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It was one claw, creeping its way around his waist that brought him to waking. As Osiris groaned, Ara drew closer, tangling fingers into Osiris’s unkempt braid.
“Go play with a hoglin,” Osiris mumbled.
Ara hummed, butting their head against his shoulder as Osiris grumbled, reluctant to move. With a soft chuckle, his mate pressed a snout to his tusk, then rose, taking care not to rouse the younglins and other piglins scattered, sleeping, around the floor.
Osiris remained on the soft, packed earth for a few more minutes, if only to be stubborn, before reluctantly getting to his hooves, scratching the dirt from his hair as he tiptoed through the crowd. A sow stirred as his hoof clipped her ear, causing a watching brute to glare at him as he hurriedly walked by, out of the sleeping chamber and into the large, central hall of the bastion.
Osiris took in a deep breath, tasting an air full of heat and lava and meat. The waking cycle was still early, but most of the tribe was awake, congregated in a loose circle by one of the cooking fires. He caught sight of Ara, a bowl on their knee, head bowed. They were giving a prayer to Sweev again, he thought with an edge of amusement, not that Sweev would listen to the thoughts of piglins.
He tore his eyes away from his mate and searched the congregation for Tyr. Best to see the chief before planning the rest of his cycle. The chief’s mate, Eryx, he saw easily enough; the gold encircling her skull and cascading like lava through her hair was bright enough to see even through a soul sand fog. Tyr, however, was nowhere in sight. Perhaps resting in another one of the sleeping chambers of the bastion, or convening with another tribe’s chief.
Ara raised their head and caught his eyes. With one last glance around, Osiris started towards his mate.
This bastion was one of the smaller ones the tribe had occupied. There were two sleeping chambers, a large, central dining room, and a storage area, but no hoglin stable, or even a Sweev shrine. It was situated in a prime location, however; there were builder’s in the area, simultaneously making it very dangerous to travel, and potentially lucrative for trade. Osiris had anticipated Tyr accompanying him to trade later that cycle, but with the chief not around, Osiris was more than happy to instead attend to his own business.
“Always such a mess when you sleep,” His mate teased as he sat down, reaching over to tug at his braid. “Plebian. Ignoble.”
“If I am such a sight, leave me.”
“You wish,” Ara laughed. “What life of luxury could I have otherwise?”
“One born out of my courtship gifts, I presume.” Osiris said, passing a nod to Cybele as she sat near them; not a part of their circle, but allowed close. “Charon still asleep?” He questioned.
“Yes. Refused to wake,” Cybele answered, not meeting his eyes.
Ara cut in. “All you scholars the same: big brain, too heavy to lift. Sleep and explore, all you do; all you know.”
“Funny,” Osiris snarled, baring his teeth. Ara only laughed at him.
They ate. Ara combed out and braided Osiris’s hair, humming softly as Osiris nibbled on a pork steak, studying one of the baubles he traded with the builders for. Osiris felt familiar weights tug at the strands and quietly grunted, but didn’t protest as his mate wove gold into his locks. He’d long since learned not to argue with Ara when the warrior wished to spoil him. When the last of the beads and golden strings had made their way into the intricate pattern of braids, Ara rewarded his patience with another kiss, and stole the last piece of pork from the scholar’s hand.
“Exploring again, husband?”
“I wish to be by the builder’s portals,” Osiris admitted, seeing a frown cross the warrior’s face.
“I cannot come with you,” Ara murmured. “There will be a hunt today.”
“So I will greet you on your return.”
Ara studied him, as if searching for a lie on his features. Osiris kept his expression still, meeting Ara’s eyes without hesitation. “You shouldn’t be near the builders alone,” Ara said, their voice low and disapproving.
“I won’t approach them.” Osiris gave him a sly look. “I’ll behave.”
Ara snorted. “You? Behave, stay out of trouble? Lie to my face, more like it.”
His mate leaned toward him, touching foreheads. Tusks gently pressed against the other’s as they embraced.
“Come back safely,” Ara whispered to him. “Be wary of the undying.”
“As always.” Osiris promised.
Obsidian. Arranged in a rectangular, upright pattern, a film of purple light swirling across the open space. It hummed, in no melody he had heard before . The light, violet particles fell around the doorway like ashen rain. Osiris studied it, carefully marking every detail in his mind. One claw tapped against the gold sword hanging from his hip. He had no worry of being attacked, safe within the walls erected around this portal, so he was free to take his time: take in every piece of information that could be gathered. For Osiris, there was no greater luxury.
