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The castle stood quivering under her boots.

Dream stood in her foyer, staring with his porcelain mask and languid posture.

“Y’know,” he started, voice welcoming and gentle. The lilt he rasped each word with made it seem as though his speech was a joke, though Eret saw through it and the man standing behind him (introduced prior as a ‘friend’ but in all realities, manpower to subdue her).

(The best poison was the sweetest.

And Dream was ever so sweet. If she bit into his skin, ripe juices would flow, his bones would glisten brighter than ivory, his lies would slip over the floor and pool in the crevices of the stone. His cherry lips and caramel smile would loom over her, even with his body under the dirt, soil filling his veins.)

“To have a castle, you need to be a king.”

He smiled at her. She smiled back.

“Not only kings can afford such,” Eret responded. “I understand it must be difficult for you, Dream.”

There was a bemused laugh and a cocky head tilt. “What?”

The setting sun cast a shadow over the grounds. Eret had yet to install any lighting more significant than a sparse torch, so the foyer was dark and melancholic. The last few rays of light slipped through the over-door windows and cast shadows over the walls. Dream’s own silhouette was illuminated against the wall, towering over Eret’s own, curling around her and pressing her down against the stone.

His shadow laughed with sharp teeth. Eret’s stared back with glowing eyes whiter than quartz itself.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel inadequate,” she continued on, smiling kindly whilst placing the strings. She looped them around his limbs and tied them neatly with pretty little bows, tangling up his string of fate and peering at it with a keen gaze.

Her shadow played with a spinning wheel. It unthreaded the sting and tugged the fibres into the wood and ran it over and over and over, putting it back together shoddily and fraying it. Once the thread was dimmed and no longer red, but instead the hue of a muddied peach, it released it and dragged over the limp thing to wrap around Dream’s shadow.

“It must be difficult for an Admin to have no land or property,” Eret hummed. “Although, perhaps you should’ve thought about that when you offered others a free bite.”

Dream had stiffened. His shadow didn’t dare move, too fretful that any sudden fumbling would further destroy the string.

The String of Fate was an important thing. It dictated one’s life, should they let it. Each god had the chance to look at their own and decide if they would be bound to it – if one liked what they saw, often it was kept. In Dream’s case, he had very much liked the tethered chance of fate that he would get.

The loophole to the threads was paramount for success. It was how they still managed to screw over people.

Even if you liked your fate and chose your string, if someone who played a major part in your story chose not to wrap their finger around their own thread, it could derail everything.

Technoblade had not chosen his thread. Philza had been born mortal and not given the chance to pick, though Lady Death had grabbed him after his thread was cut and so it no longer affected him. Foolish had been spawned as a lower Totem, destined to fight until the death, though an incident had given him choice and chance, and he had taken it.

Eret was gifted life by prosperity. Brine guided her soul into a body, nurtured her to health and cradled her in place of a womb. Eret was born godly. She was born chaos. She was picked.

Thus, Eret did not chose her thread. Brine had warned her of the stories and the three witches’ games. Told her how they murmured over the spindle at night, clutching their shears tight and grinning.

A holy feat; Eret was of Brine. She was given greatness wherever she went. A string was unnecessary for her.

The heavens opened for her touch. Aether melded for her wants. The Nether gifted her a crown of jewels and gold, netherwart growing where she stepped. The End gave her crystals; glowing spectres of light that proved a difficult attempt to match the bloom of her eyes.

In truth, everything Eret had ever wanted had been given to her. She was special; raised above all, gifted beyond the reach of even the mightiest god. Khorne had marked her an enemy until his vessel befriended her. Even Lady Death was wary, before Philza found shelter in her lands one dreary millennia.

Foolish had been the only one she’d ever had to chase after.

“Totem,” she’d called, rising from her seat at the pantheon. There had been a period of time where she’d deigned to sit with the other gods, laughing at how weak and pitiful they all were. Foolish had been a general reporting on a war, stood before the rows of weakling gods (commonly referred to as godlings) and standing unfaltering. This alone, the lack of stuttering, the refusal to kneel, had caught her eye. “Take an audience with me.”

“No, ma’am,” he’d shook his head, unstopping in his brisk gait for the door. Eret felt her eyes widen as she followed him down onto the floor, barely able to catch him in the large foyer. “I can’t. I have a war to get back to.”

“How dedicated,” she intoned, desperately pleased to find someone interesting amidst the white clouds and blue skies. “Why don’t you tour me around?”

“You wouldn’t last an hour,” Totem did not turn but she heard the sneer in his voice. Eret caught his wrist and tugged him back just as he was about to touch the doors.

“Take me with you, General,” she leered.

The General snarled but was no match for a true godly being’s want.

He took her around the battlefields of blood and decay. They lingered at the sites of massacre, Totem pointing out the crows of Death Herself – a goddess Eret had only seen in snide glances, as She, much like the other strong gods, did not wish to meddle much with the pantheon or others.

There was a general trait amongst the strongest of the worlds; they didn’t like to interfere.

Eret, on the opposite hand, loved to impede upon production. Annoying lower gods was especially fun. Sitting in the throne of the pantheon brought her the most interesting news, and it had more than one godling kneeling at her feet. Sure, they hated her, but that was all the more fun.

No one would dare attack the Child of Brine.

“And these are your quarters?” She asked rhetorically, looking around a shabby tent. It was canvas, with a bucket in the corner to catch the drips of a hole. The wind echoed around them, howling through the flaps of other tents due to the army’s unsteady encampment upon a mountainside.

“Not up to your tastes?” Totem had sneered.

With a low-lying goatskin cot in the corner and a wooden barrel for a table, he hadn’t expected her to grin.

“It’s splendid,” she cooed, terribly excited as she was terribly insensitive. The General had stared at her as she fawned over the atmosphere, feasting upon the fear of the soldiers who fought, drinking up their anxiety and worry, bloating herself on the stench of emotions that came when one was near death.

She understood why the Lady loved to visit battlefields, in that moment.

Eret understood and wanted it for herself.

“Totem,” she declared, turning to his angry glare. “Be mine.”

“No, ma’am,” he said again.

“I don’t think you understand,” Eret laughed. “Let me play with you, General Totem.”

“You don’t even know my name, selfish godling.”

“I am no godling,” she dismissed. “And if that is your sole worry, tell me your name now.”

Totem looked disgusted. “No, ma’am. I will not. Leave my camp.”

“And if I say no, sir,” she mocked his respectful tone. “What will you do?”

A golden lance grazed her cheek. Black blood dribbled down her skin. The General stood, unfazed, perhaps pleased; looking puffed up. Eret touched the cut, surprised, and looked back up to the golden bodied creature before her.

At first glance, the lance did not look enchanted, but perhaps him being chosen made his own preferred weapon a little different.

“I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you,” she warned, tone thick. “Or I might just begin to like it.”

If it was possible, Totem looked even more repulsed.

Eret cackled and vanished with a click of her tongue.

The next day, she appeared at the top of the mountain. Dressed in sprawling robes, hair flowing freely around her, six arms decorated in gold bangles. Her arrival was so sudden that she scared the watcher off the cliff.

He fell to his death in front of the General.

Totem was not pleased.

After that, she took a little break from visiting. When she returned, still eager, she brought with her a daffodil.

“A deal,” she offered, holding out the flower. It was the cleanest, prettiest one she could find from the nurturing garden in the pantheon. It glistened with the essence of life. “This, for a day with you.”

“I have no need for flowers,” scowled the General, turning away from her. He ignored her, though did not make her leave.

The soldiers glared at her.

Eret grinned at them.

From then on, she took to randomly appearing and lingering, as she had been prior. Eret became a regular sight around the encampment, pestering innocent boys and irritating old men. The General ignored her, mostly.

One day, she stepped onto the mountain only to find the camp bustling. Unable to withstand the thick allure of terror, she took a moment to feed on the energy in the air – the dark swathe that encompassed the entire camp. Something had happened and she was all the more excited for it.

“What’s going on?” She asked as she dropped in, landing on her feet amidst the chaos.

The faces around her were drawn and sweaty. They stood in their armour, metal pressed over bodies, weapons coated in blood still clutched in hand.

“We just returned from battle down in the valley,” said one older soldier. He spoke with a heavy drawl, and for a second Eret did not recognise him past the layer of mud on his skin.

Everyone was filthy. War was dirty, Brine had said, though Eret hadn’t quite pictured it like a child playing in the puddles.

“General Foolish was hurt,” claimed another; a younger boy this time, with his hair shorn close to his skull.

Eret blinked. The General was a god-gifted being. He could not be hurt by mortal weapons.

Or, he shouldn’t have been.

“Is he in his tent?” Eret asked the boy.

“Med tent,” explained someone behind her. Eret flicked a glance to their face and found the soldiers had clamoured around her. They’d never done that before.

“I see,” she hummed and took a leisurely stroll there, weaving around the tired faces and the remains of weapons and armour they’d dragged back up with them.

Stepping into the medical tent was akin to setting foot once more on that massacred field. Blood dripped from cots, arms slung over the edges, limbs barely attached to the bone. Legs lay at odd angles, faces hidden in the shadows. Eret glanced over the bedridden men and instantly knew who would not last the night, despite the other’s vigorous tending to them.

No one glanced up at her. No one had the strength to do so. The only ones on their feet were the medically trained ones, and they were far too busy and reeking of distress to look at her as she glided by.

In the far corner, hidden away in the dark, the General lay. His chest heaved with each breath, linen cloth wrapped around his midsection. He was sweating, skin glistening. His usually staunch hair was flattened to his head and smeared over his forehead.

Eret sat on the edge of his cot, with barely enough room.

She looked at him, inspecting his state. Blood spread over the linen wrapped around him. She pressed a finger into the wound and, as he hissed weakly, she pulled it back to find it red. Peeling away the linen, she found a gaping wound – an arrow pierce. It gurgled with blood, crimson running rivets between the grooves of his muscle and pulsing with each uneven breath.

In this state, he would not last the night.

The thought brought a great wash of fear upon her. It was thick and suffocating, and she could not eat it up as she did with others’. Inexplicably, the feeling itself made her uneasy, sitting on the edge of the cot.

A dying man lay beside her, and she was in a cold sweat.

Lady Death would come for him. Eret knew that the selfish woman would take her Totem for Herself and not give him back.

This thought also brought her a great wave of emotion. This time, it was anger.

She wanted… what did she want? Eret wanted to keep Totem for herself. She wanted to keep having ribbing conversations with him, she wanted to nag him in his tent more, she wanted to finally grab his hand and steal a kiss, she wanted to continue to be able to go home and whine to Brine about how unfair he was – giving more attention to his men than her, not looking at her except to glare.

With a heave of a breath, she came to a decision. Lady Death would hold it against her if She ever found out, but Eret would make it that no one ever knew.

No one would ever find out how weak Totem had been today. Death would not get a stand in any argument with Eret.

Eret would not allow it.

Nostrils flaring as she struggled to breathe in the looming presence of her own fear, she zoned in on the gasping wound in Foolish’s stomach. Her hands shook as she gently set the linen back over the wound.

His brow scrunched as he groaned. Eret stilled, staring down at him. So fragile, so weak.

Totem was never weak. Always, he stood at the helm, stance perfect, back straight, ever so tall. He was perfect – a warrior and a General. A monster, some would say; no Totem was ever made to command armies. But Foolish, her dear Totem, he had risen above, cursed by a witch’s potion.

Eret would say it blessed him. For this, Foolish was no cursed being.

He’d been god-chosen; god-kissed, god founded. Someone out there, something somewhere, had looked at the totem before her and decided to sponsor him.

There was a being out there that she owed her entire and every gratitude to.

In a split second, this all came into a grandiose summation; Eret could not let Totem die.

She was far too selfish for such a thing to happen (though, if it did, she would fight Lady Death tooth and bone, arm for arm, eye for eye).

Lifting her shaking hand from her lap, Eret swept a hand over his closed eyes. She held it there, and imagined skin knitting back together, the totem underneath the spell left unharmed, skin and bone freshly repaired, blood replenished, hair cleaned, body cleansed.

A great glow burst forth from her palm. The drag of magick on her soul was great, and it left her shaking as the spell wound around the subject. The magick coiled and fused with his skin, pulsing through his bones, spreading into his legs and face and eyes.

Eret forced her eyes open to see the last dregs vanish into Totem’s body. The sweat and dirt had disappeared. The red on the cloth stopped growing, receding entirely. His breaths evened out.

Mercifully, as the spell settled, his soul returned to its harmonious humming.

Exhausted, Eret wilted. Her shoulders drooped and her gaze grew hazy. Healing took a great deal of energy – it was not something to be taken lightly. Not even by someone of her calibre.

Panting on a breath herself, Eret slumped in on herself. She clutched her shaking hands before herself, marvelling at how weak she had become in mere moments. Totem lay before her, in fit shape – not a bruise or mar upon his golden skin, as it should’ve been.

The magick she’d used was slow to replenish. It left her feeling hollow and empty, though when she gazed upon Totem’s face, she felt relief. Shuffling over, limbs unsteady, hands spooling around her enough to prompt her to try and repress the four extra appendages – only to fail, six arms remaining, as she lacked even the concentration and proper magickal stamina to do such. Even pulling a glamour over herself was too much work and she found herself sinking down, consciousness slowly slipping away as she shut her eyes and couldn’t open them again.

The fear had left her feeling cloudy. The magickal exertion left her sleepy.

Quietly, without so much as a whine, she passed out.

Foolish awoke to a weight on his chest. Distantly thinking his blankets were awfully heavy, he peeled open his eyes and found himself lying in a cot in the medical tent. It was dark, as he was in the back area – the far corner of the tent that was half shrouded in the mountainside and thus the most protected section.  

His second thought was annoyed. He was annoyed his men had put him in the best bed. There were others who had taken heavier hits than him – and his own had been taken from shielding his men from a god-blessed archer. They’d gotten a lucky hit, struck him in the stomach. It was his own fault for being too sloppy to redirect it.

His third was tinged with surprise. Though, it was still mostly annoyed.

It came as he realised the weight was not blankets nor bandages, but instead a certain god that had taken an interest in him. The Child of Brine, Eyesight of Eras, Eater of Chaos, Wretched One, Furore Summoner. She went by many names. She answered to them all, though had repeatedly introduced herself as the simple name ‘Eret’.

Foolish lifted an arm to shuck her off, irritated that she thought herself important enough to warrant a position over an injured man’s chest, but paused. He moved his arm a bit more, shifting it back and forth. There was no painful pull on his chest. The muscle he’d pulled during the battle was calm and unbothered. Lifting a leg, he bent it in the air and marvelled at the lack of pain in the knee. He’d had a bad knee for as long as he’d lived – having hit it shortly after his spawning and knocking it askew.

What had once been a furiously painful wound in his stomach was gone, the linen bandages wrapped around him merely for show now.

He pulled dark eyes down to the dozing figure on his chest. Her hair was sprawled around her, eyes shuttered. Her multitude of arms flopped over his chest, body resting just barely on his… It looked as though she’d perched at his bedside and decided to stretch over him as though a cat to anyone else, yet, to him it looked like she’d passed out after spending a great deal of energy, the paleness to her skin and the heavy wrinkles under her eyes sign enough.

Healing took time and effort. No matter how strong the user, healing energy did not depend on the magical stamina of the caster, but rather, how much energy they had to spare. If the Child of Brine had been even slightly tired as they began the spell, their nap was eventual and undeniable.

Touched that she had wasted such an extreme amount of energy on him – and on older injuries as well as his present – Foolish decided to let her sleep. It was the least he could do, and his own eyes were growing tired. It had been a long few days planning the attack, only for it to backfire at the last second as the enemy met them in the valley as they crossed through. Caught suddenly, their draw had been hard fought for.

Foolish closed his eyes and mourned the lost. He closed his eyes and settled an arm over the Child of Brine’s back, feeling their shoulder blades under his skin. The General closed his eyes and had his first sleep free of nightmares in a very long time.

Eret wore down the General. She clung to his side like a leech, sucking the will out of him until he could no longer turn away. They grew close, over the years. From incomprehensible glaring to cool stares, a friendship blossomed between them. Eret was ever so pleased at this, and took to appearing more and more often, thrilled at the soft tension that hung between them.

She had yet to steal that kiss, but it would happen soon, she knew.

“Be mine, Totem,” she said one heavy night, as the soldiers gathered around their last fire. The encampment was moving, to where, she hadn’t asked. She didn’t need to. Eret would find the Totem no matter his whereabouts.

“No, ma’am,” he responded, courting call more of a well-worn joke between them now. She’d asked him the same question so many times he had started smiling at it. Now, in the blaze of the firelight, Foolish smiled big and wide – as wide as a man in war could.

That night, she broke script.

“It’s this war, isn’t it?”

Foolish blinked at her. He nursed a bone of meat, barely big enough to feed a child. It was difficult to find food for an army with no state backing. The Totem’s Army was a group of past-freelancers, all brought together by circumstance relating to a tyrant king and his devilish forces. They wanted to end the Empire, and had become a big enough force that the two had been warring for years.

From what she heard, even the Empire’s people supported their cause. Though, no one could publicly offer support or send supplies lest they face execution.

(Eret thought, if they really did care enough, they would face the risks and send anything they could.)

“What?” Foolish echoed.

“I’ll help you end this war,” Eret proposed. “Take my daffodil and I will stay.”

“What do you want in return?” The General asked, considering. Already, the war was a decade old. Eret had only seen five summers of it, though she knew how tired the men were. They drooped at the edges, struggling to rally.

Foolish’s determination was an undeterred as always. For he was god-chosen and those who were did not quite feel the years the same as mortals did.

“You,” she said simply.

The General did not respond. Eret found no oppression within the silence, and listened to the soldiers around her laughing and chatting. When the moon shifted high above them, she bid her adieu and retreated to her home where Brine sat reading in the drawing room.

“Won him over yet?” Asked her father. He knew well of her quest, having been the recipient of many late night conversations over her prolonged infatuation. Foolish was the first thing in all of creation she’d taken such a liking to and the very fact intrigued the old being. He’d told her he’d thought nothing would ever interest her with her fleeting attention.

“Not quite,” she hummed, unworried. “But I’ve planted the seeds.”

“Make sure to water them,” Brine reminded. “I’m sure your daffodils will be beautiful.”

“They’re sure to catch eyes,” Eret smiled.

(Daffodils symbolise selfishness. As one of the first spring flowers to bloom, they can also mean rebirth and hope.)

The precipice came. A day where the war bordered on an edge.

It was win or lose. It always had been.

Yet, on that day – exactly two weeks after her offer – Eret appeared in the middle of a battlefield (she had rigged the transportation spell to appear next to her Totem). Foolish stood at the helm of his army, rallying them. He wore his blood painted armour, raising his lance tall. Eret thought about what a pretty sight he’d be if he commanded the seas with such a shout, how handsome he could be with lightning flashing at his back, how mysterious he could be if his ruby red eyes flushed back to their Totem-born emerald.

