyone—hiding the mismatched eyes beneath. Left eye hazel, right eye red. Not that anyone had seen them. Not that anyone was allowed to.
The orange and yellow fur that marked him as Netherborn seemed dull in the dim light of the overworld base, and his normally alert ears were flattened slightly against his skull. Despite the blindfold, he seemed to be staring at something only he could see.
Wemmbu’s jaw tightened.
Of course Flame was off by himself. Of course he wasn’t celebrating with the rest of them. That was just how Flame was—distant, cold, untouchable. The two of them had never gotten along, not really. There was an unspoken rivalry between them, a constant push and pull for the top spot in combat. Flame was better—Wemmbu hated admitting it, but it was true—and that fact grated on him every time they trained together.
But it was more than that. Flame looked at everyone like they were beneath him. Like he was better than them. Like he didn’t need anyone.
So why couldn’t Wemmbu stop looking at him?
“What’s eating you?”
The voice came from beside him, and Wemmbu startled slightly. Egg had somehow materialized at his elbow without making a sound. The calm hybrid closed his journal and tucked his quill behind his ear, following Wemmbu’s gaze to the isolated figure across the room.
“Nothing,” Wemmbu said quickly, maybe too quickly. “I’m not eating anything. I’m pacing.”
Egg’s lips quirked in that quiet, knowing way of his. “You’ve been watching him all night.”
“I’ve been watching the room. General awareness. Parrot says it’s important.”
“Parrot says a lot of things.” Egg’s dark eyes were gentle but perceptive. “You’re worried about him.”
Wemmbu opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it. He wasn’t good at feelings. Never had been. Feelings were complicated and messy, and Wemmbu preferred things that were simple. Fighting was simple. Protecting his friends was simple. His rivalry with Flame—constantly trying to prove himself, constantly falling short—that was simple too.
This... whatever this was, twisting in his chest every time he looked at Flame sitting alone... this was not simple.
“He’s been like that since Lettuce fell,” Wemmbu finally said, keeping his voice low. “Shouldn’t he be happy? We won. The bad guy is gone. Everyone’s celebrating.” He gestured vaguely at Theo, who had started snoring. “Well, everyone who celebrates by sleeping, anyway.”
Egg hummed softly, a noncommittal sound. “Victory doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone. Some people...” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Some people carry their battles with them long after the fighting stops.”
Wemmbu frowned, processing that. He looked back at Flame, really looked this time. The Netherborn’s shoulders were tense, hunched forward in a way that suggested he was trying to make himself smaller. His breathing seemed shallow, uneven. And every few seconds, his head would tilt slightly, as if listening for something—or someone—in the shadows.
He looked, Wemmbu realized with a jolt, exactly the way Wemmbu himself had looked after particularly bad nightmares when he was younger. Scared. Alone.
But Flame wasn’t scared. Flame was the best fighter any of them had ever seen, second only to Clownpierce himself. Flame didn’t get scared.
Did he?
“He’s not alone, though,” Wemmbu said, almost to himself. “We’re right here.”
Egg didn’t answer, but his silence said enough.
Across the room, Flame suddenly flinched. It was small, barely perceptible, but Wemmbu caught it. Something had startled him—a log shifting in the fire pit, maybe, or a distant sound only his Netherborn ears could detect. For just a moment, his hand moved to where his sword usually hung at his hip, grasping at empty air.
Then, as quickly as it had happened, he forced himself still again. Forced his expression blank. Forced himself to look like nothing was wrong.
The blindfold made it harder to read him. It always did. Without being able to see his eyes, everything else became a guessing game. Was he angry? Sad? Scared? Wemmbu had no idea.
And for some reason, that bothered him more than it should have.
Wemmbu took a step toward the corner. Then stopped.
What was he doing? He and Flame weren’t friends. They were rivals. Competitors. The closest thing they had to conversations were arguments about training techniques or silent glares across the battlefield. Wemmbu couldn’t just walk over there and... what? Ask if he was okay?
They didn’t do that. They didn’t do any of that.
So Wemmbu stayed where he was, watching from across the room as Flame sat alone with whatever demons were haunting him.
Egg watched them both, said nothing, and wrote something in his journal.
Morning came slowly to the overworld base.
The celebrations had died down sometime in the early hours, leaving behind a scattered collection of sleeping hybrids and the quiet crackle of the dying fire. Theo had somehow migrated from the couch to the floor, one wing draped over his face to block out the light filtering through the windows. Spoke had abandoned his trap workbench and curled up in a corner, his voidling form occasionally flickering as he dreamed.