These were the entrances the builders arrived from. Some said there was a desolate wasteland laying beyond; worse even than the basalt deltas; worse than the deepest warped forest, with the tribes of wraiths known to pick and consume a brute’s flesh in seconds. Other stories spoke of a place with only the undying, immortal builders that killed any Piglin who dared step hoof through their doorway.
Osiris knew all of the theories. It was his life, after all. To be the family’s historian could be no higher honor; remembering every story that made his tribe what they were. He was the one who spoke to the builders who approached, in their jarringly rough language. He was the one who traded with them as well, buying more gold and materials for his tribe. These- he drew a claw through the purple film, frowning as the particles flurried and melded around the digit- were one of the greatest mysteries of his race.
All his life, he had heard the theories. This was the day that he would prove them true, or false.
He had food -red mushrooms and a few pieces of hoglin meat in his bag- along with his cache of gold- something no piglin went anywhere without. His sword hung from the hoglin hide sheath at his waist. He was as prepared as he could ever be.
Osiris steadied his nerves, scratching behind his ears as he started towards the gently humming portal. Charon was a fine successor for him, he knew. The boy was strong, quick to learn. If Osiris didn’t return from this exploration- a possibility he refused to indulge in- the boy would do well in his place.
He took a deep breath, and stepped into the gently glowing portal. The world started to swirl away, and he closed his eyes, feeling his surroundings begin to meld into something different. Something new.
Curiosity killed the pig, but Osiris believed the knowledge gained would live on.
Bright. His first thought was how bright it was in this world. Osiris shielded his eyes, stepping forward only inches as he felt obsidian meld into a different hard surface. As his eyes adjusted, he saw cobblestone under his hooves. Only builder’s used such material. His heart beat faster, almost pounding in his chest.
He was in the builders’ world.
Osiris stepped down from the dais the portal had been built upon, gazing around at the grey room with open curiosity. He was underground. Netherrack and magma peppered the flooring around the platform, undercut with more cobblestone and obsidian blocks.
He took a deep breath, tasting the air. It was strange. There was a slew of unfamiliar scents on his tongue, and an absence of familiar ones; no ash, no rock. No fire even. The closest he could compare it to was a warped forest with no mushrooms. The air nearly froze in his lungs.
Osiris was used to heat; it was all he’d ever known. The feeling of frost, of cold was new, and he marked the sensation diligently.
On one side of the room, a blue, liquid-like substance trickled down from a hole in the ceiling, which also let in most of the brightness that had blinded him. It flowed like running lava, if thinner, and if Osiris had to guess, he would say it would be cold like the air, as if simply to be opposite his home.
As he took another step forward, Osiris realized that he was shaking.
The chill had sunk into his skin. He was freezing. His sword clattered to the floor, slipping from his hands- when had he drawn it? Why had he dropped it- and Osiris gazed down at his trembling hooves, blinking. His vision seemed to blur, or maybe focus- all he could see was his hooves, shaking and stiff. He tried to move his claws, and couldn’t.
There was a rushing of air, fast and frequent like a pant, and Osiris realized it was him, breathing as though he couldn’t get enough air. His heartbeat, which he had thought had been pounding before, seeming thunderous, like a thousand hoglins trampling over fresh basalt, all in his chest at once, racing and writhing and thrashing to break through.
He was going to die here.
Turning, Osrisis rushed for the portal, but his legs gave out on him, sending him crashing down on the stone stairs. He was so weak, so cold. His limbs wouldn’t move, as he strained to crawl towards the portal; back towards life, just as this place became death.
Claws scratched at stone, feebly scrabbling to make it back home, but he was too weak. His mind raced even as it left him, swirling down into the void that shuddered across his brain, swallowing everything, leaving nothing. Osiris whimpered, before even that identity was lost to him too, his name disappearing along with a thousand others. Charon, Ara, they all swirled away like lava trickling over stone, gone. Gone. Gone.
Just as he started to fall completely into the void, he caught noise from beside him. Different from the portal’s hum, a calling that he would never be able to answer. Different than the darkness that welled over him. With the last of his strength, he raised his head.
He blinked, catching something moving in his bleary vision. It was with dim surprise that he recognized the sword pointed at his face. That he could recognize it, with the fogginess that had bloomed over his eyes, his mouth. The builder holding it spoke, but he could not hear. Everything was blurred; his head grew heavy even as it emptied.