“Eyesight of Eras,” called one of the soldiers. “What do you see of our fight?”

Turning to look at him, Eret found a man soon to die. An invisible arrow pierced his heart, mouth dripping crimson. She looked over the rest of the army, finding severed heads and broken skulls. Glancing over to Foolish, she found a black string tied around his own red fate string and blanched.

Black meant death.

Lady Death would not take his soul. She wouldn’t let Her. The bitch—

“It is bright,” she said, mysterious and cool. She stood at the helm, beside Foolish, and let him understand that she would remain here whether he liked it or not. “Today, we fight. Today, victory is on our side.”

The army cheered. Deafening was the cacophony. Eret basked in it, revelled in the lingering anxieties and gulped them up, stealing away the soldier’s fears and worries. Without them, they would fight better. Without them, they might just live.

“Brine Child,” Foolish called once they turned back to lead the charge. On the other side of the valley loomed the enemy. Their horses clattered and clunked and their men rode in suits of black armour. The sun glinted from polished spears, light rays reflected in dazzling slivers that lit their way as though a spotlight. Archers stood upon the brows of the hills. The tyrant king sat at the back, overseeing the calamity.

“Totem,” she acknowledged.

“I accept your daffodil,” he said.

Eret grinned. Her sword materialised beside her. She grabbed it with lithe hands and gave it a twirl.

“Very well, Totem. I agree to carry out my half.”

“As do I.”

“Then there will be no cause for concern,” Eret decreed.

Foolish gave a war cry and lunged forwards. The two armies sprinted for each other, eating up the ground between them. In a thunderous clash, the two armies met. Blades glinted off blades. Cudgels swung down, shields were lifted high, arrows were notched on taut strings.

A thousand strings clashed and tangled. Fate was woven around this battle. It was a monument of time and would be revered as something meaningful, soon.

Eating at the energy of fate that dared make Totem’s Army cower, Eret slipped through the ranks, blade claiming fresh souls. She swept along the rim of the tyrant’s men, pulsing fear deep into their legion. As the enemy’s hand wavered, the men behind her stood firm.

On the other side, Foolish roared and cleared a path for his men. He ran through shields, the metal batting off his skin and unhampering his storming warpath. He was Totem-born; his skin was hardened when he needed, soft when he wanted. Gold was malleable in a blacksmiths world, but the gold that was of Totem body was greater than even netherite. An unenchanted blade struggled to pierce through and would sooner shatter.

Years ago, there had been a great hunger for Totems and their skin. There had been many a battle between mortal and Totem and even Totem and godling. Everyone wanted what they could not have. The Totems had kept their skin, by sheer will and battle prowess. No one could fight against a fighting race, after all.

Archers fought archers. Spearmen battled the shielders. The tyrant’s army had rallied together, shields brought together to form a wall between themselves and Totem’s army. Eret slunk her way around the battlefield, idling as the soldiers around her fought against the sturdy wall. A few feet away, seeming like miles in the high of chaos she was riding on, Foolish kicked and barrelled through the enemy lines. The enemy choked and screamed as their wall broke, more men rushing to fill the gap and fight the unfightable Totem.

Foolish was agile and swift; a mocking angel on the battlefield as he slew pigs without mercy.

Grace was a mysterious thing. Generally, it favoured small and quick beings; allowing them to dodge blows and return them. In the case of Foolish, he was very clearly held within grace’s clutch, hunkering down low and charging without fault. He did not duck blows, for none were fast enough to hit him as he blew apart the enemy ranks.

The sight made Eret wonder how the Totem’s Army had not already won this war.

Behind him, his army roared and echoed his courage. The soldiers followed their commander, weapons hefted. Eret looked and saw determination in even the most bone-weary faces.

She cut down a shieldsman. The soldiers behind her shouted at the edge and suddenly barrelled forth, pushing ahead into the carnage. Eret stepped in after, sword spinning around to behead those around her. The tyrant king’s men shrieked at the sight of her famous blade, Wrath. They shrank back, away towards where Foolish was – only to be decimated by his furious lance swings.

The enemy was cornered. The shieldsmen that were left behind amidst the tide of Totem’s army sweeping into the tyrant’s ranks were cut down, left to bleed on the dusty ground of the valley. The swordsmen that attempted to push through to get to their ally shielders found a quick end at a multitude of blades.

She saw the havoc the Totem’s Army wrought. Chaos spread across the valley as though a poison, infecting all around it. Men’s swings of their blades turned frantic, the last few shieldsmen were sweating and huffing under the barrage, barely standing in their number, and the swordsmen were dropping quicker than flies. The tyrant’s army was decimated – this was a penultimate battle, some had claimed prior this engagement.

Eret would say it was the last.

Totem’s Army was winning. She stood in the midst, wondering why Totem had accepted her offer. He was more than capable of ending this himself…

Unless he wanted her help. Joy spread within her, warming her chest, making her smile. There she was, standing in the middle of a battle, smiling to herself. The very thought that Foolish wanted her to help him was… it was marvellous. It thrilled her, left her heart racing. As she cut down a soldier, she grinned wide, thinking of bright red eyes looking down at her, a wide mouth smiling with sharp teeth.

The soldier beside her, an ally, fell with a cry. It was the boy she’d seen earlier – arrow through his chest. He coughed on his blood as he lay there, a few others around him crying out. Someone shouted his name, already mourning, but Eret stood, frozen as she stared at the glowing arrow in his chest.

Enchanted arrows.

Out of all the weapons Eret had seen, not one was enchanted. Enchanting things took a great deal of effort, blood and magick. It entailed inscribing ancient Galatic on the weapon’s bodice, filling those gaps with blood blessed by a witch (or cursed, depending on how a region seen a witch spitting on it) and pushing the weapon into a forging fire. Often, it was difficult to enchant anything other than a metal blade. An enchanting table could not produce enchanted arrows – not in this world.

But the tyrant’s army had enchanted arrows.

Abruptly, Eret understood why Totem had not yet won.

Totems were fallible to magick. If he was hit critically by an enchanted arrow, he would die. He could not protect his men by standing in front of them and taking the hit, as he did for swords or clubs.

Another man screamed. One beside Foolish fell. She glanced over, found an impending rain upon his position, and gritted her teeth.

Reaching inside herself, Eret pulled forth the chaos she had eaten. She swept her aura over the battlefield, consuming the worry and pain and fear. Death was untouchable to her, but she could steal the emotions that came from it. With so many gone in barely the past hour, a grand feast awaited her.

Eyes glinting, she opened them wide and pulled her attention up to the arrows not a metre from falling on them. Lifting her hand – she briefly recognised a soldier cutting down an enemy who had tried to take a swipe at her – she forced the arrows to stop.

Time was not her speciality, but as a Child of Brine, she had power over many aspects. Glitches were her expertise, and oft time fell under wing.

Shouts rose up around her as the arrows stilled in mid air. Foolish stood, gawking, for just a moment, before shouting for his men to keep their courage.

“Charge!” Boomed the General.

Eret rolled her head on her neck, eyesight blurred as she levitated each individual arrow and changed their course of direction. Now, they bore down upon the tyrant’s archers and what remained of his footsoldiers.

She held them above. Let the fear grow. Just as resignment began to seep in, she dropped them.

Half of the army fell in one swoop.

Totem’s men took out the rest.

Standing where she was, Eret watched as Foolish strode up to the tyrant king and beheaded him. When he sat down on the throne and no one complained – cheers rising up all over – he gestured for her.

The soldiers parted for her as though a tide.

“Eret,” Totem said, hand held out for her. “Sit with me, my dear.”

“Of course, Foolish,” she agreed, and took his hand.

In the aftermath, they split a pomegranate in two halves and ate its skin. The soldiers ate the seeds.

(A pomegranate represents marriage. Its fruit; life and resurrection.

Wish on a pomegranate and it might just come true.)

Eret did not need to wish on a pomegranate, as she already had what she wanted.

By sharing two halves, Foolish the Totem Army’s General, god-blessed, and Eret, Child of Brine, Eyesight of Eras, were united as one.

In the mortal years that followed thereafter, they settled on the land they had won. Foolish deemed himself no king, and Eret herself no queen, but they kept heel over the surrounding villages and watched over them until they prospered into brilliant towns. The people grew; children turning to old men overnight, wives becoming widows, newly birthed children abruptly a gravestone before Eret blinked.

When she realised the mortal years were snapping past in a breath, Eret receded into the bowels of their shared home. It was a quaint little thing that they had built together, aided by the soldiers’ efforts.

There had been a great recuperation effort after the final battle. A homestead sprouted where the soldiers had fallen, a school where the archers stood. Eret and Foolish’s home rose up where the tyrant king had died. His blood painted their floor, his bones built their walls, his feet bent for their roof.

The people under his reign were grateful. They called them both saviours and the new rulers. Monarchy, proclaimed the mortals who were only just out of a tyrant’s grasp.

Eret thought she liked the sound of being queen, but if Foolish said no then that was that.

So, she built a house like a castle. She nudged each design bigger, prompted Foolish into mining for their stone and built large, grand walls with it. Everything centred around them; the town blossomed, admiring Eret’s towering parapets and vast windows.

Foolish kept the grounds clean, and interacted with the humans beyond the walls. Meanwhile, Eret worked on a side hobby – a twisting maze of tunnels under the castle, under the town, under half the continent (as she spent so long on them, she simply got carried away).

She worked until night, where Foolish would venture down and ask her to bed, usually bringing any meals she had missed or not wanted.

“You’ve been doing this for twelve years, Eret,” he said one night, standing in the square intersection that branched off to multiple tunnels. Only one of the twelve made it back to the castle, and that was the one he’d entered from – in the first few months (or years?) Foolish had gotten repeatedly lost and even, at one point, refused to come down into the subsection for a long period. He’d simply gave a shout down the tunnels and left her food by the ladder that stepped down into the beginning of the tunnel section; located directly under a trapdoor in the basement.

“And?” She asked, stepping out of the dark tunnel she’d only just begun working on. There were no torches down here, though her powers and the essence that she planted in various places kept away the dangerous mobs, leaving simple house spiders and the odd slithering snake.

Foolish stood with a torch in hand. It bathed him in an orange glow, skin shining, green eyes bright gems in his skull. A little bit after the fighting, once he no longer spilt blood regularly and the stress died down, his eyes returned to their Totem-born green. It was a great relief for both of them; Foolish because he’d been worried the green would never return, and Eret because she’d been wanting to see his true eyes since the day she’d met him.

“Don’t you think that’s a little too long?” Her husband sighed. “No one’s even gonna use these.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, dropping her shovel into her inventory. She’d finished digging out the main structure, so all she had left to do was get out the chisel and detail the tunnel as she had the rest – each one had a depiction of something. One had the origins of a ravager, for she found herself prone to liking the roaring beasts, another had her own upbringing as the scion of Brine, a Glitch Bringer. This one, this would be special – in this twelfth tunnel, her most sacred, she would carve out Foolish’s life. Twelve was a good number – it was the number of a card in a witch’s deck that symbolised pulling oneself out of a rut.

Eret had been in a terrible rut for a terribly long time. She hoped to relieve herself of it. This twelfth tunnel would finish the project. The twelfth tunnel finished on the twelfth year.

Foolish watched her with the eyes of a pitying man. She stared back, ice cold eyes boring into his glittering emeralds. He sighed and blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a fond smile. He was nothing if not fond.

“Come on, then,” he beckoned. “Show me around your new one.”

She grinned. The laksa he’d brought down with him for dinner was shared between them, Foolish holding it steady over the uneven, rough ground of the tunnel that was designed to make people trip.

Eret finished the tunnels. She stepped back into the world above ground and looked at the new faces, stared at the growing graveyard with recognition of old names. Foolish was a heavy weight at her side, and she sought peace with him, as she had for what had apparently been five centuries.

The sun sparkled through the windows, rays seeping past the willow-thin curtains. She rolled over in bed, found it empty, and got up with a groan. Flipping the comfortable sheepskin blankets back, she got to her feet, cold stone floor covered by a multitude of rugs and skins.

Traipsing to the washroom, she drew water into the wash bowl from a system of pipes Foolish had made a while ago, after Eret had complained over how long it took to draw water from the well. Splashing her face with the cool water, she freshened herself up and dressed in one of the robes Foolish had made her. He’d gotten into threading recently, and had made quite a few clothing pieces for the both of them – his newest creation was a skirt for himself that changed size alongside his shapeshifting abilities (newly found as of the last six decades, likely a sign of her godhood rubbing off on him).

Of course, his new craft required quite the amount of magick poured into it. It resulted in him getting up early and going to bed late, which did little in helping his exhaustion from repeated use of the magick. It took him years for one piece to be finished, and most of that was the imbuing of magick into the fabrics and thread. His skirt had taken longer to make than some humans had lived.

It was a beautiful piece, though. Designed with a theme of pure colours, white was interspersed with gold and reds. He’d lined it with a hem of blue – a rich, royal colour that sat in contrast to his shining skin.

Dressed in her simple gold and white robe, designed to match Foolish’s with its juxtaposing red hemming, Eret glided down the stairs and strode into the kitchens. They were large, with many ovens and fireplaces. Counters lay, where once many mortal workers had gathered and prepared food. They’d long stopped employing humans, tired of how quickly they perished. It was easier to cook and clean for themselves, and so that was what they did.

Eret hummed as she cooked up some rice porridge. It was easily made, so she served it up into two bowls and grabbed a plate of coconut tarts from the cold cupboard. Walking with her cargo into the dining room, she set the table for two and set off for the workshop Foolish had taken up three rooms for.

Pandering over to the main door to the rooms, she knocked once and entered without waiting. Foolish was hunched over his spinning wheel, meticulously running a strand of fibres through. This process would take him hours, if not days. Attempting to push magick into string was much more difficult than it had any right to be.

“Foolish,” she hummed, coming up to set her hand on his shoulder. He did not jump at her, for they were more comfortable with each other’s presence than any human could ever be with another, but he was surprised out of his trance.

“Yes?” He asked, voice croaky and hoarse. When he sat up from his hunch, his back cracked and he rolled out his shoulders with a groan.

“Crack your neck,” she reminded, and was met with another grunt as he rolled his head on his neck and it echoed with pops. Finally, his arms came above his head and stretched out.

“It’s breakfast time,” Eret said at last, watching as he stood up and was three foot taller than her. Foolish quickly realised this and shrunk down to his original height; when he was tired or not entirely concentrating on his shifting ability, he often grew a few feet without meaning to.

“Thank you,” Foolish grunted, then coughed to clear his throat.

“Come along,” she sing-songed, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the hallway. He laughed as he trailed behind her, hand curling around hers, their fingers interlocking. Such acts were mundane between them; more than a thousand years shared in harmony with such things.

Eret dragged him into the dining room, where they sat beside each other, as the distance from the sides of the table proved too long to quietly murmur over. They ate together, munching on their coconut tarts and spreading fresh honey over the bread. Eret had kneaded the loaf last night and Foolish had pulled it from the oven, later on, to allow it to rest before he went to bed.

Cutting thick slices for the both of them, Eret set them onto the plate, allowing Foolish to retrieve the cream from the cupboard. When he returned, he scooped out half the bowl of whipped cream onto his bread, eating it loudly.

“Bread’s good,” he nodded.

She agreed proudly, “As always.”

It had taken them a few attempts to get the bread right – just sticky enough that it produced beautifully thick insides, with a deliciously hard crust. It could be difficult to get a mouthful of alone, so the honey and cream were really more necessary additions than extras, though they were appreciated – Foolish only liked the tough crust that came with bread of such consistency, so it had to be done.

Eret was halfway through spooning her rice porridge onto her own bread slice when her communicator vibrated. It was a silly little device that the mortals had made, compact enough that they could come in any shape or size. Hers was a cute little bracelet around her wrist, with a screen appearing for all to see if she tapped the little flower charm on it. Foolish’s was a thick bangle that was pure gold and melded nicely with his skin.

The communicators were exactly as they were called – devices which allowed communication between worlds and across continents. She’d been introduced to them shortly before they dismissed the mortal staff, when a certain Angel of Death appeared on their front door.

Philza had been stranded by a sudden winter blizzard. On cold, horrible nights, the Overseers (ancient beings who dictated the realm capabilities) often closed the portals between realms – keeping what was in the living world out of the gods’. Philza had been trapped, stuck without his goddess and wearing nothing but a haori over his kimono. Foolish had come across him during a routine patrol he took at every week’s end and invited him back.

The man was nice. Soft and gentle, yet boisterous if he warmed up; both metaphorically and physically.

Eret had exchanged communicator codes with him, in a promise to keep in touch, and they occasionally sent one another updates. With nothing much to do, Eret oft found herself responding to Philza’s long, paragraphed texts with pictures of her blooming garden or, if during winter, images of Foolish himself acting silly, unaware of her watching him.

“Phil?” Foolish asked, more than used to her communicator buzzing randomly. His own was quite loud too – he’d fallen in with a group of heaven-come inventors recently and had befriended the centaur godling Sam. Turned out even gods had group gatherings.

“I got a subworld invite,” she said, surprised. She scrolled along the chat between her and Phil, reading the description. He was terribly nice about it, saying if she didn’t want to come she didn’t have to.

‘We’d appreciate your help, mate :)’ he’d said amidst a long blurb of a text.

“SMP Earth,” she read the server tag. Its description was bleak; a private server world, factions vs factions. World domination not allowed.

Server worlds, or subworlds, were little pocket dimensions where an admin could create their own chunk of land and dictate it with their own rules. Faction worlds, such as this SMP Earth, were common, alongside gladiator servers and other things. Foolish’s little club had their own subworld designed for their meetings. Philza also had his own server; a little side hobby for him, when his goddess wasn’t sending him out to collect souls.

Eret had long entertained the thought of owning her own subworld, though had grown bored of the idea after a few visits to Philza’s world. His was much too dangerous and the hassle it would be for her to maintain the land was deemed too much by her own lazy standards (it required a substantial payment to the Overseers, extensive knowledge of coding and an entirely different, bigger payment if one wanted their subworld to be private). Money was not the issue, as she, a Glitch Bringer, could simply will for money to rain from the sky and it would, but the paperwork and agreements one had to make would weight her too heavily.

In layman’s terms, she couldn’t be bothered.

This subworld seemed quaint though, and from Philza’s avid descriptions, it seemed he’d been on it for a while. He kept speaking of a ‘we’ so Eret assumed he’d dragged a few others down onto it with him, or else he had formed his own group. It was a faction server, after all.

“You gonna go?” Foolish grunted, busy stuffing his mouth with the last slice of bread. Eret blinked and found he’d finished off the loaf in the seconds she’d been preoccupied and rose her eyebrow at him.

“I might,” she said truthfully. “No one would eat all my bread there, at least.”

Foolish laughed. “You still have your slice!”