Egg was already awake, naturally. The quiet hybrid sat in the same spot as the night before, journal open on his knee, recording the peaceful scene with quick, efficient strokes of his quill. He glanced toward the far corner of the room and noted that Flame was no longer there. Hadn’t been there when Egg woke up. Probably had retreated to his room sometime in the night, as he always did.
Wemmbu was still asleep near the window, his wings wrapped around himself like a cocoon. Egg smiled slightly. For someone so chaotic and energetic, Wemmbu slept surprisingly peacefully.
The peaceful silence was shattered by the sound of wings.
Parrot landed heavily on the raised platform at the center of the room, his broken wings folding awkwardly against his sides. Despite their condition, he still managed to move with purpose and authority. His sharp eyes swept across the room, taking in the sleeping forms and the dying fire.
“Everyone up,” he called, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “Meeting in ten minutes. This isn’t optional.”
Theo groaned from the floor, rolling over and pulling his wing tighter over his face. “Five more minutes.”
“Now, Theo.”
Something in Parrot’s tone made even Theo sit up, rubbing his eyes groggily. Spoke’s form solidified from its flickering state, and he stretched with an exaggerated yawn. “What’s the emergency? Did someone burn breakfast?”
“No one’s burned anything,” Parrot said flatly. “Yet. Get yourselves together. This is important.”
Wemmbu untangled himself from his wings, blinking sleepily. “Where’s Flame? Shouldn’t he be at this meeting too?”
“I’ll fetch him. You all get ready.” Parrot hopped down from the platform and made his way toward the corridor leading to the sleeping quarters.
Ten minutes later, they were all gathered around the central platform. Theo was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Spoke was fiddling with a small contraption in his hands. Egg had settled into his usual observational spot slightly apart from the others. Wemmbu stood with his arms crossed, trying to look alert.
Flame stood at the edge of the group, as far from the others as possible while still being in the same room. The blindfold was firmly in place, revealing nothing. His posture was rigid, controlled. Waiting.
Parrot wasted no time.
“I’ve received troubling reports from the Nether,” he began, his voice grave. “Multiple sources confirm that Clownpierce and Ferre are using the aftermath of the Lettuce Arc to consolidate power. They’re fortifying positions, gathering resources, and building an army.”
Theo’s drowsiness evaporated instantly. “Clownpierce? I thought he was just... you know. Doing his own thing in the Nether. Not bothering anyone.”
“He’s bothering everyone now,” Parrot said. “The Nether sits at a strategic crossroads. Control of the Nether means control of key travel routes, access to unlimited resources, and a staging ground for attacks on the overworld. If Clownpierce is allowed to entrench himself, it’s only a matter of time before he becomes the next Lettuce. Worse, possibly.”
Spoke’s contraption clicked shut in his hands. “So what’s the plan? We go in there and flush him out?”
“Yes.” Parrot’s answer was immediate. “But not blindly. We need intelligence. We need strategy. And most importantly...” His eyes swept across the group and landed on Flame. “We need someone who knows the Nether. Someone who understands its terrain, its dangers, and its people.”
Every head turned toward Flame.
The Netherborn didn’t move. Didn’t react. The blindfold revealed nothing.
“Flame,” Parrot continued, his voice softening slightly—a rare occurrence. “You’re Netherborn. You grew up there. You served in Clown’s army. You know the layout of his strongholds, the patrol routes, the weaknesses in his defenses. We can’t do this without you.”
Silence.
The weight of expectation hung heavy in the air. Theo looked hopeful. Spoke looked curious. Egg looked thoughtful. Wemmbu looked at Flame, trying to read something—anything—in that blank, blindfolded face.
Flame’s voice, when it finally came, was quiet but firm.
“No.”
Parrot’s feathers ruffled slightly—a tell he couldn’t quite control. “No?”
“I’m not going back to the Nether.” Flame’s hands, hanging at his sides, curled into fists. “Find another way.”
“Flame—”
“I said no.”
The finality in his voice was absolute. Unmoveable. Like a door slamming shut.
Theo’s hopeful expression crumpled into confusion. “Wait, what? But you’re the only one who—”
“I’m aware of what I am.” Flame’s voice was colder now, edges sharp as broken glass. “That doesn’t mean I have to go back there.”
Spoke let out a low whistle. “Damn. I knew you two had history, but I didn’t think it was ‘refuse to help your friends’ history.”