“Don’t... kill…” he rasped out in common, before those words left him too. He dropped to the stone, limp, his body a trembling, sweating mess at the builder’s feet. Frozen.
His vision went black.
They woke up to a bottle pressed against their mouth, and a hand roughly shaking his shoulder, urging him back to waking. Words were spoken, not by them, but they slid over his brain like… like an image they could no longer recall.
They opened their eyes, but only briefly, clenching them shut with a wince and turning their face away. Bright. Too bright. Pain.
“You don’t look injured anywhere,” Someone mumbled. “I don’t have another splash potion though. C’mon, just try to drink it? It shouldn’t hurt you, at least.”
Something touched their cheek, and brought their face back forward. The bottle pressed against their lips, urging, and without really being conscious of doing so, they let their mouth open.
The taste of saccharine spread across their tongue, so sweet and unfamiliar they nearly jerked away. Warmth spread down their throat and radiated through their body, like a gentle roll of lava. Without truly knowing why, they felt something ease in them at the heat; they had been cold, so cold.
The taste reminded them of gold.
“That’s it,” The voice said, sounding relieved. “Can you take another one? Uh, I think we better stop with two though, I don’t know if there’s a toxic limit on these things.”
They took a deep breath, opening their eyes. The brightness was much more tolerable now. Their eyes focused on the pink bottle the other held in front of them, a healing potion, from the look of it. They took another deep breath, feeling the cool air fill their lungs, the action feeling strange, for some odd reason.
As they made to sit up, the other being put one arm around his shoulders, helping them as they gave out halfway through the action, and letting them lean nearly limp against the other’s body.
“One more,” The being encouraged.
With a grunt, they took the potion, balancing the oddly shaped bottle in his claws with difficulty, and drank it down, reveling in the heat that rolled over their shoulders.
“Good,” the builder said, seeming relieved as he plucked the bottle out of their claws. “You’re getting a little bit of color back, at least. How are you feeling?”
Their ears twitched as they studied the builder, smiling as though he was already vaguely regretting something. A younglin, if his face and manner were anything to go by. He had asked something, they knew, but the words were stunted and unfamiliar, rolling over their mind with no meaning.
They let their eyes fall to the rest of the room, taking in the new sights with a clinical form; chests and barrels, a fireplace. A painting of some sort, hanging beside two overly large sticks- weapons, they guessed. The bright light had come from a lantern, swaying slightly from a hook implanted into the stone just beside their head. The builder nearly hit it as he leaned back, seeing they were strong enough to sit up alone.
“I don’t do this a lot, you know?” The builder spoke up, setting the potion bottle on a nearby table. “The healing other people thing, I mean. If I need healing, I just chug them or die and wake up. I don’t know, uh... How they affect piglins.”
They stared at him blankly.
“You are a piglin, right?”
They snorted, snout twitching as they squinted at the builder. The words had sounded like a question, but they weren’t sure how they’d be expected to answer.
“Right, dumb question,” The builder said. “Uh, can you talk? Talk like-”
They watched as the builder made an odd gesture with his hand, tapping his thumb with his other fingers, and it took him a moment to decipher. They opened their mouth, but all that came out was something like a groan, his tongue slow and heavy, unwilling to form anything like the sharpness of the piglin speech.
“That doesn’t even sound like testificate,” The builder said, a note of exasperation in his voice. “Or common. And I’ve heard piglins speak, I think, and that’s not like it.”
They tried to speak again, but closed their mouth after opening it, unable to even think of words to say. They felt slow. Wrong, in some way. They looked down at their hooves, clenching and unclenching the shaking claws, trying to search for what had changed, but finding nothing.
“You’re still shaking,” The builder murmured, drawing his gaze again. “Are you… cold?” he made a strange gesture, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing each shoulder.
After a moment of hesitation, they imitated the gesture, not quite sure the point of it.
“Cold,” The builder repeated. “I’ll- let me get you a blanket. Queen gave me some nice knitted ones, they’re really warm, and if you want, I can-” The builder slumped, letting out a sigh. “You can’t understand a word I’m saying,” He mumbled.
“Co-ld,” They said out loud, struggling to get the word out. The builder perked up. “Cold. Cold.”
“That’s right, like,” the builder made the gesture again. “Brrr. Cold.”