To taunt her, he grabbed the slice she’d been lathering with her porridge and opened his mouth wide.

“Foolish!” She warned, jerking forward.

She was too late. Foolish ate the last piece in one bite.

He bore sharp teeth at her in a grin. “Yes, Eret?”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. Foolish snickered and nuzzled up close to her, playing with her hair in the peace. Resting back in her chair, she hummed a few notes of an old tune. “I think I’ll go.”

“Alright,” Foolish nodded. “The fresh air would be good for you.”

She poked him in the side. Squawking, he hurried to defend himself but couldn’t past his laughter.

‘Come to Antarctica.’ Philza had sent in the message.

Eret accepted the server invite and appeared on a floating platform above a vast sea. Four glowing portals stood tall, white quartz walls towering above her. She idled for a moment, taking in the salty air. Gulls shouted, perched on the walls, staring down at her.

She looked up at the birds and saw the auras of disguised admins. They were checking her out. She smirked, murmured something about the pretty architecture to soften them up, and walked through a random portal.

The world flushed velvet red as her entire being shifted. Walking through portals was always a different experience – this one was soft and smooth; the frame had evidently been crafted by a master portalsmith.

Opening her eyes, she came to in a myriad of trees that stood metres above her. Long grasses licked at her calves, the midday sun glinted down at her, sweetly orange.

Her communicator buzzed, almost vibrating off her wrist.

After a quick scan of her surroundings and finding nothing bigger than a rabbit, she opened the holo-screen up to see the chat.

[TheEret has joined the world. Say hi!]

It had been a good idea to claim herself mortal. The world had accepted her without qualm.

Often, when gods descended upon a world, there was no announcement by the communicators. There was no acknowledgement of their presence and if they meddled with doings, they could be punished.

Of course, Eret was far above those who would be doing the punishment, though she preferred to accompany Philza in a recognised way. To be on the bad side of the admins would only cause unjust bother for her friend, and if he was thinking of permanently settling here (he wouldn’t; no god or angel remained in a subworld like this), she didn’t want it to be difficult because of her actions.

A flurry of messages came after her arrival. People greeting her, asking her to join their factions, others simply advertising wares or trying to learn her whereabouts.

Eret ignored them. She clicked her fingers and a tree fell. Bending over to peer at it, she knocked a knuckle on its bark and harvested everything of value. Long ago, she’d altered her inventory to work with her. If she had logs but needed planks, it would turn those logs into planks for her, without her having to bother. If she, by some chance, were to need a torch, so long as she had coal and wood in her inventory, she would get some. It was as simple as that.

But it was not infallible. Producing crafted swords and other tools from an inventory was like a child making a wall; it was terribly made and unlikely to last more than one swing. Thankfully, she was proficient in blacksmithing and enchanting (godly blood was an exception to the witch-blessed requirement), so had little need for outsourcing. Foolish liked to commission weapons from the humans, as a pastime, though Eret found it tiresome, especially when she would need to go over the details with a fine tooth comb and enchant everything anyways.

And so, Eret went around the forest, admiring the scenery and inspecting the world map she’d been automatically given on entry. It seemed she could enable her location to be broadcast to everyone on the map, with a side on the screen displaying who wasn’t showing their locations.

Philza’s face sat in a mass of white, in a blue outline of a territory named the Antarctic Empire. Beside his tag, was Technoblade.

Eret laughed to herself. She had not met the Blood God’s vessel yet, though Philza was good friends with the man and talked often of him.

Deciding to keep her location quiet until she gathered enough supplies, Eret dismissed the map and continued on her way. She grabbed enough wood to make a crafting table and enough for a spawn point, in case she misjudged the time and stayed out too late. The last thing she wanted to do was explore this subworld’s death system without reason.

The continent she had chosen – Africa – was rich in trees above land, and rich in gems below. True to her tunnelling ways, Eret stopped at the first cave she came across and dug deep. She harvested enough diamonds for armour (as was needed in servers like these, where she played pretend as mortal) and spent the better half of an hour scratching her blood into a set of tools to enchant them. She’d stumbled across a volcano and used the heat from the lava to smelt, setting up her own smithy’s room where she created a decent suit of armour, only pausing to go and hunt down more cows to skin them for their leather. That was a lengthy process, though the quality of her inventory helped – it sped up the leather process, instantly churning it out for her, whereas she would’ve had to pin it up and wait for it to dry, which could’ve taken days.

It was a good thing she did not need to craft a sword, or it would have taken an age. With her glitch attributes, she could (like some other gods who could access subspace pockets) bring express few items between worlds, even the non-transferrable ones, such as SMP Earth. She had brought Wrath with her, for the blade was far too good to be left behind. This was a faction server, after all; she would’ve left it at home had it been an exploration server, or something of the peaceful like.

When her armour was finished, she sat back, healed herself and was assaulted by a barrage of notifications that the other occupants of the world were going to sleep. It seemed this world operated on a mechanism that held sleep in high esteem, prompting other players to sleep when others did.

Eret supposed that prevented midnight raids on opposing factions. She pulled a bed out of her inventory and slept three hours before waking to find a stream. There, she pulled her hand-crafted armour out of her inventory and dumped it into the water, cleaning the blood from it. The enchantments were deep-set in the diamond already, nothing could diminish them aside from time itself. Washing was simply a good practice, to get the blood off.

On second thought, she was sweaty from being near the hot lava all night, so she stripped from the black jumpsuit she’d received upon arrival to the server (most servers gave visitors outfits like this, as travel to subworlds often stripped inventories clean and left more than a few naked) and slipped into the water herself. It was warmed from the volcano nearby, but seemed fresh enough, running fast in the centre. The little stream she’d found wasn’t very little when she treaded into the middle, causing her to note how easily the current would be able to take an unsteady person off their feet.

Briskly, she washed herself down, cleaning herself with the soap her inventory spat out at her. It didn’t look appealing, though smelt alright, which was enough. After stepping out onto the stone shore, she stood there for a few minutes until she deemed herself dry enough to pull on the leather shirt and trousers she’d made for her under-armour gear.

Leather was a poor decision for hikes. It would chafe and pull at her skin as she got sweaty, so she intended to gather flax and make enough linen for a pair of leggings and a shirt. She’d picked up enough tips on sewing from Foolish and had dabbled in her own dressmaking. Eret was confident she could stitch something together.

It took her the better part of a day to get enough flax to make herself clothes. Even then, when she got down to it, she found the practise irritating. It took too long and hurt her fingers, and the time was wearing on her. As the hours passed, she became increasingly aware of the message she’d sent Philza informing him that she would meet him soon; a message she had sent upon arrival, around a day ago.

Gritting her teeth, she stowed the flax, dropped her armour into her inventory and wore only her leather clothes. She cinched the trousers tight with a bit of string she’d threaded from a mob spider’s web and walked along the forest as she had before – wearing the uncomfortable pumps that came with the jumpsuit and gazing at the scenery.

Soon, she came upon a village and traded her flax in return for cotton clothes. A long sleeved shirt that cinched at the neck with rope was accompanied by a skin-tight pair of dark leggings. They fit well under her leather under armour and she was pleased.

Although, when she bargained for a pair of shoes, the villager refused.

“I’ll give you the rest of my flax,” she decreed, shucking the bales onto the table.

The villager – a subworld generated creature, much like the mobs – shook its head.

Irritated, Eret stared at it. Villagers were meant to bend head over heels for players and their needs. She moved onto the one next door to the first and found it sold no shoes either. It took her thirty minutes to go around the entire village. Not one sold shoes.

Glancing up to see the sun coming up, mobs in the distance burning and cracking, Eret looked back at the villagers and stalked around their wares once again. This time, she found the one with the nicest looking boots that looked close to her in size – worn leather things that flopped at the front but could be pulled tight with a bit of string the villager didn’t have – and threatened it with her blade.

Its cry of alarm alerted the iron golem hunched over in the forest. Its footsteps thundered the earth as its limbs creaked and groaned.

Eret looked over at the thing stomping towards her – moss covered, rust dripping from its mouth, hands bigger than her head – and frowned.

“Rude,” she scowled and tore the villager in two. It fell to the ground, lying there inanimate so long as it could be looted. Eret pulled the boots off its feet, tugging them onto her own (a perfect fit!) before sprinting off. On her way out the door, she narrowly missed the swing of the golem that shattered the brick house behind her like a sandcastle falling over.  

She lost the iron golem ten minutes later, where she found herself at a small shoreline cliff that dropped a few feet onto a soft sanded beach. She pulled her boots off, unwilling to get sand in them so soon, and meandered over to where the water lapped over the sand in gentle waves. This quaint little beach spread out towards a beautiful, unending ocean.

Humming her own tune, Eret tapped at her communicator and pulled up the map of the world. She was around twenty thousand blocks away from the Antarctic Empire, though it seemed to be a decently straight line from Africa to there.

Decision made, she pulled a one-man boat from her inventory and dropped it into the water, bending over to push it out to sea. She hiked her trousers up high before going in, and found herself in knee-high water before the boat had enough buoyancy to it that she could jump in and row off.

Journey beginning, she set off.

Halfway there, she rigged up a call to Foolish.

“Eret!” He greeted, voice chirpy. Their connection wasn’t stable enough for a camera feed, but she could hear him clearly. “How are you enjoying it? Missing me yet? I’m at my convention!”

“Oh,” she said, relieved at how familiar Foolish was amidst this new place. She hadn’t noticed how uneasy she felt without him – she’d spent the last millennia with him, so it was largely a new feeling to be without him and his wide smiles and constant hugs. “Hello, Samuel.”

“Hi, Eret,” Sam laughed awkwardly, because of course he was standing beside Foolish. Those two were stuck at the hip when they met up, and if Eret hadn’t shared a pomegranate and thousands of years with Foolish, she’d be concerned about the green haired man stealing him away from her. “I heard you’re on a subworld?”

“SMP Earth,” she informed him. “Philza invited me.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Sam said. To be so close with an angel was likely one of his wants. As a young godling, Sam had next to nothing in connections – him befriending Foolish was a large step up in the world, for him. “How are you liking the world so far?”

“Yeah, Eret?” Foolish chirped up. “Anyone I should be worried about?”

She laughed at his joke. “I haven’t met anyone yet.”

“What?” Sam echoed.

“Don’t tell me you’ve dug a tunnel already!” Foolish whined.

“No, no, nothing like that,” she said, thinking back to the elaborate mining strip she’d carved into the underground of Africa. “I dropped on an island to get resources first. I’m going to meet up with everyone now.”

“That’s good!” Sam offered. “At least you’re prepared.”

“You’re so weird, Eret,” Foolish was less afraid to speak his opinion. “I thought the whole point of going was to leech off people? You’ve been gone two days and you haven’t even met anyone! Tell me you’ve at least talked to people.”

“I have talked to people, Foolish,” she repeated.

“People that aren’t us!” He tagged on.

She cleared her throat, panting. Eret hadn’t expected it to be so tiresome to row and talk at the same time. “I have talked to someone that’s not you, Foolish,” she said, and wasn’t exactly lying – she’d talked to those villagers and she’d screamed curses at the iron golem that had chased her.

Foolish didn’t seem convinced, it was in his tone, but he dropped the matter nonetheless. “Okay. Well, we’re meeting today to talk about our new build theme! I’m thinking something Egyptian.”

“I think Gothic would be better,” Sam dismissed.

Eret smiled and kept on rowing.

She reached an icy shore five hours before nightfall. Antarctica was cold, the mists blowing off the ice and snow a visible cloud of white that roiled with the blaring winds. She climbed up onto the first chunk of ice that she deemed close enough to land, as her poor boat had sprung a leak after a scratch from an iceberg.

Jumping from berg to berg, she became thankful for the boots. She would’ve lost a few toes in this weather otherwise. A few kilometres back, she’d pulled on her leather clothes after quickly etching warming enchantments on them – that was one thing she’d overlooked.

Antarctica was cold. It was ice and snow and snow storms and frostbite.

Eret shook her head and snapped her fingers. Within a second, the wind around her had vanished – now it buffeted around her, curving along an unseen bubble that surrounded her. Without the wind, it was still cold, but not cold enough that a god like her would suffer from it. She was no mere human.

It took her an hour to hike up the mountain where Philza and Technoblade’s nametags resided. She climbed up to the top where she found a stronghold poking out of the mountainside and dug her way in, carefully replacing each block behind herself. The last thing she wanted was for the building to have an easy way in for intruders like her.

She dropped into the middle of a large open space, landing precariously on a stone bridge that branched off as though a spindly tree, finding herself in the innards of a mixed up stronghold that looked as though Philza had terraformed it more than a bit.

“Anyone home?” She called out, and, as she turned around, walked right into a furry chest.

Blinking up at the screen of pink, she stepped back and found her arm caught in a hold. Red eyes bore down at her, a snout like that of a piglin huffing warm air into her face.

“Who are you?” Grunted the infamous vessel of Khorne, the Voice Cursed Beast, Blood Hungering Warrior, Blood God’s Chosen; Technoblade stood before her, eight full feet of glory, a sword strapped to his hip that he’d pulled out to graze her neck with.

She grinned at him, blinking white eyes. “If you can’t tell, Blade, then you should ask your Master more.”

Technoblade sneered down at her.

“Eret?”

Philza’s voice echoed through the cavern.

“Angel,” she greeted coolly.

“Techno, mate,” Philza whooshed down onto the bridge they stood upon, wings flapping out to steady his landing. He rushed towards them. “Put your sword down, this is Eret.”

The sword remained at her neck. Eret smiled at Philza as he struggled with his friend.

“Mate, this is the Child of Brine, she’s on our side,” Phil was saying. “I invited her, remember?”

“Of course, I do, Phil,” Technoblade said, obviously not remembering a thing.  He sheathed his blade easily, at his friend’s encouragements. Turning to stare at them, he grunted, “Hullo.”

“Blade,” she greeted, nodding. She turned to Phil, grinning. “Some shop you’ve got here, Angel.”

“Techno found it, he just invited me along,” Phil grinned back. They met in the middle and embraced. “Really, we should thank Wil for wanting this seed.”

Embarrassingly, Eret was relieved at the first bit of physical contact she’d had in days. The boat ride over had taken three days; that made around five days of being here and talking to no one aside from Foolish, but then that was only ever on a call.

For her to go from being hugged every ten minutes to nothing, so suddenly, was somewhat of a shock.

“It looks good,” she said, feeling the chill in the air. The bridge they stood on seemed to be a pathway to other rooms, leading around a maze of stone. Below them, the world stretched on for miles, skeletons clicking and clattering down below. “Although, I do hope you have a fireplace somewhere.”

Phil seemed to register her lack of snow clothes – which both men sported; thick blue coats with white furred hems and thick navy trousers with black snowboots. On Technoblade’s sheathe was an emblem of blue and white. A flag, no doubt.

“Oh shit,” Phil tugged her under his wings, which had fluffed up to deal with the cold. “I hope you didn’t use too much magick to keep yourself warm. Don’t you know Antarctica’s cold?”

“I do now,” she laughed. “Do you guys have any penguins?”

“We have polar bears,” Technoblade offered. “Steve and uh…”

“I think he’s called Ben,” Phil murmured. Then, a little louder, “We didn’t actually name them. We do have a chicken though, and Techno had a dog!”

“Had?” She echoed, turning behind her to see Technoblade’s shrug only barely past the haze of black feathers. Phil was dragging her down the bridge, pulling her over uneven stones. She noted some posts were missing, rope slung across the gaps.

“We’re yet to find Floof’s reincarnate,” Techonblade grunted. He must’ve noticed her staring at the state of the bridge, for he added, “We only just moved in.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, quick to nod and send her a beaming smile. He was so warm that she couldn’t help but bundle close. “So don’t fall down any of the holes yet. Not until we get you an elytra, at least.”

“This subworld has an End?” She asked, interested. “And what of the Nether?”

“Nah, there’s just this world. We have a crafting mechanism for the wings,” said Phil. “Materials for them are being hoarded and most of the server emeralds are gone-”

“Probably Corvus,” muttered Technoblade.

“But Techno mined a shit ton the first day he got on, so we have hundreds,” Phil carried on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Eret found their relationship nostalgic of Foolish and hers. “It won’t take long to get you a pair, if you want.”

“I see,” she hummed. To think, a subworld with no Nether or End, but instead a crafting recipe for elytra. Interesting. “I’ll think about it. Foolish is more lustful for flight than I am.”

“Of course,” Philza dismissed any further conversation as he bundled them into a large room. It was all stone, like the outsides of the rest she’d seen, but it was covered head to toe in skins and furs. Evidently, this server hadn’t evolved enough for blankets made of fabrics yet, or else it was easier to obtain furs in Antarctica.

There was a large fireplace blazing on the far side of the room, with a large couch set before it. Phil pushed her along, only pausing for them all to take their shoes off – well, not Technoblade, as he had literal hooves for feet in his piglin form. She was pushed onto the couch, Philza hurrying away as Technoblade sat down awkwardly beside her.

It was nice. The furs were soft and warmth permeated the large but cosy room. Eret sagged into the couch, arms tired from rowing, legs tired from hiking and climbing. She sat, half-lay, where she was for a while before Phil returned, clutching three steaming mugs in his hands. One was handed to Technoblade, another to her, and Phil sat with the last.

Hot chocolate. Eret sniffed it and almost felt the spiral into unconsciousness begin. Hot chocolate was an old god-created delicacy Brine had given her as a younger sprite, used to lull her to sleep when she was being too rowdy. Now, Eret sipped at it and sighed as the warmth flushed through her. Phil huddled in on her other side, and she sat quietly as he and Technoblade murmured softly around her.

Technoblade, for all he seemed rough and brash, was a kind and gentle soul. He laughed loudly when he found something funny and named animals odd names when he found them. The two polar bears that roamed in the barn (which he’d carved out of the stone) changed names periodically, although Steve remained a constant. Alfred the chicken passed a few days after her arrival and was mourned with a new one called ‘Alfr2d’. Eret embraced the weirdness, as no one could be odder than Foolish when he put his mind to it, and enjoyed the easy comradery being with the two brought.

Apparently there was a glitch around the stronghold that prevented animal spawns. The skeletons down below that she’d heard weren’t actually skeletons, but bits of the bridges falling off and tumbling into the dark depths below the hold.

Eret had offered to take a look at it, see if she could put in another Glitch that could counteract the server made one. Technoblade had seemed pleased at her effort alone, and instantly added her to the faction on the day after her arrival. Apparently, she shouldn’t have been able to break the blocks on their faction land, as it was claimed, though she’d probably been Glitching out a little herself from the cold. Neither Phil nor Technoblade minded, especially after hearing how she’d replaced each block after herself.

She met Pete, who had gone to bed early the night of her arrival. He was old, mortal and complained about his joints often, though was cheerful and could joke well. He had a level head that counteracted the chaos Phil and Technoblade created when together.