“It’s not about history.” Flame turned slightly, his blindfolded gaze finding Spoke with unsettling accuracy. “It’s about not walking willingly into a place where I have no intention of going.”
Wemmbu found himself stepping forward before he could stop himself. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re talking about stopping Clownpierce before he becomes a real threat. You know him better than anyone. You could—”
“I could what?” Flame’s voice rose for the first time, a flicker of something raw beneath the ice. “Lead you through every nightmare I spent months trying to escape? Hold your hand while we walk past the places where I lost everything?” He stopped, visibly forcing himself back under control. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet once more. “No. I won’t do it. Don’t ask me again.”
He turned and walked away before anyone could respond, disappearing into the corridor that led to the sleeping quarters.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
Theo was the first to break it. “Okay, what the heck was that? I thought he wanted Clownpierce gone as much as we do.”
“Maybe he does,” Egg said quietly. “That doesn’t mean he’s ready to face him.”
Spoke snorted. “Ready? He’s the best fighter among us. If anyone’s ready, it’s him. He’s just being difficult. You know how he is—always keeping everyone at arm’s length, acting like he’s better than us.”
“He doesn’t act like he’s better,” Wemmbu said, surprising himself. “He acts like he doesn’t belong. There’s a difference.”
Everyone stared at him.
Wemmbu felt heat rise to his face. “What? I’m just saying. Maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t want to go back. Maybe it’s not about being difficult.”
“Since when do you defend Flame?” Theo asked, genuinely confused. “I thought you two were rivals. Always at each other’s throats.”
“We are.” Wemmbu crossed his arms defensively. “That doesn’t mean I can’t notice things. And I noticed he looked...” He trailed off, unsure how to phrase it. Scared? Broken? Haunted? None of those words fit the Flame everyone else saw.
But Wemmbu had seen it. In that moment before Flame walked away, Wemmbu had seen something raw and wounded in the set of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw.
“Looked what?” Spoke prompted.
“Nothing.” Wemmbu shook his head. “Forget it.”
Parrot had been silent throughout the exchange, his sharp eyes thoughtful. Now he spoke, his voice measured and calm. “Flame’s reaction was... extreme. That suggests there’s more to his refusal than simple stubbornness. Unfortunately, that doesn’t change our situation. We still need him. Without his knowledge of the Nether, our chances of success drop significantly.”
“So what do we do?” Theo asked. “We can’t force him to go.”
“No,” Parrot agreed. “But we can try to understand why he won’t. And maybe, if we understand, we can find a way to convince him.”
Egg’s quill had stopped moving. He looked up, meeting Parrot’s gaze. “You want someone to talk to him.”
“I want all of you to try. Gently. No pressure, no demands.” Parrot’s eyes swept the group. “Find out what happened to him in the Nether. Find out why the mere mention of going back affects him like this.”
Spoke shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not exactly the ‘gentle talk’ type. My approach is more... trap-based.”
“Mine involves explosions,” Theo added.
“Mine involves observing and recording,” Egg said calmly. “Which I’m happy to do, but I don’t think I’m the right person for this particular conversation.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to Wemmbu.
He blinked. “What? Why are you all looking at me?”
“You noticed something,” Parrot pointed out. “When he walked away, you saw something the rest of us missed. That means you’re paying attention in a way we aren’t.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Just try,” Theo said, surprisingly earnest. “Please? We really need him for this.”
Wemmbu looked toward the corridor where Flame had disappeared. He thought about the flinch he’d seen the night before, the way Flame’s hand had reached for a sword that wasn’t there. He thought about the raw edge in Flame’s voice when he’d said “every nightmare I spent months trying to escape.”
He thought about how alone Flame always looked, even in a room full of people.
“Fine,” Wemmbu said, the word dragging out of him like it was physically painful. “I’ll try. But don’t expect miracles.”
“Noted.” Parrot nodded approvingly. “The rest of you, start preparing. Gather supplies, review what intelligence we do have about the Nether, and get some rest. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
The group dispersed, each to their own tasks. Theo headed for the storage room to check his TNT minecart supply. Spoke retreated to his workbench, already muttering about trap designs. Egg settled back into his corner, journal open once more.
Wemmbu stood alone for a long moment, staring down the corridor where Flame had gone.
What was he supposed to say? Hey, remember how we’re rivals and constantly compete for the top PvP spot? Well, now I’ve been volunteered to poke at your deepest trauma. Hope that’s cool.
He groaned softly and started walking.