“Brr, cold,” They imitated dutifully.
“Now you’ve got it,” The builder said, patting his shoulder before wincing. “You… are built like a brick. I’ll be right back, okay? Right back.”
They watched as the builder stood up, then pointed towards the ceiling, repeating, “Right back,” before backing away. The piglin watched as he hesitated, then bounded up the stone stairs, following his movement as the footsteps pounded above their head before fading away.
“Cold,” They said again, tasting the word on their tongue. “Brr.”
After a moment of searching, he connected it with the sensation of chill sinking back into his limbs- cold. It slinked into his claws like a strangling vine, grazing his exposed skin, increasing the tremors rattling through him. A thin sheet covered the bedding underneath them, but they discarded the idea to focus on the fire crackling in the hearth. Its warmth was perceptible even from here, a gentle, soothing heat that called to them, tempting them closer. They hesitated, glancing up to where the builder had disappeared.
The builder didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered right then was the warmth.
Before they could let themself think about it, they fumbled to the edge of the bed, touching the ground before bracing themself to stand. Their legs felt weak, unsure, and their hooves sunk worryingly deep into the soft material of the flooring. They gritted their teeth, digging their claws into the crafting table at their hip to keep themselves upright, breathing deeply as they got their bearings.
As they started across the room, the sound of returning footsteps started from above, and the builder let out what was obviously a curse as he rushed across the room.
“Don’t fall-” The builder reached them right as they started to collapse, and they leaned into him gratefully. “Don’t hurt yourself?” He said, half a chide and half a question. “What were you- no, let’s… okay, let’s get you closer to the fire.” They did their best to move their numb hooves as the builder dragged him further, grip tightening as they began to slip. “Built like a brick, ” He griped.
They both collapsed onto the floor, thankfully, close enough to the fire that the piglin let out an audible sigh and turned their face towards it, feeling the heat start to sink into their skin. The builder wiggled away from them, unfolding the blankets over one arm.
“I got two,” he murmured, placing them one by one around the piglin. The weight of the fabric was an instant relief. They found themself leaning forward, hunching over towards the burning timber and basking in the building warmth the blankets brought over their shoulders.
“What were you doing?” The builder said after a moment.
It took them a moment to puzzle out the question in his voice. “Cold,” They mumbled.
The builder shook his head sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s like winter up here, especially compared to the Nether, I bet.” He adjusted the blankets, drawing them tighter around their shoulders. “I’ll help you back when you get strong enough,” he added, and though they couldn’t understand his words, his voice was a promise, and the piglin nodded.
The builder shifted, leaning back and crossing his legs. They felt his gaze on them, but didn’t move; didn’t bother.
“Do you have a name?” the builder murmured. At the piglin’s look, he grimaced, and pointed to himself. “My name’s Phoenix.” He said. “Phoenix.”
They gave a tired nod, repeating the word.
‘Phoenix’ nodded back, and pointed to them.
They opened their mouth again, but like before, snapped it shut without answering. A name. The builder wanted a name, but where there was once a title was only a black spot; a hole, piercing and deep as to make sure they knew something had once been there. They searched, but there was no answer but silence.
They couldn’t remember their own name.
Mistaking his hesitation for misunderstanding, Phoenix pointed to himself again, but before he could play that hoglin and strider show again, the piglin snarled, baring their teeth at him before turning back and staring at the fire. Phoenix looked at them for a few moments, eyes wide.
“...Do you have one?”
The piglin didn’t answer. After a moment, they felt the builder hesitantly touch their shoulder, squeezing tightly before letting his hand drop. “You can stay here for a while, if you need to,” Phoenix murmured. “I don’t know what happened to you, if there was some trouble where you were, and you had to run here, but… It will work out. Don’t uh, worry, okay?”
Despite recognizing the assurance meant to be given through the words, they felt none of it. All they could do was probe at the empty void that was their memories, searching. A name, a home. A life. Maybe they had never had one in the first place. Maybe they’d once been something great, something wonderful. Who could tell? The builder obviously didn’t know, and even if he did, they couldn’t understand a word of what he said.
They let out a shuddering sigh, closing their eyes. Phoenix patted their shoulder again and leaned back, resting his weight on his palms as he watched the piglin. There was silence between the pair; the builder seemed to have finally talked himself out, which was fine with them. They couldn’t imagine trying to puzzle out anything he’d have to say right then.
They had never felt so alone.