When it came to Eret’s tour of the land, Pete was quick to point out the danger spots that neither Phil or Technoblade noticed due to their innate carelessness – being immortal meant one didn’t pay as much attention to crumbling bridges, it seemed. The old man seemed to think her mortal as well, though was certainly ‘in’ on Phil and Technoblade’s ‘situations’, as he put it.

On the second day of her being there, she was gently reminded that most players kept their location tags on unless they were sleeping. Technoblade goaded her into activating her own signal and they watched together as the chat burst to life – everyone having been pinged for the new location.

‘Of course the newbie joins the tyrants!’ Complained a user of KaraCorvus. Eret received a curt rundown of the relations of the Corvinian Empire and its current state of being. Economy good but subject to weakness, it was a power country that was essentially a loan company and a supply stop all in one.

‘No fair, I wanna join’ typed someone else. Arlus, she was informed, had already attempted to join the Antarctic Empire. He had been turned away on instinct.

“Would you let him join if he approached you again?” Eret asked.

“No,” Technoblade grunted, and turned back to shovelling snow from the landing strip. Planes were a bought item in this subworld, with a menu appearing after a choice command. The Blade very much appreciated his use of manmade flight, although this meant strenuous effort was required to upkeep the pads he would land on. Already, he claimed, he’d made an emergency landing.

There was a crater on the other side of the mountain that attested to that story. Eret was sure the only reason he had survived it was due to his partial godhood (vessels weren’t true gods, just beings picked to carry certain traits of the godly master, but they were immortal and a fair bit more durable than the average mortal).

Eret stared at Technoblade’s back for a moment, coming to a silent understanding, and returned to clearing off her half of the landing strip.

“Structural integrity is up by nearly sixty percent,” Phil cheerily addressed the group one night. Everyone had gathered in the warm room with a fireplace, the one Pete called the parlour. They had a new addition among them; a dark haired man with sharp lips and dark eyes – Cxlvxn, his nametag claimed. He’d introduced himself as Calvin, seeming cheerful enough.

“That’s good,” Eret yawned, always tired when basking in the heat. The difference in the heating of this room to the rest of the fortress was almost shocking. She sat reclined on the original couch, with Technoblade hunched beside her, glancing over his prized blade with a honing rod. “Do we still need more stone for the bridges?”

“Yeah,” came the agreement. “I have a plan for the main one, though I don’t want to mess up the architecture too much.”

 “The style’s about as old as you, Phil,” Eret waved off his concerns, comfortable in how welcoming the atmosphere was. Calvin sat with his hot chocolate, marvelling at it, whilst Pete sat beside him, telling him the best way to gulp up the marshmallows in it. Phil had claimed an armchair – a new addition alongside the couch Cal and Pete sat on, though just as heavily covered in furs. “I don’t think you have to worry about ruining it.”

“It’s old news,” Technoblade chuffed. “Brighten the place up, Phil.”

The angel shook his head. “Sure, sure. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I can go out mining tomorrow, if you want.” Eret offered.

“That would be great, mate. Cheers.”

Calvin sat up. “Can I go with you?”

Eret looked at the man. Technoblade had left early this afternoon to fly across the server to collect him. She was told he was a proficient warrior and was quick on his feet.

“So long as you have the tools,” she shrugged, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her slave-driving tactics. “You might as well.”

Technoblade and Phil shared an amused look. Pete grimaced to himself and looked away as he composed his expression – he’d seen one of her nit-picking moods up close, standing on the sidelines as she nagged Technoblade and Phil about the state of their base.

Calvin grinned, unaware of what he’d just agreed to. “Thanks, Eret.”

She waved him off and tipped her head onto the back of the couch. The warmth of the fire was licking at her skin, leaving her hazy. Phil started talking about basic introductions with Calvin, telling him about the area and what not to do. Eret listened with half an ear, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable she was.

Rolling out her shoulders, she shuffled, burrowing further into the furs around her. When she was still unsatisfied, she gritted her teeth and shook out her arms.

There was a choked noise. Opening her eyes, Eret found Pete staring at her wide eyed, Calvin gaping like a fish out of water.

“What?” She grunted, looking down at where they were looking – she hoped she hadn’t ripped her tunic, that would be awkward.

There was nothing to see. Her arms settled around her, tunic in one piece—

“You have six arms,” began Calvin. “Uh, did you always have six arms?”

“Yes,” she said, speaking slowly. “I was born with them.”

“Only Glitch Bringers have six arms…” Pete baulked. “You didn’t say you were a god too, Eret!”

“Wait,” Calvin turned to the old mortal. “Glitch Bringer like… like the White Eyed Demon?”

“Brine is my father,” she clarified, staring at the boy. “Why did you think my eyes were white?”

“Uh,” Cal scratched the back of his head. “I didn’t really want to ask.”

Shaking her head, she let her arms curl around her. For the entry into the subworld, she’d pulled a glamour up; making her appear like a normal mortal, with two arms, and skin that wasn’t wisping away into particles (a sign of a glitch). Now, she realised she’d gone about a week and a half without dropping it.

“Get used to it,” she decided. “I’m not putting the glamour back on.”

“They’re just surprised,” Phil placated, sensing the hostility in her tone. “No one would make you put your glamour back on. Though, maybe don’t flaunt them in front of the admins?”

“I’ll pull the glam up for when we leave the territory,” she shrugged, unbothered.

Technoblade grunted. “What time is it?”

Before Phil could respond, the piglin stood. “The sun’s setting. I told Chat I’d watch it. Gotta go.”

The Blood God fled. Eret smirked at the rest of the ones in the room and hefted herself to her feet. “I’m going to my room. Calvin-”

The man jerked up, looking at her. “Yeah?”

“Up early tomorrow. Before sunrise.”

The man blanched but agreed nonetheless.

Eret took the long walk back to her room – a cave hollowed out of the stone. A bed piled high with furs of her own making sat in the centre, a fire only a few feet away. Candles sat, ready to be lit. With a snap of her fingers, the room was slightly brighter, though still shadowed – the wood alight, wicks burning. She settled into the chilled bed and tapped at her communicator.

Swiping left on the default screen, she pulled up her contacts. Picking the first one – the only one she’d selected as a favourite – she tapped his silly little icon of a shark chasing after his fishing bait. He’d been ecstatic when it had happened, and hadn’t stopped talking about it for days. The memory brought a fond smile to her face.

“Hello!” Came the shout through the little device.

Eret closed her eyes, content at last. “Hello, Foolish. I’ve missed you.”

“Aww!” Came the coo, then, softer; “I’ve missed you too, Eret.”

The next day, she woke sharply. The cold had never been her friend, and her shoulder was bared to the stingy air. Pulling her furs back over herself with a hand, she listened to Foolish’s loud snores over the call, smiling to herself. They’d fallen asleep after Foolish nattered her ears off.

Tapping her communicator, she flipped onto the default screen to inspect the weather icon in the corner. It was around five in the morning, by human timekeeping methods, and for her, before sunrise.

She lay on a little longer, lying in the warmth of her furs, just listening to Foolish. Eret closed her eyes and pulled the arm with her communicator up beside her. With the sound so close, she could pretend she was with Foolish, in person – he was right there, snoring on the other side of the bed. Sated this way, she drifted, thoughts mellowing out into a simple haze.

Then, “Eret?”

“Hm?” She grunted.

“Are you still in bed?” Foolish murmured, voice husky. He’d likely just woken up, though she hadn’t noticed the pause in snoring.

“Mnh...” For a moment, she struggled to find her voice. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t you say you were taking the new kid mining?”

Opening her eyes with a start, she tumbled out of bed. To think – the horror of herself being a hypocrite; she’d told the boy to get up before sunrise and here she was, still in bed, snoozing.

Foolish’s laughter was her music as she dressed. She threatened repeatedly to hang up on him, but only refrained from doing so as he claimed her ‘wakefulness’ was inspiring him to get up. Subworlds and the true world ran on different time schedules, although, the time difference between where their house was and SMP Earth was naught an hour.

Her heavy winter outfits that were perfect for the exposure she’d be getting whilst mining all only had one pair of arm holes, so she pulled her glamour up (sooner than she’d liked – she’d have to drop it again later to get some stretching done) and shuffled over to her closet, dragging her clothes out.

Eret pulled on thick winter socks and a thick-threaded vest. A heavy shirt was pulled over that, with a cotton sweater she’d knitted herself being tugged atop the long sleeved linen. (She’d finally upped the guile and weaved enough flax to make a few sheets of linen, though it had taken a while.) She had a bigger, navy sweater that Technoblade had loaned her on her first few days, due to her lack of anything warm, and had allowed her to keep. That was dragged on over her garments, with the signature Antarctic Empire blue and white coat finishing the look.

She was petite enough that the multitude of sweaters didn’t look crazy on her. Instead, it just broadened her out, which was compacted into a decent figure when she equipped her armour.

Skin-tight leggings were pulled up to lap over the shirt’s edges. Over those, thick snow-trousers were sealed at the hems by the two sweaters – hers being a good barrier, whilst Techno’s was more of a breezy cover.

Bending over (with surprising agility despite the sorely needed layers), she tugged on her furry snowboots and called it a day, listening to Foolish’s mindless chatter as he narrated the encounter he’d had last night with a wolf out in the forests around the town. He’d already lovingly named it ‘Bentley’ and had plans for capturing it.

Eret didn’t bother to dissuade him. She found it a bit too funny to hear of the recounter and the thought of Foolish being gnawed on by a wolf was too amusing to pass up.

“I have to go, Foolish,” she said.

“Alright, love you,” he chirped.

The call flashed up at her, red words telling her it had ended. “I love you too,” she murmured, warming her own chest with the memories of him saying those words. She was such a sap, though Foolish was arguably worse.

She traipsed along the interior corridor hollowed out of the ice and came upon the larger structures of the stronghold, namely the bridges. She walked along them until she got onto one that would lead above the main one, and followed it until she could jump from it onto the main bridge. From there, she walked to the main room and found it empty. Humming to herself, the sound reverberating in the large cavern, Eret trailed down to the kitchens, only a few hollowed out rooms down. These rooms, in the side of the mountain, were hidden more securely; number made up by the barn and the chest room.

The kitchen was also empty. Checking the locator map, she noticed only Technoblade and her own signals were active within the mountain. That meant Pete was definitely still asleep and Phil was either sleeping or out flying. It also meant the newbie was still in bed.

She knew where his room was. Climbing up the side of the icicles was the quickest route up to the middle of the mountain, so that was what she did, using a little glitch that allowed her to walk up them. Five minutes later, she was on another corridor, this one framed quite prettily by the ice – rather than the gnarly, all encompassing way the passage to her own room was built.

The floor was stone, with the ice forming jagged points along the side of the walkway. Walking down along it, she came upon the only door in the wall and knocked on it.

Nothing. She knocked again, this time louder and with more force.

When Eret heard not a peep, she decided to open the door. She found a lump lying in a bleak bed; any furs they could spare hefted over to make sure their newest member didn’t freeze in the night.

Stomping over, she kicked the bed frame, rattling it.

“Get up,” she called.

He groaned.

She kicked the bed again. Something cracked and the entire mattress slumped onto the ground. The lump under the furs rose, and a head poked out.

“Whad’ya do?” Calvin grunted, wriggling forward only for the bed to deflate further. The wooden post at the end of the frame toppled with a crash. They stared at it.

“Get up,” she repeated. “It’s time to go.”

“You broke my bed,” Cal murmured. Poking at his communicator, it lit up suddenly, brightening the dark room and making the human squint. “And it’s not even six am?”

“Sunrise was an hour ago,” she informed him.

Calvin looked up at her. She couldn’t decipher if his gaze was confused or annoyed. It was likely the latter. She clicked her fingers and his bed reformed with him in it, the wood coming together as though it had never been broken.

“Alright,” he said eventually, after a few moments of silent staring. “Give me ten minutes?”

“Call me when you’re ready,” she said and turned on her heel.

Jumping down off the side of the open corridor, Eret caught herself on an icicle and swung down onto the stone roof of some shrine that Philza had erected. It was probably for his Lady Death, though Eret hadn’t ever been one to snoop around religion, so she didn’t bother to do so now.

Instead, she slipped off it and onto a narrow bridge that ran behind it. There were many bridges that ran throughout the stronghold, and they were the main transportation route around the large mountain-held base. It was too large and too cold… Because of these reasons, Technoblade had been murmuring about another base recently and though they’d claimed a lot of land without major resistance, Eret was sure there would be rebellion against the Empire soon. Another base did sound nice though; one not so cold would be appreciated.

Strolling along the bridge, she stepped down a small flight of stairs and pushed open a heavy door just enough to slip past. The heat that rushed to meet her was heavenly, and she almost melted in the doorway. Nevertheless, she pushed on and came into the large library, sitting down on a stiff chaise lounge as she watched Technoblade enchant things by the enchanting table.

Enchanting tables were simple ways humans could reach the blessing of the gods (or, as some said, the witches). They weren’t as potent as the blood-scribing method, though very few could muster the will to do such. Eret was unphased by the gore, though the pain had made humans pass out in the past. Technoblade, as a vessel, was biased to avoid the shedding of his own holy blood unless absolutely necessary.

They sat in silence. Eret closed her eyes and listened to the scritching of the quill over the metal, the low hum of magic permeating the room. The rhythmic noise reminded her of the gentle clicking sound of Brine knitting. Long days had been spent inside, during wet weather or extreme cold, and Brine had knitted all sorts of things for the both of them.

One such thing was a scarf. Blue, crafted lovingly with shimmering wool – she’d worn it until it became threadbare, and even then, she wore it until it fell apart quite literally around her neck. A young sprite, she’d wept when it broke, but Brine had kissed her forehead and made her another one. It hadn’t had the same emotional attachment as the first, but the sentiment of it being something her father had made her was all the more potent.

Something shook her. Eret lulled into wakefulness, lifting her head from her chest and blinking up at Techno. His large hand was on her shoulder; the back of his hand all fur whilst his palm and fingertips were toughened pads. He was ever so gentle as he clutched at her coat, rousing her.

“Your comm is beeping,” he said.

Groaning, she uttered something unintelligible and nodded her thanks. Techno retreated back to his work and she almost felt bad for distracting him. Actually, thinking about it, he could probably use the break. Knowing him, he hadn’t slept at all.

“What?” She answered, not even bothering to check the caller ID.

“Eret,” Foolish was whispering. She blinked and checked the time; she’d been on call with him not half an hour ago, what in the Seas had he done? “There’s two wolves.”

“Great, dear,” she muttered, head tipping back into the cushions.

“I think this other one’s a girl — she’s white and black. What’s a good name for a girl?”

“Athena,” Techno suggested, back still hunched as he sat over his project. The quill scratching had paused.

“Athena,” Foolish sounded it out. “Oh, I like that! Do you like that, girl? Athena!”

There was a growl. Foolish made a high pitched squeak.

“I think she does! She bit me!”

“I think that means she doesn’t,” Eret said, only to be ignored.

“What’s the other called?” Techno asked.

“Bentley,” Foolish answered happily. For his first time talking to Technoblade, he was fairing well – though her husband was more of a natural social butterfly than she was. “He’s a big tall boy. I think him and Athena are related. Their coats are so alike.”

“If they’re together, they could be from the same pack,” Techno hummed. “Or mates.”

“There’s no little wolf puppies, though,” Foolish murmured, speaking possibly the funniest sentence he had in a while. Technoblade was quiet. Eret stifled her snickers. “And these two are the only ones I’ve seen.”

“Survivors?” Technoblade suggested.

“Hard won survivalists,” Foolish proclaimed.

A knock echoed on the door. Calvin pushed his head in and fidgeted, seeming like a lost child.

“The boy’s up,” she said to her husband. “I ought to go.”

“Alright, I can tell when you don’t wanna talk to me,” Foolish chuckled in good faith. “Have fun!”

“And you,” she murmured and hang up.

Patting Technoblade on the shoulder as she left, she dragged Calvin out of the heat and finally got onto mining.

Calvin hadn’t been on SMP Earth for very long. It was a large server, with tons of people interested in it – who wouldn’t be when it was founded partly by Wilbur Soot, first born of the Angel of Death? And when that very Angel was participating in the faction themed, medieval-esque style of the subworld!

It was all very exciting. He’d gotten irritated by the monotony of the gladiator and challenge worlds, so he’d applied for an invite into the server and had gotten it. He’d been on the land for barely half a day before Technoblade scouted him out.

Technoblade, as in The Blood God Technoblade.

He was beside himself and accepted without a second thought when the man offered him a place in his Empire.

Now, standing in the freezing cold beside someone who sported six arms on occasion and two on most, he was mining. He was shivering his butt off as Eret teased a few sparkling emeralds from the stone they’d been ploughing through not minutes before.

Calvin hadn’t expected mining to be so strenuous. He’d never really done much of it before, but he was decent enough. Eret, on the other hand, was a bulldozer in human form. She crunched stone into her inventory like Cal had seen no man do. Her pickaxe sparkled with mending. Her expression was determination to the bone.

He’d never expected to be intimidated by anyone other than the legends. Maybe, Eret was one.

After all, if she was with the Blade and the Angel, surely she wasn’t exactly normal? But Pete was completely normal – human as could be, featuring achy joints and wrinkled brows.

Finally, Eret pulled a handful of emeralds from the stone meters above her head and turned to look back at the damage she’d wrought. It had mainly been her carving a tunnel into the far side of Antarctica (as it had been deemed the best place to mine, as it was within their territory and most likely unmined by the other players), with Cal just picking up any blocks she missed. Even then, he had a half full inventory as she’d began chucking things back at him nearing the three-quarters mark. He was sure her inventory was full with stone. The ice, they didn’t need and left, though he’d seen her snacking on some smaller chunks she’d broken off – who even did stuff like that? Eating ice was just plain weird.

Anyways, what would Philza do with all of this stone? Sure, he’d wanted to renovate the stronghold, but he definitely didn’t need this much. It was at least three chests worth!

“This will do us,” Eret announced, after seemingly checking her inventory. It was impossible to see what others had in their compact subspace storage, so Calvin just sort of stood there whilst she swiped at the her-eyes-only holo-screen (it looked like she was swiping at thin air and was the funniest thing he’d seen all day). “We’ll head back for lunch.”

Mood improving at the thought of a warm lunch – actually, he’d take sandwiches so long as he could sit near the fire – Cal asked, “Are we gonna head out afterwards?”

“No, I think we’ll call it a day. If Phil needs any more I can get it for him later.”

“Okay,” he nodded along, and they walked back through the tunnel. Eret chucked out a two-person plane that this server had (which had a miniaturizing feature to be able to fit in someone’s inventory!) and climbed into the driver’s seat. Cal muttered a quick prayer and got in himself, hoping that the ride back would be smoother than the ride to the outer edge of their territory.

Eret was not a good driver.

The flight back to the stronghold base was (arguably) worse.

Calvin teetered out onto the landing strip and thanked whoever’d been listening that he’d made it out alive. Eret disembarked regally; jumping out feet first, with a hand on the side of the plane, hair flying around her, coat lapels flaring up dramatically. She landed on her feet and acted as though nothing had happened. Acted as though she nearly hadn’t taken them diving into the icy sea twice and nearly crashed into the very mountain they now stood on.

Safe to say, whenever Eret proposed a mining trip again, he’d rethink his decision.

He was also criminally underprepared for the cold – he’d thought Antarctica was the warmer one of the poles?

Eret led him down the secret pathway and through the boobytrapped hallway into the main stronghold. They met Technoblade just as he came out of the room he’d been in earlier – the library? – and he grunted at them.

For a legend of fighting prowess, the Blade was not one for avid conversations.

Calvin walked ahead, eager for whatever Philza had cooked up for lunch. It smelt great, and he followed his nose. Eret and Technoblade lingered behind, murmuring quietly together.

A stone creaked as he stepped on it.

“Some of them are loose,” Eret supplied, the three of them watching as the stone plummeted away into the darkness below the fortress. Calvin squeaked – not a very manly sound, but these things happened – and hightailed it across the rest of the bridge, standing on the security of the ice path that ran along the side of the mountain and led to the kitchen. The two warriors – gods? – smirked at him, taking their time.

Something rumbled. Eret’s head tilted to the right, where the sound had come from. Calvin paused in his saunter to the kitchen to look back and caught the stones beside the one that had fallen vanish completely.

The bridge fell out from under their feet. Technoblade and Eret fell with it.

Calvin screamed.

“PHILZA!” Hollered Technoblade.

A swathe of black and blue flung itself from behind Calvin. Philza dived into the fray without a second of hesitance, black crow’s wings bunched tight to his back as he reached out for the two, his Empiric coat flapping in the wind.

With nothing to do, no way to help, Cal stood on the ice path and gawked as the Angel of Death plummeted towards the two falling amidst the ruin of the main bridge. Pete ambled out to stand with him, praying under his breath.

Eret had splayed her limbs wide, with Technoblade doing the same. Philza caught Eret first, as she was closer, and hooked an arm around her waist in the flurry as he redirected course to grab Technoblade. The Angel of Death reached for the Blade, and the Blade reached back.

Standing watching, Calvin felt his heart hammering. Philza’s wings flew wide as he neared Technoblade, but the blur of black was all they seen as the trio fell down into the dust created by the stones. They plummeted deeper into the caverns below the stronghold, out of sight.

“Are they…?” Calvin didn’t have the heart to finish the question. Pete was praying louder, hands clenched before him.

“Please, O Mother Death,” the old man was practically shouting. “Give your Angel the strength he needs, let his wings fly proud. Blood God, see your Chosen falling and give aid! Brine Hero, throw down glitches for weightlessness and give the ground a soft touch. Blessed be, Blessed by; gods watching give your Blessings.”

Never having been one for praying to the specific gods, Cal only watched as Pete’s hands shook. Spurred on, he clenched his own and murmured a prayer to the god of luck.

Black emerged from the haze.

Like a soaring eagle, the Angel of Death rose high above the dust, black feathers spiralling around him as his large wings spread out wide. In one arm, he clutched Eret, and Technoblade held onto his other hand, dangling as though a length of rope from a cliffside.

If rays of light had shone from his eyes and haloed his head, Calvin would not have been surprised. As it was, the scene was holy and each moment pounded on baited breath. Philza flapped his wings out, hovering with the two for just a moment, but it was a moment that lasted a lifetime.

“O Mercy how it shines bright,” Pete was frantic with relief, he gestured hurriedly for Phil to approach and tugged Cal out of the way when the Angel swooped in to descend. When the blond landed, Pete was up in arms, clutching the likely far older man close as Technoblade sat on his hunches and Eret withered to the ground, legs splayed wide as she blinked dust out of her eyes. “Thank the Beings. Are you all alright? Anyone hurt?”

Technoblade coughed dust out of his mouth. “I’m fine. Eret, your-?”

“My ankle’s broken,” she said, remarkably calm even as Pete began fretting. Calvin stood and watched with a sense of delayed shock as she simply sat there, looking unbothered. “It hit one of the stones as I fell.”

“Lucky it wasn’t your head, mate,” Philza panted, flapping out his wings a bit before he folded them back. He winced as he rubbed at the arm that had held Technoblade. “Geez, Tech, talk about putting on a few pounds?”

“It’s winter weight,” said the piglin. “And it wouldn’t have been so bad on your arm if you grabbed me first. I could’ve held Eret.”

“I reached her first,” the Angel shrugged. “But now you can pick her up and bring her into the kitchen, where it’s at least warm.”

Technoblade grunted as he got to his feet. He seemed unshaken and trotted over to pick up Eret without a complaint.

Calvin stared, feeling alienated. Even Philza seemed unconcerned. At least Pete seemed worried about the situation.

“Lucky you walked on, mate,” Philza clapped him on the shoulder as the group passed. “Or we would’ve been in a tight spot.”

He couldn’t help but feel hurt by that statement. Yes, it was true – three people to catch would’ve been a bit too many, seeing how Phil had struggled to grab just Eret and Technoblade, but it was the joking tone Philza said it with that hit deep. Would he have been left to fall if he’d went down with them?

He followed them into the kitchen and ate the broth the Angel had made in silence. Eret was given potions for her ankle. Calvin sat with them, looking around the group, and couldn’t even pretend that he felt close with Pete – the only other human there, whose worries and fretting these gods took in stride and smirked at.

“I broke my ankle today,” Eret hummed over her call later that night. She’d went out to grab more stone for Phil after lunch, and although Calvin hadn’t went with her, she’d had a good time mining away the rest of the day.

“What?” Foolish shouted, outraged. “How come you never broke it with me? I’d nurse you back to health.”

“Foolish,” she laughed. “I got a potion.”

“I’d nurse you back to health,” he continued on, unswayed. “I’d elevate it, give you a nice cushion for it to rest on. I wouldn’t even let the dogs jump on you.”

“The dogs?” She grinned, amazed at how quickly Foolish seemed to have taken them into the fold and simultaneously forgotten they were deadly animals that could kill a human in a blink.

“Oh yeah, they’d jump on you for sure, but I’d protect you,” she smiled at the conviction in his voice, easing under her furs. “I’d get you fresh fruits and cut them up all pretty, into big slices, or into little hearts or something cute like you! You like your shoulder rubs so you’ll get plenty of those, and I’ll butter you up while you’re lying all grouchy, and I’ll kiss you sweetly—”

He didn’t stop speaking for ten minutes. She smiled as she listened to him, wondering what they would’ve done if there were no potions on hand.

The bridge falling had not been coincidence, they found out later. The other Empires were uniting to get rid of the Antarcticians.

War ensued.

“The burial grounds have sprouted with daffodils,” Foolish murmured one night.

“Daffodils?”

“Indeed. The humans are unsure if they should weed them.”

“Tell them to keep them. Daffodils are important,” Eret responded. She thought of the countless she’d offered Foolish and knew he thought of the same memories as they spoke.

“I know,” Foolish agreed. “They are hope, after all.”

To Eret, daffodils were selfish. Though, she wouldn’t say anything that contradicted the meaning Foolish had made for them.

They fought for the Empire’s life. Days went by and there were attacks. Calvin lost his first life to an ambush, and woke shivering. He did not speak for the rest of the day. Philza spent it rebuilding the side of the mountain that had been blown up. Technoblade placed booby traps all over their land and the shores. Pete spent the day out and about, strengthening their bonds with their allies and visiting the markets.

Eret sat in a tunnel and knitted him a scarf. When she graced daylight, she gave Phil the stone she’d mined and Techno the emeralds. Calvin did not smile like he should’ve when she gave him the scarf.

SMP Earth began to lose its shine.

An arrow pierced Phil’s wing when it should’ve gouged her eye. The man fell with a shout, clutching his wing, and Eret saw red. Technoblade got to the attackers first.

The Corvinian Empire forfeited the war.

“I’m bored,” she said one night, when everyone was gathered in the parlour. Pete was barely awake, though perked up at her voice. Calvin sat, silent as always. He’d retreated into himself as of late. It was no fun anymore.

“We could play senet,” Techno offered.

“No,” she shook her head and stood. “I’m bored of the server. I’ll be going home.”

Everyone gawked at her.

“So soon?” Philza laughed. “I would’ve thought you’d at least see this war out.”

“It’s not what it used to be,” she shrugged. “Foolish’s war was battle lines drawn in the sand, soldiers dying in close quarters. This is a cowards game of chess and rigged tnt. I don’t enjoy tomfoolery.”

“I do,” Techno grunted. He got to his feet and clutched her hand in his, shaking it. She smiled at him. “I’ll see you again, Chaos.”

“So long, Blade,” she agreed.

Phil hugged her. “Tell Foolish I said hello, will you? And stay in touch.”

“Of course,” she murmured, hugging him back. His warmth was nice, as it always had been.

Pete cried but daubed at his tears and hugged her even tighter than the Angel had. “I suppose we won’t meet again, Eret.”

“When you pass, ask for me,” she winked. “I’ll come have tea with you.”

The old man smiled.

Calvin nodded his goodbyes.

Before she left, she went to her room. She grabbed the little trinkets she’d found over the few years and bundled them away into her god-protected inventory, just as she had with Wrath. She took the sweater Techno had given her so long ago, alongside the Antarctic Empire’s cloak she’d worn each day.

Finally, Eret tapped at her communicator.

[TheEret logged out.]

She rejoined Foolish in the main world. He introduced her to Athena and Bentley, telling of their quirks. She laughed with him and split a pomegranate over the setting sun. The wolves ate the seeds, lapping at their heels, as she and Foolish ate the sour skin.

“I’m happy you’re back,” Foolish said, and that was that. He did not ask her why she had returned. He did not need to.

It took barely a few days before she resettled in amongst the buzz of being back. The humans celebrated her return with a feast and she met many new faces she was soon to forget. The graveyard had grown, yet the daffodils that had risen remained.

The town lore called them signs of rebirth. They sprouted many amongst where the soldiers had fallen centuries ago. Not one grew near Eret and Foolish’s house.

‘A good sign,’ said the people. They did not want another tyrant. More loyal soldiers, though? They rejoiced at the fact their souls were growing into new bodies somewhere.

Eret sat around the house for the first time in years. She liked it better here – without the cold of Antarctica, although she did miss the Empire boys a bit. But here, she could knit in peace, without having to retreat down to a mining tunnel for a bit of security.

Bentley looked cute in the jumpers she crafted for him, even if he did like to eat them.

Athena didn’t quite suit them, though ended up with the majority, as she did not gnaw through the wool with the viciousness of Bentley.

Foolish… Foolish was too much like a child in his work. He went out and returned messy. He went fishing and returned covered in mud. He chiselled at sandstone and returned looking as though a sandstorm had run through town and hit him hardest.

Foolish did not get things knitted for him to wear. He got pretty little items that would sit in his inventory that he could gawk at. A silly little band for the handle of his little-used sword, a faux daffodil that couldn’t stand by itself because it was all wool.

Meanwhile, Eret knitted for the house. She made little coasters for their teacups – a bustling trade had opened within the town in the past few years and one of the youngsters was expressly intricate with a kiln. She made blankets, crafting woven squares into large sheets. She made a hat for Brine and presented it to him when he came over for a visit. That led to many more visits, where they sat together in the drawing room and knitted in serene tranquillity.

Eret readjusted to the calm life of living in the main world. She enjoyed it a lot.

One day, Wilbur Soot – son of Philza and Death – sent her a message. They had met briefly during her time in SMP Earth as she ran amuck with his father. Tommy, his little brother and Phil’s youngest, had been in the boy’s care at the time, as the little toddler was too young for the cold of the Antarctic Empire.

She’d heard a long time ago that SMP Earth had been disbanded. Faction servers never lasted for long, though Earth had lasted nearly a full decade. Quite impressive.

This message, although appreciated, was quite unexpected.

It read:

‘Hey, Eret. I know we didn’t talk much, but I’d like to invite you to the Dream SMP. It’s a new exploration server that I’ve been invited to and want to bring big soon. Although I won’t be on daily yet, I want to send you out an invite as one of a group of people I’d like to have on my side in there. Dadza’s spoken good things about you and you seem like the type up for a bit of revolutionary fighting! :)

No bother if you can’t, but here’s the code if you want it.

Thanks,

Wilbur Soot.’

She read the message twice before telling Foolish.

“Sounds fun,” he said, unworried as he ruffled Bentley’s coat. “When are you going?”

“I don’t know if I will,” she hesitated, though knew that was a lie. Eret couldn’t resist things like these.

Foolish flicked her a glance.

“Fine,” she admitted. “I’ll go in with nothing, so keep Wrath shiny, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Foolish grinned.

[TheEret logged on. Greetings from the far and wide!]

The Dream SMP was quaint. Green rolling hills shone against a blue, cloudless sky.

It was heaven in a bundle, with a short player list of only a few.

The admin and namesake of the server, was a bubbly man by the name of Dream.

He claimed there were free dibs on the land.

Eret picked a hill and built a castle on it as she waited for Soot to log on.

She never made it that long.

“Eret,” Dream snarled suddenly, “I don’t think you understand.”

Behind him, Punz rested a hand on his weapon.

“To have this castle, you need to be a king.”

“Alright then,” she said. “Put a crown on my head and call me Your Majesty.”

If possible, Dream seemed even more peeved. He lifted his head to sneer at her down his nose. His shadow’s fist clenched and unclenched, jaw gritted and tense enough to burst through the skin.

“I know who you are,” said the admin.

“Indeed, you do, Dream, just as I know your identity,” Eret smiled, not one to be mentally pushed into a corner.

Dream laughed. It was a distrustful sound. A mortal would’ve called it disturbing, but Eret had seen war and death and decay – a mere man’s voice did not cause her fear.

“I know who you are,” repeated the boy in a man’s mask.

The game wore thin quickly. “Leave if you have nothing of value to say,” she ordered, confident in her ability to get rid of unwanted house guests. So-what if the ittle bittle baby admin was angry she’d built a palace when he himself had no house? It wasn’t her problem. There was an entire server he could build a bigger fortress on.

Dream sighed. The sound was humorous, filled with mirth that was not appreciated. Eret almost wished for a lightning bolt to strike him down; teach him manners.

“I don’t think you understand, Glitch.”

Her composure did not falter. It was not horrifying for someone unwarranted to learn of who she was. It was how she dealt with it that was looked upon with fear, oft.

“Interesting, Admin,” she drawled, entirely uninterested in this conversation. It was neither a difficult subject or a painful one, rather the hassle of having it. Dream wanted to hold something on her, and it was her godhood.

What a shame for him, she did not care in the slightest.

She continued, “Whatever will you do now?”

“What do you mean?” Dream snickered.

“Dream,” she said, voice entirely blank. “I don’t care what you seem to think. I don’t care what you think you hold over my head. I think it best you leave my house, before you start breaking the Admin-Player Rules.”

The Admin-Player Rules dictated that no admin would harm, abuse or threaten a player without pre-agreed upon statements (roleplay servers were the reason the statements existed). This meant, Dream was getting awfully close to being a redlined admin, with his suggestive language of veiled threats.

Eret could go to the Higher Admin Council – fifteen stakes below the godling’s Pantheon on the ladder of jurisdiction – and have this very tiny, very insignificant man executed if she so wished. There would be no complaints.

Brine was at the top of the ladder. Being the Child, Eret was on the second rung. She pulled the leash and the dogs followed, licking at her footsteps.

“How rude,” Dream snorted. “I’m only saying hello, yet you still think you’re on top.”

He flicked his wrist. Eret watched with a dramatically raised eyebrow as he seemed to tap at something on his communicator.

“What’s the matter, Dreamie?” She taunted. “Things not gone to plan?”

A box of white enveloped her. Startled, she blinked at it, and just as she reached out to touch it, for she couldn’t feel even a hint of energy from it, it vanished.

She landed feet-first on the purple brick of an End City. Dream SMP’s End was locked— why was she here? How had she…

A sour taste filled her mouth as she stared at the emptied remains of an End City left to rot for millennia. Stumbling out onto the street, where hundreds of white ghostly people would roam, she found nothing but shattered shells and broken vines. The lights were out, the orbs that would shine in the lanterns snuffed completely, the windows all shattered. Doors were pulled off hinges, and black smoke roiled over the valley.

There was no wind in the End, no machinated system for keeping fresh air down close to the city. The land stunk of age, rotten things wafting up to irritate her as she walked. If she wasn’t plagued by something decaying, it was a thick cloying stench of something burning that choked her.

Confused, wondering if Dream had access to some sort of strong sensory hallucinogen, Eret trekked down the street. The purple cobble was broken and potholed, each house she passed raided and empty. Chests lay scattered in rooms, tops yanked off, spilled potions long dried into the now moulded wood.

With each house she checked that came up empty, devoid of life, she grew more hasty. A few minutes later, after checking more than half the city, she was sprinting down the street, jumping over crumbling shulkers, racing towards the billowing black smoke.

If the End Cities had appeared, the Dragon of this server’s End had been defeated. If it had happened at a point where Eret or any of the others were online, everyone would know about it. This meant, the Dragon had either been defeated long ago, or Dream had abused his admin privileges to ensure the recognition alert didn’t show up in chat.

She didn’t know which was worse… On one hand, if the Dragon had been defeated the ten or so years before the subworld expanded, then the End people should’ve flourished and would be thriving, with crafts and trades and countless communities. But, on the other, if the Dragon had been secretly defeated, or killed through hacks or a glitch, then it may have resulted in this state of End?

Confused and worried, she did what she always did when she got like this – reached down to call Foolish.

Except, her communicator wasn’t on the bracelet around her wrist. The rope was charmed to never break, and even then, she replaced it meticulously each month or so.

But there was no bracelet. That meant no communicator. That meant no calling. That meant no chat. No logging in or out.

Without a communicator, one couldn’t leave a server. There was no communication. There was no hope.

Not even Eret could glitch her way in or out of a server. Only communicators could access the right codes, protected by the Overseers themselves. The Overseers did not obey anyone, even if she and her father were above them in the rungs of the ladder, she would not be able to contact them, even if she had a communicator.

Frantic now, smoke forgotten, she traced back her steps. The End did not have a day or night, only eternal darkness. Her eyes were the only thing allowing her to see at all, so she did not have a measure of how long she spent searching.

All she knew, was by the time she’d scoured each inch of ground, Eret had returned to the dingy little house she’d arrived in and she still hadn’t found it. Even after exploring countless decimated houses that she hadn’t neared prior, in the off chance that the non-existent wind had pushed it through a caved doorway or it had fallen off in her running and went flying, she found nothing.

Terribly distressed now, she sucked the rancid air into her lungs and held it. Pulling at her glamour, she found it fell down almost instantly – without the playful hold her magick would normally have. Her arms swam around her, a pair hugging her tightly as the other two reached out to feel the essence in the air.

The End was almost completely dead. Aside from lingering feelings of fear and hatred, there was nothing.

Her stomach grumbled. Aura shifting to peer at the lingering chaos in the ground, Eret decided to hold off – she couldn’t tell how long she would be here for. It would do her no good if she ate everything now, not to mention, if this was fake, she didn’t want to risk anything. What would happen if she tried to eat the chaos of a hallucinogen?

She didn’t want to find out.

All Eret knew was that she wanted to leave.

Digging metaphorical claws into the server code, she tried (despite all reason) to glitch her way out. Placing a little glowing ball in the mainframe of the code, she gently pushed it in, finding no resistance to her ploy. Intrigued at how defenceless the server was, she pulsed through the code and found no backdoors – only the door she’d entered through.

Mentally shrugging, she retreated after making sure the little glitch was planted. Opening her eyes in the city, she snapped her fingers.

Nothing happened.

Swallowing, Eret snapped her fingers again.

The city remained. Tumbleweeds made of the End vines bumbled down the broken street. Shattered lanterns sat unmoving. A fog of inky blackness sat over the city, each corner and wall and stone smothered by a wretched stink.

Forcing herself back into the code, she pushed and shoved at it. This time, no glowing ball came forth. The code closed around her, attempting to suffocate her, catching her neck and squeezing—

Do not interfere.

Eyes shooting wide, she choked, knees buckling as she hurled her lunch everywhere. Shivering in the unending chill, Eret knelt on the lifeless brick floor and mourned what she’d lost in a mere second.

Foolish grey antsy without Eret. He enjoyed building because it distracted him, and so that was what he did. He built another shed, helped the humans in the town create a library, and even suggested plans for a museum. Eret would call him sappy, saying he was being silly – she’d never been one to dwell too much on the past – but he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about it yet. She’d stopped calling about five months into her being on the Dream SMP.

Thinking it was one of her moods, Foolish had let it go. He’d given her space and simply built more. He planted pomegranate trees out the back of their house and visited Brine to make sure the old Glitch was doing alright (he was fine, tongue still sharp as always). He built and built and built; although, when he’d renovated the house more than five times in a week, he realised that building maybe wasn’t helping.

Two years. It would be two years since Eret had called him, the anniversary of her silence a few months away. On lonely nights, he’d tried calling her, only to receive a message that his call had rang on. In other words, Eret was ignoring him.

Eret had never ignored him. Well, not for this long.

She hadn’t even contacted Brine. She had the old git worried.

She had Foolish worried. He was so worried.

Foolish bit his lip and searched up the server.

Private.

Friends Only invites.

It took him four months to befriend Dream. Six, in total, to get an invite. By that time, it was two and a half years into Eret going MIA in some subworld half the universe hadn’t even heard of.

He left the dogs with Brine and informed the old man of his plan (he already knew; Eret hadn’t been calling him either and the two of them often shared their grief over this).

When he joined, Dream was waiting for him.

“Foolish!” Cried the man, mask a sharp grin. “Good to see you! Welcome to my server.”

“Hey, Dream. Thanks for the ‘vite! This place looks brilliant!”

In fact, the messy, blown-to-shreds server looked as though Bentley had taken a chew at it. Craters sat metres deep in the dirt, what had once been a pathway was destroyed beyond repair – and the odd patches that had been fixed were replaced with mismatching wood and sometimes cobblestone.

Not a house stood undamaged. They walked past a thousand foot drop straight to bedrock that had a shoddy bridge over it – reminiscent of the bridges that Eret had sent him pictures of from SMP Earth and their stronghold in Antarctica – and Dream acted as though it was nothing. Foolish gaped and pointed it out, playing on his ‘dumbass’ persona he’d slathered thick in conversations with Dream.

“There was a little… dispute,” Dream said when asked, posture stiff but quickly loosening, as though he realised he’d tensed unwantedly. That meant he was self-conscious about whatever had gone on here.

Was he to blame?

Probably.

Dream could appear friendly and boisterous, but Foolish knew…

He could tell, Dream was mean.

Maybe meaner than the tyrant emperor he’d led that war against all those centuries ago.

“Ah, right,” Foolish nodded and smiled as though that bullshit excuse made sense. He didn’t talk about it anymore, instead asking about what life was like, who lived nearby, if there were any rules; all basic introductory questions that a newcomer would be expected to have.

When questioned about rules, all Dream said was, “The End is off-limits.”

“Okay!” Foolish chirped, grinning merrily as he asked another question, gently ribbing Dream about where George was. All the while, he internally mulled over the oddness of this server and of Dream.

Why would he bother to buy an End from the Overseers if it was banned for normal players? Sure, maybe the man didn’t want elytras in the server, as those could get messy, especially with only three lives, but the fact that an End was accessible at all, in the first place, was plain stupid.

Nevertheless, he played the fool and retreated to the desert. He played his hand at Egyptian architectures, as he had wanted to for years, and created pyramids upon pyramids. Temples found their way into his builds, with him carving out deep pits for pools. He filled these holes with glittering blue water, the shine of which at night, with the moon glinting down on it, reminded him of Eret and her beaming eyes.

Sometimes, he sat in those pools – taking advantage of his lack of need for air and breathing – and murmured little odd lines of code to Brine. The Glitch sat on the outside, unable to access the server lest he pull down an entire row of gods and godlings onto his head, who all wanted him gone. But the man listened, and Foolish found himself growing stronger as the days passed, the restrictions servers held upon godly users fluctuating and lessening for him (all thanks to the old man).

Sometimes, he sat in those pools and whispered things to Eret, things he began to wonder if they even heard.

Time was weird on this server – outside, it would be going on three years since Eret stopped calling.

But in here, it had been nearly a decade.

When he’d asked Dream about it, he was told it was a recent addition. The server had allegedly had a little glitch that altered the timeframing and he hadn’t wanted to pay to fix it.

Upon hearing that, Foolish instantly thought of Eret and her glitches. When he existed somewhere for long enough, glitches were rooted into the very core of her surroundings.

Had she tried to leave? Had something gone wrong? Why would she cut off so suddenly – Eret never went dark without a message first. And now he had news the server itself was glitched?

Things didn’t seem right.

He worried so deeply for her that he was sure she felt his fear from the other side of the universe.

Foolish played the ‘good boy’ role for as long as possible. He mulled away in the desert, building, building, stalling. He stalled until he grew restless, and then he began walking around the server in search of ‘materials and inspiration’.

Eret had always been his inspiration.

Although, as he wandered and made friends with little mortals, telling them stories (half truths, a mixture of a life he’d never lived; why would he tell them what he was? A totem shark god being in a little server like this was odd, so he posed as a simple hybrid), he wondered if Dream had done something to her. No one talked of the admin kindly, though if the topic was brought up at all, people went silent for a long while.

No one on this subworld was okay. Even the children – Foolish briefly met Tommy before his exile – were cold eyed and distant if asked the wrong question. Tubbo and Ranboo commissioned a manor, and Foolish spent a month on that, biting away at his worries as he laid log after log down.

In fact, the people of the Dream SMP seemed to hate Dream.

(Not that Dream cared – Foolish barely ever saw him.)

(But he knew the admin was watching. He felt the eyes.)

Six months into his stay on the subworld, he met Eret.

She was standing outside a large grey stoned fort-looking thing. Never one for building ugly things (and by the Seas was this machination ugly), Foolish doubted she’d built it. Dressed in blue jeans and a bare grey shirt, Foolish looked upon her and felt alienated.

If he’d forced her into those clothes a hundred years ago, she would’ve screamed and had a fit. What about this server had dulled her standards?

A better question yet; why was she still on this dirty, ash-dusted subworld? Even SMP Earth had made her bored after a few years.

“Eret!” He shouted, unable to stop himself, already grinning at the sight of her – even if she was looking a little odd.

She turned. Dark, thick sunglasses covered her beautiful eyes. Her jaw seemed too round. She was unmoving as he approached, thin lips pulled into a half grimace, half smile.

“Uh, hello?” She said, standing almost defensively as he approached. “Um, do I know you?”

Foolish stalled out. He stopped three feet away from her, arms still stretched out in a hug that wouldn’t happen. With a burning chest, he noted how she stepped back slowly.

Cautiously.

She held herself wrong, two arms clutched to her chest, body leaning forward, to make herself seem smaller. At his reaction, she stuttered. “Sorry, it’s just… I don’t think I’ve seen you around?”

Foolish almost collapsed from shock.

His Eret would never apologise. Not even if she was in the wrong. For years, they’d argued over who had misplaced Athena’s food and set it on the bottom shelf for both dogs to eat at when they weren’t looking. It had taken her a decade to finally admit that it may have been her, but even then she hadn’t apologised.

She knew she didn’t have to.

With him, Eret apologising would be akin to her cursing at him.

“What?” He spluttered. “Eret? Don’t you recognise me?”

Foolish stepped towards her.

Eret stepped back.

He stopped moving. “Eret?” He questioned.

“I,” she looked distressed, biting at her lip, pulling at her fingers; her index finger’s knuckle cracked and popped as she tugged at it. “I’m sorry, I- my memory’s bad. I’m so sorry if I—”

“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, tone checked and measured. Foolish pulled on the ‘fool’ façade and rubbed at his head. “Sorry, I think we met briefly years ago, but it was a one-time thing.”

Surprisingly, Eret looked interested. “Really? When? I can’t remember anything before this server… Dream thinks me walking through the portal from the Hub gave me amnesia or something, because it was glitching out.”

Eret entering a server from the Hub? ‘The Hub’ as in, the intergalactic station that was a linking of all server portals to one destination – it was like an airport on some worlds, except it was connected to all servers, even private ones (though, those required special codes or passwords to enter the portals of).

Years ago, when it had been built, Eret had expressed her distaste for the idea. She’d said even the tiered layout they had promoted in the promotional flyers was ugly, and had sworn to never set foot on it.

Eret would never enter a server by the Hub. She didn’t break her promises.

Just like she promised to always call; what if she couldn’t?

His worry flushed into his bones. Panic fluttered along his veins, flapping and jerky, like pretty butterflies.

This, he did not say. Foolish simply shrugged. His excuse was stilted and sounded odd even to his own ears, but this Eret didn’t know him at all, so it didn’t matter how he spoke. “Oh, sorry, it was a while back. We were young, I can’t really remember what we were doing or when it was exactly.”

The disappointment was so un-Eret-like that it threw him for a loop. When His Eret didn’t get what she wanted, she pouted and glared. This one… this one sagged as though bone-tired, shoulders slumping, face glum.

“Sorry, you are Eret, right?” He asked. “I seen the hair and thought…”

“Oh, yeah, I’m Eret. The King of the Essempii Lands.”

Another blaring red flag: Eret would never be king. She’d be Queen. She was picky about titles.

“You recognised my hair?” Eret laughed, pulling at the harshly cut mess. “Have I always had my hair like this?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Foolish laughed too, shrugging. Whatever game this was, whatever fucked up thing was happening on this damned server, Foolish would play along.

But he would remember. Because Eret’s hair had never looked like that. She would never cut it so short and so crudely. She would never dress so blandly. She would never apologise. She would never stay in one place for so long. She would never step away from him.

That left one possible explanation.

This Eret… this Eret wasn’t His Eret.

(Bad had offered him an invite to the Red Banquet. He’d seen Eret and immediately wondered if he should invite her.

He didn’t go at all.)

The Red Banquet ended in disaster. Foolish watched from afar as smoke wafted from the tunnel down to the rooms. He sat on a building, watching as a familiar swathe of pink hair blew in the wind, a man radiating power sitting atop a large stallion.

He’d forgotten Technoblade was on this server.

Intrigued, Foolish watched the blood thirsty lout evacuate the people. He guarded over them, ensuring they went their own ways safely. Once everyone had separated, a woman approached him – her hair dyed the two shades of cosmic duality; ying and yang – and mounted the saddle behind him.

The Blade never looked out for ones who weren’t his own. Eret had said he was ruthless when his people were threatened – had described how furious he’d been when Phil was shot, how ruthless he was when they’d been attacked unawares, how much chaos had roiled off him when the bridges in their citadel had collapsed and they’d both fallen out of the world, only barely caught by the Angel. She’d eaten well in SMP Earth thanks to him.

From his perch, Foolish watched the two ride off. When they fluttered into the forests, Foolish jumped from his position and followed after.

He was not terribly secretive as he tracked them (there wasn’t much he could do with his golden skin, was his shoddy excuse).

If Eret were here, she’d be laughing at how dumb he was playing. But here, when the admin could still watch, he had to keep the false face on. If he let it slip again, as it had for a second when he met Not-Eret, he would doom himself to an eternal rot.

The last thing he needed was the admin to look into his code and see all the glitches Brine had placed for him, giving him back some of his speed, his life, his essence.

Foolish could not see the strings of fate as Eret could. He followed the plume of life, seeing the glittery auras around those living and the hollow bleakness around the dead. It was useful to have, able to distinguish possible threats from dead ones. When godlings donned themselves assassins and dropped into their gardens, he found it good to know if one hit over the head had really killed them or if they were playing dead.

(That was the funny side of godlings. They wanted what he and Eret had, wanted even more for Brine’s legacy and powers. Yet, when faced with adversity or failure, they squandered and flailed. When the assassins fell, they could not complain, for then others would know it was them that had sent murderers after the highest gods in the first place.)

(Not to worry; they were never difficult to kill.)

And so, as he followed them, he let twigs break underfoot. He let the animals flee from him. When Technoblade pulled the horse to an abrupt stop around three thousand blocks into the forest – where nothing but nature was, no eyes to be found in the recesses of the subworld – Foolish was not surprised.

“Who goes there?” Boomed the Blood God.

Stepping out of the brush with a grin, Foolish stood in the clearing and set his hands on his hips. Technoblade jumped from his mount, the woman watching with prying eyes, and approached him, hand over his sword’s handle.

Funny that he still sheathed his blade on his hip, despite inventories. When Eret had said he did that out of pure habit instead of saving space, Foolish hadn’t really believed her (but then, he’d believe Eret even if she said the world was on fire, because he had no reason to doubt her).

“Why are you following us?” Snarled the vessel.

Not bothering to move, Foolish clicked his fingers.

Eret’s blade materialised; a beautiful netherite thing that she’d favoured ever since he’d met her and had taken to SMP Earth. It glistened with enchantments she’d poured her own blood into, making it more powerful than any other blade. It was personal; far more inclined to bond to her (and it had, strongly) whilst a sword enchanted with animal blood would never bond.

Wrath hovered in the air a foot before him. Technoblade stopped growling at the sight of the blade, though the woman had stiffened, likely worried about of the threat a hovering godly blade could be. If she even knew what it was.

When Eret did not raise her hand for the blade to heel to her (for Eret was not here at all), it shivered and fell to the ground. Wrath squelched six inches into the mud by Foolish’s feet.

Technoblade did not speak for a long moment. He stared at Wrath as though he had watched a close friend vanish before his eyes.

Maybe he had. Eret had left only two years into SMP Earth. It had raged on for a good four-fifths of a decade after her.

“Come,” Technoblade said, gesturing for him to follow.

“But Techno—” the woman said.

“Hush, Niki,” the pink haired man shook his head. “This is no place to talk.”

Foolish followed them. It was a quiet journey, with the two disembarking from the horse to peddle the tall stallion into a row boat. Foolish helped, gently corralling the big brute from behind, unafraid of being kicked like the woman was.

“I don’t have any wood for you,” said Technoblade, referring to the lack of an extra boat. The large rowboat they’d crafted would take up to four players at a time, although the horse took up nearly room for three, with Niki looking a bit squished.

“Not to worry,” he said, and stepped into the water. With each step, as the shore fell away from under him, he grew in height, until his chest was above the water and he walked with his legs completely submerged. The woman was silent as she gawked up at him, shooting him looks over her shoulder until she gave up and simply stared with wide eyes. Technoblade was unfazed, and continued to row as normal.

Foolish wondered if Eret had talked about him as much as he talked about her. Anyone he met had to know he had a beautiful wife, with the most blessed eyes and the most wonderful smile. The pictures he painted of their bond often made people fawn and offer him their well wishes.

Had Eret ever told people how much she loved him? Had she ever said his name out of context, linking some random object to him as he did for her? Did she ever eat anything and think he would like it?

They climbed up onto a shore of ice. Foolish silently mused upon the Blade’s tendencies to settle in cold places as he helped the three onto the land, watching as they walked further onto the steady ice.

“It shouldn’t break,” Technoblade called out.

Foolish had thought that one too many times about precarious things he’d built. He’d learned to not test it.

He shrunk, the world shooting up past him in a moment’s notice. He opened his eyes in the depths of dark water, entire body surrounded by the cold, and swam up. A drowned took a pot shot at him, so he kicked a leg out at it and sent it flying into a bulky iceberg. The water melded around him, eternally his to control, so he grabbed it in a hand and used it to lift himself up, allowing it to deposit him on the ice.

Set down feet first, he stood where he was and allowed the tendrils of water to recede, the tide pulling back as though an arm that had extended from the body. As the water settled, leaving him standing there, completely dry, he ran a hand through his hair and straightened up his skirt from the shape the currents had pulled it into.

Niki stared with a startled expression. Technoblade looked impressed, though turned around to pull at his horse’s reigns.

Ready, Foolish walked on. He trekked through the snows of the Arctic and inspected the forest that had grown. It reeked of magick – old, hearty magick. How startling to find a forest sprouted by Lady Death Herself.

“This the Lady’s?” He grunted.

“Yup,” Technoblade affirmed.

Niki stood between them, shooting glances as though she was unsure what they were talking about.

Their houses looked good – two little wooden-beamed cottages buried amidst the white. Dark wood fence posts marked their territory, styled in such a fashion to keep mobs out. When Foolish set foot on the snow, it crunched and sunk under him. Looking down at it, he marvelled at the snow falling into his sandals – it had been years since he’d stepped in snow so deep. It seemed the snow within the fencing was thicker than the rest of the snow elsewhere.

Walking on, he idled by the side of the house with Technoblade as the man ushered his stallion into the pen at the side of the house. Niki retreated to the large stone steps up onto the bridge that branched the houses together.

“I’ll get Phil,” she said.

“Tell him to come downstairs,” Technoblade grunted back.

The sound of a door opening and closing was his response. Foolish stood in the quiet, listening to the caws of the Angel’s crows. A few lined the gutters of the houses, watching them with beady eyes.

When the horse – Carl – was tied up and unsaddled, Technoblade gestured him over. Foolish watched the man edge around the pond before stepping in.

He disappeared.

Grinning, Foolish copied the motions, noting the strategic positioning of the pond directly under the bridge so that no snow fell around it to give away any odd footsteps. Genius. He appreciated the forethought put into it.

Putting his foot where Technoblade had stood, he rested his weight on it and found nothing happened. Confused, he stepped fully onto it and fell through the floor.

Glass spiralled past him and a second later, he landed in a heap on some slime blocks. Sitting up, he found a large dome opened up around him, with a fake sky looming over them. Gouges were dug into dirt mountains, a ramshackle hut propped in the far corner.

Technoblade stood in the middle of the room. He hefted his longsword, metal glinting under harsh lights.

“Prove you are who you say you are,” demanded the vessel. “You have a pretty sword, so what.”

Foolish got to his feet and let the fool’s demeanour he’d hefted everywhere on this server drop. He stared with tight lips and dark eyes at the piglin.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall.”

He summoned his lance. Technoblade was charging at him before he could blink, slamming down his blade with a ferocious snarl. Once a gladiator – a fighter in the pits of Kaon – Technoblade was every bit a warrior the godlings up in the Pantheon wished they were.

Foolish blocked the swing by shunting his lance up, catching the broad of the blade and knocking it aside. With the opening, Foolish pulled the end of his lance around, using the point of the bottom to take a dig at the Blade’s side. Though, the tip was mainly for show, he relied on his brute strength to knock the god back.

They broke apart. Technoblade huffed a breath through his nose, his human form truly a brute’s appearance. Eret had many stories of his piglin fur and its warmth, almost enough to make Foolish jealous.

He steadied himself in a low position – good for sudden movements and evasive techniques. He could square his foot back to rear for a kick, or he could slink low and dodge a punch, or give one of his own. The only thing he could struggle to block with this stance was an arrow, though, so long as he had a blade (with his lance he was less likely to hit one) he could cut it in half or knock it away.

“What is your name?” Called the Blade.

“Foolish,” he chimed, understanding this for what it was. He would answer truthfully, for he had no reason not to. “Past General of the Totem’s Army, known by many as the Liberators of Värld.”

Värld was the true name of the main world. The first world to come into being. The first to spawn life. It was the homeworld of many, and yet so few. Foolish had not been born on it, rather in a smelting world far north of the galaxy, on a subworld reserved for godly creations. Eret had been born up in the stars, lulled into creation in the arms of Brine.

Centuries ago, the tyrant had threatened Värld. Foolish waged war to free it.

Everyone knew of this tale.

“I married Eret on the eve of our win, sharing a pomegranate skin with her. My men ate the seeds.”

Technoblade did not speak.

“We built our house together, where the tyrant fell.”

He stared at the Blade’s eyes, wondering if this was a story Eret had even told him.

“I love her,” he finally said. “I love Eret and I came here to find her. But when I did, I found she wasn’t the woman I married.”

“She’s different,” Technoblade grunted an agreement.

“She wears her hair short, dresses too simply, wears a false title with false pride and grief,” Foolish could list the inaccuracies for days. He already had, murmuring them to himself and then to Brine, who had been so surprised he’d cursed.

He blinked and Technoblade was lunging at him. He sidestepped out of the way, avoiding the swing of his blade with a fluid dodge. He raised an eyebrow at the man and received a shrug in return.

“The dolls can’t move fast enough to dodge,” he said.

Foolish snapped to attention. “Dolls?” He echoed.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Technoblade kicked open a cover on the floor, stepping on the button it revealed. A glass tunnel appeared, like the one they’d briefly fallen through, although this one had water rushing upwards.

“C’mon,” called the Blade. He stepped in, pulled upwards in an instant. Foolish stepped in after and found the tunnel opened at the top, barely five seconds after he’d entered it. Exiting the water elevator (and privately wondering if he could emulate such a thing in his bigger builds), he came out into a room. Technoblade stood in the hall, waiting.

Looking around, Foolish pinned the house down as Phil’s, judging from the number of feathers in the place alone – that, or it was some sort of store house that the Angel commonly visited, with so many random things lying about on shelves.

Upon making sure he was in the room, Technoblade went for the door, opening it and swinging it open for the both of them. Foolish took his time in leaving the quaint house, and when he did, he closed the door gently behind himself.

Technoblade was halfway across the snow by the time he’d stepped off the bridge. He jumped the fence and continued walking. Foolish toddled along, unbothered at being left behind, and caught up to the man waiting by a bubbling lava pit.

“Nice,” Foolish commented, feeling the heat radiate up at him. He sniffed it, and noted how it smelt off, as though it was manufactured—

Or hiding something underneath, and was fake lava because of that.

“Jump in?” He guessed, exactly as Technoblade stepped forth and dropped through the veil. Foolish snickered at their now predictable games and jumped in too, landing beside the man on a stone floor.

It was dark below ground, reminiscent of Eret’s tunnels and her ‘natural’ lighting. He treaded behind Technoblade as the man hit a button and a wall receded for a tunnel, the two of them stalking down it. Though nothing in length compared to Eret’s spiralling mazes, it was a fair distance, likely passing beyond the cottages and entirely past the large mountain that sat along the edge of the Arctic grounds.

That meant it was a really secret base. Foolish enjoyed the feeling of not being watched as Technoblade came upon a wall and knocked a few bricks out of place. He eyed the pattern, just in case he had to leave suddenly, and watched the flashy pullback of the wall into a room, sliding to the side to reveal a dull room with an orange fire blazing in a heavy plated hearth.

A large wooden table span around the centre, with the dark brick of the deep dark lining the floor. Foolish gazed up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, remembering his own troubles with crafting such ornate pieces.

“Nice place you got here,” he said, eyeing the two sitting patiently at the table. Niki sat opposite Phil, who was looking well; haori hanging loosely around him, blond hair cut short, a bucket hat on to match his overcoat. “Long time no see, Angel.”

“What is it with the both of you calling me ‘Angel’ when we meet?” Philza laughed. He stood and opened his arms wide; always a touchy man.

Foolish pulled the little man to his chest, relishing the warmth of a hug. He hadn’t had one in months – not since leaving Brine for this place, to find Eret. Even then, the old man wasn’t one for close contact.

“Must be a pomegranate thing,” he joked, unsure if the man would understand.

“Ah, shit,” said the blond. When they separated, he looked pained. “Haven’t heard that in years.”

Abruptly, faced at the other’s own melancholy, Foolish’s mood dropped. He stood stiffly, desperately missing Eret.

“Sit,” Technoblade commandeered the room. Phil guided Foolish to a seat beside him, and he sat heavily onto the furred chair. Only four of the six chairs present had furs over them – he wondered who the fourth member of their little group was. Their table was crafted out of hollow end rings, set around in a mismatched order that surely made the portal ineffective if it were to be used. Interesting.

Phil piped up when everyone had settled: “Foolish meet Niki. Niki, meet Foolish, the god of Seas, Lightning and known precedingly as General Totem.”

 Niki blinked at him. He offered her a smile.

“I’m also Eret’s husband,” he chipped in.

“Eret has a husband?” Niki blurted, then seemed to regret speaking as her hands rose to hide her mouth. Her wide eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Deciding to ignore the girl, simply smiling at her, he turned to stare at Technoblade, watching the man sit as though he was an observer.

“You going to tell me what you meant by ‘doll’, Blade?”

Technoblade cleared his throat. “We have reason to believe there are people on this server who aren’t who they say they are.”

He paused for too long. Foolish snapped, “I’m listening.”

Phil picked up the slack. “A few months ago, it was found that Skeppy was a ‘doll’, which had been caused by the Egg, turning him into a lifeless husk. This was what prompted Bad to lose his mind to it in the first place. With the Egg defeated today, Captain Puffy will be launching a rescue mission.”

“Okay?” He encouraged.

“We have it on good word that Skeppy is back to normal-” That was where their fourth member was, then. “But we think… We’re certain Eret is one of these ‘dolls’, but different. She’s living and breathing amongst us, and she’s never been related to the Egg situation in any way. The way she acts, the fact she remembers nothing. Even if she had amnesia, some hints we’ve dropped would unearth something.”

Foolish was tense. This was not exactly news to him. He’d thought the Eret here hadn’t been His Eret for a while now, but this… to call this one a doll was odd. It made him feel something visceral.

It made him angry.

“Where do you think my Eret is?” He asked bluntly. “If not the Egg, then who made these dolls?”

No one but a god could create something so lifelike.

He startled. “An admin couldn’t…”

“I reckon it’s XD,” Technoblade declared.

That was a name Foolish hadn’t heard in years. Once a young godling, XD had been cast out after its interference with the past and future. He’d corrupted a mortal’s timeline just for fun, and had tricked countless others into deceitful acts. When this was found out, Eret – who had been leader of the Pantheon during this time – had kicked him from godhood, making him a fallen.

“Is Eret the only one?” He asked. “It would make sense for XD to want her gone, or replaced by something it could control.”

“After the excommunication?” Phil questioned.

“She kicked him out after a court session amongst the godlings, though I’m sure it wouldn’t see things that way. Eret always had a way of attracting the wrong type of attention.” Here, Foolish sighed. It was a heavy breath that left him tired.

“She’s the only one we have noticed acting weird,” Niki said, “Though I wouldn’t know, as Eret has been this way since I joined.”

“When did you join?”

“In terms of the server time, about six years ago.”

Foolish frowned. “I lost contact with Eret a few months in. I gave her time, thinking she was annoyed or something. So far, it’s been three years on the outside.”

“This server runs fast,” Technoblade nodded.

“About a year outside is three in here,” Phil said. “I don’t know much of the server history, but I do know there was a long period before the fighting between L’Manberg and Essempii broke out.”

“Eret said she was a king when I met her,” Foolish frowned. “Was she always one?”

“No,” Niki said, grimacing. “She was on L’Manberg’s side for most of the war – it was a revolution, Wilbur leading people against Dream’s supposed tyranny. Eret fought with him, until she betrayed him near the end and switched sides for the crown.”

Eret betraying people was no surprise; she could be fickle if she felt like it. However, Eret betraying someone she knew and was close with on other levels – Wilbur Soot was Phil’s son, and Eret cherished Phil (she would never betray one of his family if she could help it) – was a surprise.

“So, she must’ve been swapped out around then,” Foolish hummed.

“Or she never was actually with them,” Phil said.

Foolish turned to him abruptly. “What?”

“The L’Manbergians were a close-knit bunch,” came the explanation. “If Eret suddenly started acting weird one day, they would’ve noticed.”

A sense of doom settled in Foolish’s body. “You think they never knew the real Eret?”

“Exactly that,” Phil nodded gravely. “It would’ve been easier for XD to swap out our Eret with the doll when the server was in the early days. In the period before the fighting.”

“Where would she be?” Foolish frowned. “I’ve searched most of the West and the deserts.”

“If she’s being held, it’s not around the poles,” Technoblade said. “I scouted out most of the snowy lands when I was thinking about building my house.”

“She could be around the islands,” Niki suggested, though her voice was weak with her hesitance. “Dream exiled Tommy out somewhere, maybe it’s the same for her?”

“That’s assuming she’s even being held,” Phil said. “How do we know it’s not some magick controlling her?”

“I met her about a month ago,” Foolish thought back. “I didn’t sense anything odd around her…”

He stilled. His eyes went wide.

“Mate?” Phil chirped.

“Her jaw,” he said suddenly. “Her jaw was wrong – she has a scar on her jaw from when she fell off a tree. I remember it happening. When I met her, the scar wasn’t there.”

He’d thought her jaw looked too round. In reality, without the scar (which was millennia old but not from before XD’s excommunication) her jaw didn’t look the same.

“If that’s true,” Technoblade announced. “Then there’s definite proof this Eret isn’t our one.”

That began Foolish’s newest predicament. Where could someone hide a person in a large server that was open to more than thirty people?

From then on, Foolish was invited to the Syndicate’s meetings.

Ranboo was the fourth member. His codename was Lethe.

Niki claimed Nemesis.

Technoblade went by Protesilaus.

Philza could be addressed as Zephyrus.

An empty chair sat with a name scratched into it.

“Harpocrates,” Technoblade said when he noticed Foolish looking at it. “Was for Eret.”

Feeling touched for the sake of his wife, warm inside that she’d made such good friends who continued to look out for her after decades, Foolish smiled. “It’s a nice name.”

“God of secrets. It’s the Greek version of Horus the Child. Thought the ‘Child’ bit fit well.”

Breathing a deep breath, Foolish clasped Technoblade’s shoulder. “She’ll sit in it, one day.”

“I hope,” nodded the other. He didn’t sound very hopeful.

“Hey,” Foolish murmured to Brine one late night. The stars sparkled over his desert house, the big walls and large rooms feeling empty without his other half. “Where would you keep something important? I’m thinking about building a vault or something, but I’m not sure where to put it.”

Understanding the need for secrecy, the other followed the code perfectly. “Hm,” he muttered in his grouchy old man voice. “In a big place? Somewhere others can’t reach.”

Foolish mulled over that. “But if people can build into the sky and dig into the ground, where can’t they reach?”

There was silence. The call sat idle.

“No one can reach my inventory,” said Brine. “Is there anywhere in a world that replicates that?”

Anywhere in a subworld that was locked away like an inventory? Tailored to one person, kept away from prying eyes.

Foolish waded in his pool, shark tail out to stretch as he stared up at the big moon. This moon marked the seventh month of him being on the subworld. The second month of him having met the false Eret and the first of him being a part of the Syndicate.

“There’s a prison being made on the other side of the globe,” he mused. “Though it’s new.”

Sam had been protective of the designs and the building process. And Foolish knew, Sam was a good guy – he’d never let anything happen to Eret.

Would he?

Hating how this server made him doubt old friends, despising how this server was corrupted, detesting everything that had brought him here – the conditions, the requirements, everything.

Foolish hated this server.

All he wanted was Eret.

He missed her so much.

“I’m fond of hiding my valuables in the Aether,” Brine offered after a long hush.

“We don’t have an Aether here,” Foolish snuffed then paused. “What about a city?”

“A city?” Brine didn’t catch on. “Lots of people.”

“But somewhere you wouldn’t think to look, if it’s been locked away,” Foolish hinted. Having tongue tied conversations like this, all because of the fear Dream or XD were listening, was tiring.

“Locked away?” Brine fell abruptly silent. Then, “Yes. That’s a very good idea, my boy. Well, I suppose that’s all the news on your end? I’ve been planting flowers in my gardens…”

“I have an idea where Eret could be,” he said at the next Syndicate meeting, only a few days after his call.

“What?” Philza jerked his head towards him. Technoblade’s stare bored into him. Ranboo sat with wide eyes. Niki was stiff, though appeared surprised.

“Where?” Technoblade demanded.

“The End.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s banned…”

“How would she have gotten there?” Technoblade asked over the clamour. “There would’ve been a chat notification.”

“If she was taken before there were many on the server,” Foolish proposed. “It’s possible the achievement was missed.”

The room fell silent. Lava bubbled.

Phil’s jaw was tense. “How would we enter the End without being discovered?”

“Tommy’s leading a rebellion against Dream,” Ranboo suggested, voice meek. “From what I heard from Tubbo, most of the server is attending to hunt down Dream and bring him to justice. A lot of people are angry after exile.”

Foolish had heard about that. He’d received a weary looking Tommy Innit on his doorstep not a week ago. The boy had asked if he would join an event where Dream was going to be brought to justice. He’d felt bad for turning the kid away at the time, but now, it presented a brilliant opportunity.

“We can breach then,” Technoblade announced. “I can plan the entry.”

“Actually, I told Tommy I would be there,” Niki spoke up.

Ranboo fidgeted. “So did I.”

“We can do it,” Phil said, looking between Foolish and Technoblade. “You two can monitor the event and report back to us if anything happens. Worst case, keep everyone distracted.”

“I can deal with the chat notifications,” Foolish said.

“Brine?” Phil asked.

He nodded.

“Good,” Technoblade harrumphed and that was that. “Any other topics to discuss?”

When the day came, Brine dropped a little bug in the server chat. No notifications would go through, not until everything was done. Ranboo and Niki could still report back to them through a group chat created by the communicators, so they wouldn’t be returning blind, if something did happen that compromised the group’s return to the main server.

Foolish waved goodbye to Niki and Ranboo early that morning. The hunt was not until the early afternoon, however, most were apparently showing up early, and neither wanted to miss out. Niki, because she was anxious she’d miss something, and Ranboo because he was close to both Tommy and Tubbo, who were main players in this event.

Dream had abused Tommy over exile. Dream had manipulated Tubbo whilst he was president.

Tommy wanted his discs back. Tubbo wanted the truth out.

The hunting party wanted justice.

After seeing the two off, the three of them retreated into the house for a final check.

“Pickaxes and swords?” Techno asked.

“Yup,” Philza nodded.

“A couple stacks of enderpearls?”

“I have three lots,” Foolish said, looking at them sitting proudly in his inventory. He’d had a hell of a time storming through the Nether for them, but it had paid off. The two others gave him appreciative nods.

“Provisions in case we find what we’re looking for?”

Foolish had a pomegranate sitting prime in his middle slot. It stared at him, asking if it was worth the three diamonds he’d coughed up to Puffy for it. For such a large server, fruits that weren’t apples were rare.

Phil rhymed off the list he had; a blanket, spare food, a few harming potions in various dilutants (they healed Eret, unlike how healing pots actually burned her), a change of clothes that Foolish took into his inventory to help the older man with space issues and some memento he had from SMP Earth.

Technoblade had geared up as though he was going to war. Full netherite armour, half an inventory of potions including strength, harming and turtle masters, as well as his weapons and an emergency stack of enderpearls. Everyone was doled out a stack of steaks, just in case their stay proved to be longer than anticipated.

Foolish made sure he had an ender chest on him (one could never be too paranoid), though had all his true valuables on him – not that he had many. He had Eret’s sword, Wrath, and his own lance, Doozer. Anything else was replaceable. Anything else could be made again.

He cleared his throat. “We ready?”

He received two twin nods.

“Follow me,” Technoblade said, and grabbed a large boat to stuff into his inventory.

They walked out of the Arctic Commune. Through the forest and past the icy shore, they walked out to where the sea lapped at the land and only then did they pause to clamber into the boat and set off. Technoblade took one oar and Foolish took the other. Philza sat and twittered with one of his crows, telling him what to do if they didn’t come back.

Rowing out into the middle of nowhere, where the sea stretched on as far as the eye could see, Technoblade stopped rowing. Foolish paused too, watching as the vessel urged them all close, dropping a splash potion of water breathing on them all.

“Let’s go,” he said and standing up, he jumped.

Philza squawked after him and took a dive, wings pulled close to his back.

Foolish was left in the boat. He stood there for a moment, murmuring one final whisper to Brine.

He stepped off the edge.

Water plunged up past him as he fell, golden body a heavy weight. He plummeted quicker than the other two swam down. When Technoblade swam down to the bottom of the sea floor and pulled out a pickaxe, Foolish tugged a current over to guide Philza down to them, and landed on the seaweed covered stone.

He nodded to Technoblade. The man put away his pickaxe and stepped back. Philza floated down beside them, and stood in line with the other.

Rearing up, Foolish steadied his stance and punched down.

The stone shattered. With a flick of his finger, the water pulled the three of them into the stronghold. When they were in, he snapped his wrist up and the sea stopped pouring in, water held in place by an invisible wall. The water dripping from them joined the stockade, along with what had pooled on the dusty floor.

Philza pushed a few blocks in replacement for the ones he’d broken. Foolish released the water above and was pleased to see nothing give way.

Technoblade had pulled out a torch. They stood together as he struck the flint and steel off it, and began moving as soon as they were sure it was lit.

Technoblade and Philza knew the innards of a stronghold intimately. They led the way, Foolish trailing back to kill any mobs that swarmed after them. When they came upon the silverfish, Foolish knew they were close.

“Aha!” Philza cried, and as they turned a corner, they came upon the main room.

Foolish swallowed back the dust on his tongue and stepped up to place the enderpearls on the podiums. The lava under the portal vanished for a swirling myriad of colour, the unearthly feel surrounding the entire room and seeming to pull at them.

Eager to get things over with, keen to find Eret after so long, Foolish waited only long enough to make sure the portal was stable before jumping into it. Out of the corner of his eye, he seen Philza and Technoblade do the same.

They came out onto a land of white craters. The bedrock post that the enderdragon would perch upon was barren, a sickly black gloop swimming at the bottom of it.

There was no one on the main island. Technoblade had pulled his sword, though there was nothing to kill.

Foolish frowned down at the liquid swimming in the bottom of the bedrock.

“The cities have been spawned,” Phil said. “We’ll have to bridge out to find them.”

“There could be thousands of cities,” Foolish growled. He hadn’t anticipated this. Although, thanks to their planning, they did have more than enough blocks to bridge out. But, it was not their resources that were finite. Foolish was not sure if they had the time to search each island they came across.

“We have to move quickly,” Technoblade urged. “If XD shows up, we’re lambs to the slaughter.”

Gritting his teeth, Foolish pulled out a stack of cobblestone and deliberated a direction.

“This way,” Philza said, pointing to a side of the small island. “There’s usually a large island in this direction. We should head there first.”

“If she’s not here, we should try and get some shulkers, or elytra,” Technoblade suggested.

Foolish did not appreciate the man already deciding that Eret was not to be found. Instead of speaking, though, he grinded his teeth and began placing down blocks. He had his extensive building history to thank for his quick and accurate placement.

There was no island in the direction Philza pointed. They stood on the one-block thin line and stared into the dark of the End.

“Backtrack?” Phil suggested.

They enderpearled all the way back to the main island.

In the opposite direction, Foolish bridged. Technoblade took the direction to the left of his, and Philza to the right. With that, they had split up, just as they should’ve done the second they appeared.

Time was ungraspable in the End. Without day or night, it was reclusive and stifling. Foolish would hate to be somewhere without the sun – his main reason for never building a base in the endless fiery Nether, the second being the bed-explosion glitch that was present everywhere.

He went out two thousand blocks. He found nothing.

Returning to the main island, he found the others pearling in exactly as he arrived.

“Nothing?” Philza asked the both of them, eyebrows lost to his bucket hat. He frowned and put his hands on his hips, quickly checking the time. “We’ve been here barely an hour.”

“It feels like three,” Technoblade grunted, stretching out after being slouched for so long when placing blocks.

The writhing black gloop in the bottom of the perch caught his eye.

“What if it’s in there?” He mused.

“What? Mate, that’s goo or some shit- I don’t think Eret’s in there.”

Philza’s words didn’t dissuade him. Foolish stepped into it and felt his world tip upside-down.

He opened his eyes in a dark world. The air smelt bad, like burning turf and a bad compost heap mixed into one. He pulled out a torch and lit it, suddenly grateful nothing had exploded in his face (though, even if it had, it wouldn’t have hurt him) due to any lingering natural gases or something.

With the torch out – a meagre source of light – he saw an endless city sprawled out before him. All of it was decayed and falling down, houses lying half in ruin, a street stretching on endlessly. He took a step forward and nearly fell over, tripping over a deep indent in the cobbled road.

Two thuds from behind had him whirling.

Technoblade and Philza stood, gaping at their surroundings.

“This… what happened?” Phil murmured, flapping out his wings uncomfortably. “This is an End City, yeah, but if the End’s been liberated, it should be thriving. Where are all the people? Where are the floating ships?”

Technoblade stood, speechless.

Turning around, Foolish walked down the street, only after marking the spot where they’d came through with another torch. The purple sliver floating ten foot above where they’d came in was obvious for miles, probably, but he couldn’t be too paranoid in a place like this.

“Get moving,” he called. “There’s no time to waste.”

“We’ll meet back here,” Phil shouted back. “Ten minutes, don’t stray off this island. Call if you find anything!”

Foolish waved to show he’d heard. Footsteps scuffed the ground as the three split up.

Not even six metres down the road, Foolish opened his mouth and started shouting, “Eret? Are you here?”

Nothing. There wasn’t a wind to howl in his ears. All there was, was a deathly silence.

In the End, there was no sun. In the End, there were no lights.

It was dark and lonely. Foolish shivered at the thought of being stuck here for years.

“Eret?” He yelled, begging with someone greater than him to find her.

Each house he passed was gutted. Wood was shattered over the street. There were no enderchests in sight. All the shulkers were dead, sitting in their greyed out husks, unmoving. Decay lingered in the air, and the dampness of no living souls pervaded the area.

Smoke, thick and heavy, wafted up from a spot in the distance. Foolish pushed his torch through the threshold of each house he passed on his way there. The street stretched on for miles, and he diligently walked down it, worry growing in his gut with each step.

If Eret wasn’t here, where could she be?

“Brine,” he called out after five minutes, hope dwindling, fear eating at him. “Brine, please, help me.”

His communicator beeped. He’d never pulled up the screen so quick.

A message. From Brine.

‘Just had a dream. Follow the smoke.’

He choked.

Foolish clutched the torch and ran towards the black plumes.

Three minutes later, the street gave away to a carved out land. Something had dug into it and scraped a gouge thirty blocks deep and forty wide into the end soil. The soil, disrupted, smoked; dark steam rising from it in heavy curls.

Looking to his left, he found nothing but more gouges. He looked right and found the same thing. Smoke lay everywhere, making it hard to see, or tell where it was originating from.

He jumped down into the gouge. Turning to go left, Foolish suddenly stopped.

Right, said his gut. Foolish walked right.

He relight the torch, which had gone out from his running, and eyed the jagged tears in the land. It looked as though something very large had been pulled across the dirt…

Not long after, he came upon what had caused it.

An End Ship. With the hull torn out, wood lying everywhere, the masts were bent at such an angle that Foolish seen them clearly from his position at the rear of the downed ship.

A large hole was broken into the back-end of the ship, the fragments of the gap not to be found on the soil below.

Attention drawn, Foolish hefted himself up to a height and pushed a foot in. Shrinking as he slunk inside, he got into the back of the ship’s below deck area and grinned with achievement. Stepping forward, he stepped on something soft and fell with a shout.

He didn’t make it to the floor peacefully. Something grabbed his neck and took him to the ground, his torch dropped. In the light of the fire leeching into the wood, he saw a hint of the shadowy thing over him, digging its fingers around his throat.

His eyes widened. He looked with his god eyes and saw goldgoldwhite—

He panicked and his pre-planned method for a meeting went out the metaphorical window. He was meant to greet them and offer them the pomegranate.

Instead, as he shoved the figure off him, Foolish broke their hold on his neck and pulled out the pomegranate. Thrusting it at them, he knocked them back, the fruit forced into their mouth as they bounced off the wood of the ship.

They shrunk back, red seeds dripping from their mouth. Foolish settled on the other side of the fire, knelt before them.

Quietly, he whispered, “Eret?”

She shrunk back, now clutching the pomegranate as she sucked at it. There was a starved glint to her dull eyes, shaking hands curling around the fruit as she tore at it with her teeth, nearly choking as she ate it as quickly as possible.

“Eret,” he murmured gently. “Do you know who I am?”

The fire was spreading, licking up the walls. It brightened the room significantly.

Eret had seen better days – her skin was clammy and pale, flushed a weak yellow in the firelight. Her dress was tattered and torn, ripped away at her knees despite a certain longer past length. Her arms were dirty, the end soil smeared over everything in sight. Her jaw had a familiar scar that slit down along her ear.

She nodded and went to speak, opening her now red lips—only to choke. Her shoulders stiffened as she hacked and coughed.

Foolish pulled a water flask from his inventory and offered it across the gap.

With shaking hands, she reached out, almost dropping it. Her eyes squinted against the light of the fire and she could barely hold the flask.

“Can I come closer?” He asked softly, ever so worried. Her life aura was duller than he was used to, but at least she was alive. “To help you drink?”

Again, she nodded.

Brushing away the fire that separated them with an unburning hand, Foolish kept the flames away from her with a wave of his hand, crawling close to clutch the flask for them. She shivered upon contact, though inched closer through heaving breaths. Her arms flailed around like untrained fish just now learning how to swim.

He opened the flask with deft fingers and eased it towards her mouth, minutely tipping it up. At first, she heaved on the fresh water, but after a short gagging spout, she drank quietly. And quickly.

“You don’t have to go so fast, sweetheart,” he whispered, afraid to speak too loudly. When he made to take the flask away, arm moving, one of her hands curled weakly around his forearm. It was her first upper left one, and he noted the distinct lack of a certain bracelet around her wrist. “Where’s your communicator?”

She shook her head, leaning into him even as she shivered. He grew worried – the air wasn’t cold, in fact, with the fire near them, it was warm, but she was panting as though she’d ran a marathon.

Maybe it was the touch deprivation… How long had she been here, alone? Without any contact with the outside world? Years could seem like a blink to gods but they would still be lonely.

“Philza and Technoblade are here, with me,” he said slowly, breaking the news to her as though it may break her. She blinked at him, and opened her mouth again. The remains of the pomegranate rested in a hand, clutched tightly. “I have my communicator. Can I call them?”

“Foolish,” she whispered.

He sunk close to her, trying to coddle her. “Yes, my dear?”

“Are you real?”

The question hurt him so much that he almost laughed.

“You ate my pomegranate, Eret,” he said, gesturing to the fruit which she squeezed in her hand. It bled juice over her skin. “And drank the water. I’m real, Eret. I swear.”

“I,” she paused and didn’t speak. He didn’t rush her.

A moment later, but what could’ve been minutes, she spoke again.

“I don’t know how to test that,” she croaked, voice hoarse but there. If she was speaking this well, Foolish assumed she’d taken to monologuing with herself as usual. “So, I’ll take your word for it. I haven’t had a hallucination yet.”

His heart warmed. “I’ll do you proud, Eret. No hallucinations, I promise.”

She was silent. “Call the Angel.”

“Alright,” he murmured. Tapping on the golden band of his communicator, he was docile as Eret swept a hand over the holo-screen, looking at it with wide eyes. She swiped left, onto the contacts page, and hovered over Philza’s until he nodded.

It dialled. Eret held her breath. Foolish watched her chest stop rising with apprehension.

Phil picked up on the second ring.

“Mate, where the hell are you? Tech and I are back where we entered.”

Eret jumped at the volume and burrowed into his side. He held her close, gently rocking them, and spoke, “Phil.”

“Mate, what—?”

“I found her.”

Silence.

Abruptly, Technoblade barged into the call. “Where?” He demanded, tone sharp.

“I went down the road, opposite way Phil did. We’re at the source of the smoke – it’s a ship.”

“It’s on fire,” Eret piped up, voice quiet.

“What?” Phil returned. The quality was breezy, as though they were running. Sure enough, Phil was gasping. “What do you mean it’s on fire? Are you outside it?”

“No, but we probably should be,” Foolish said sheepishly. He looked down at his wife and offered, “You wanna get up?”

“No,” she shook her head, arms wrapping around him like a spider. “Carry me.”

“Alright,” he chuffed, scooping an arm under her. She sagged into his chest, shivering fitfully as she breathed through a tremor. The buzzing audio from the call chirped from his wrist as Technoblade and Philza hurried to their location.

It took a bit of manoeuvring, but he got them both out the small hole (by making said hole a lot bigger) and stepped out onto the soil. The entire ship was ablaze, a bright beacon for all to see.

Two shadows blurred about ten metres away. The call audio quit.

Foolish walked towards them.

“Eret!” Phil shouted, skidding to a stop. His grin was so wide it could’ve split his face in two. “I’m so glad to see you, mate.”

Technoblade stopped beside him, though remained silent until Eret, who Foolish stood sideways for (to let her see her two aspiring fans), reached for him with a weak arm.

He caught her hand and held it. “Brine Child,” he greeted.

“Hello, you two,” Eret croaked. She smiled, head tilting into the crook of Foolish’s collarbone and started sobbing. Foolish rubbed her back soothingly as Technoblade clutched her hand. Philza flared his wings wide and wrapped them all up in them, though left enough room at the top so that the light from the fire was seen.

Eret cried, warbling how she’d been locked away because of Dream, saying how helpless she’d felt with no communicator (unable to speak to anyone, unable to leave), telling them how much she’d missed them – how the memories of them all had kept her sane. How the time had sifted through her fingers like sand but still hurt all the same.

They comforted her. Technoblade told her an old story as they walked back to where they’d spawned in. Philza towered them all up, three pillars standing close together. Foolish let Eret tap at his communicator to ‘log out’ of the End.

They appeared in the stronghold, standing along the rim of enderpearls.

Eret sobbed even more.

Together, the four lingered in the stronghold. Eret clung to him, shaking, slowly adjusting herself to the dull (but much brighter for her) lighting of the portal room. She started coughing again, but this time three water flasks were offered up.

“You’re all fools,” she huffed, voice pleased. She took Foolish’s because his was the closest and her arms were too weak to reach out too far.

“Are you hungry?” Technoblade said. “There’s some action going down in the main server right now. There’s probably tons of chaos to eat.”

“Mmh,” Eret made a delicate noise. “Chaos sounds so good right now.”

“You can have all the worry I’ve been building up for the past three years,” Foolish snarked.

Eret blinked at him. When she spoke, her voice shook. “What?”

They all stiffened.

Quick as ever, Eret did not let this go unnoticed. “Why are you all- what do you mean three years?”

“Mate,” Philza began.

“Don’t ‘mate’ me,” Eret growled, turning with gleaming eyes. This was the most alive Foolish had seen her yet, though the pit in his gut only continued to grow. “What does that mean?”

From the silence that followed, everyone knew she knew what it meant.

“You were in the End for three years,” Technoblade finally said.

“In server years, you’ve been gone for… we think, about nine years.”

“That… What?” Eret’s voice crumbled. She gripped Foolish’s shoulder with a distant look. His worry vanished abruptly. She burped.

He couldn’t help the laugh that sprang forth. “Did you just burp from eating emotions?”

“I’m hungry,” Eret shrugged, and just like that, the melancholic mood was gone, zipped away to deal with later. “They’re quite potent.”

“What do mine taste like?” Technoblade asked, stepping forward.

Eret turned to him. “Like fresh strawberries.”

Phil laughed until he was told his tasted like peanut butter cups.

“Ok, so hunger situation solved,” Phil said a few minutes later, once they’d all settled. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Eret paused. “I don’t know.”

“Alright,” Phil nodded. Foolish felt his chest bubble, though Eret quickly gobbled up his concern without a blink.

“Do you think you can stand?” He asked. “For the potion?”

“Of course,” Eret sniffed haughtily. “I walked into that ship, didn’t I?”

Technoblade questioned. “Yeah, but how long ago?”

She didn’t give him an answer. Foolish bent over and set her feet on the ground, holding her weight for a few moments yet as she adjusted to standing on the chilly stones. When she was secure, she lifted her hands from his shoulders and stood alone.

Though wobbly, and perhaps a bit shivery, Eret was able to stand. Philza apologized about only having splash potions, though she waved it off.

He threw all three he had on his person. Technoblade offered her another and though she did not use it, she took it and stored it away with a smile.

“You good to walk?” Foolish asked, reaching out to her once the harming particles had receded. The potion wouldn’t hurt him terribly – it was more like an annoying itch for him – but he didn’t want to deal with the effect for a prolonged time, or risk leeching up some of the potion that could help Eret.

“I think so?” She asked herself, taking one step only for her legs to buckle. Foolish reached for her, but Technoblade was quicker and caught her, pulling her back up, supporting her heavily.

“Uh, a piggyback might be better, mate,” Phil suggested gently.

“Perhaps,” Eret laughed, smiling an insecure, tiny smile.

Foolish stepped over to scoop her up again. Eret waved a goodbye to Technoblade and settled comfortably against his chest once more, extra limbs spindling around them both.

“Let’s get a nether portal built,” Phil hummed suddenly. “We can take the shortcut home. There’s no point in rowing there anymore.”

“But my boat, Phil,” Technoblade whined comically. Eret giggled against his chest, breath puffing onto his skin. Foolish held her close, watching with pleased eyes as her life aura brightened. With her fed, healed and happy, things were moving in the right direction. All she needed now was a good sleep – and he’d get to show her his builds!

…Well, even if he didn’t, he’d taken more than a few photos of them. To be honest, he kind of wanted to leave as soon as Eret could stand.

Foolish sat and murmured little things to Eret as the other two went about building up a portal. Technoblade had obsidian in his enderchest, so it was quick going.

“First portalling in three years,” Eret mused playfully. “Never thought I’d become a recluse.”

“You became a recluse the moment you ditched us in Earth to go tend to your garden,” Phil jibed.

Eret rose to the bait. “In my defence, Foolish had just awoken his powers.”

“You handle yourself well for a man who hasn’t had them longer than a century,” Technoblade commented, turning briefly to him.

In his arms, Eret wriggled. She looked up at him with a brilliant grin – one akin to those he’d seen in his longing dreams, on the nights where he’d felt nothing but loneliness. “You just got a compliment from the Blade!” She chirped. “Hold it dear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mock saluted, though the action was staunched by how careful he had to be to not drop her – not that she was heavy or anything; Eret was just really fragile right now, and he didn’t want to risk anything. “It’s been locked away in my little treasure trove.”

“Anything new in there?” She hummed merrily.

“Your dad finally likes me,” he said.

“Dad always liked you,” she laughed, face scrunching. “You just didn’t see the signs.”

“What? The glares and moody grumbling were signs?” He smirked.

“Obviously!”

Phil laughed at their banter. Technoblade struck the flint off the portal and it roared to life with a blare of purple. He turned in their direction, waiting.

“Hurry along,” Eret spurred.

“Yes, ma’am,” Foolish chirruped, stepping into the portal with Phil and Techno at his heels.

The purple swallowed them up. Foolish was expecting heat when he stepped through.

Instead, he found the chill of natural stone and twenty stares.

Phil and Technoblade bumbled out after him, pausing just like he had.

Half the server stood around a blindingly bright room. Tommy and Tubbo had their blades to Dream’s throat, Punz standing behind the tyrant with a crossbow to his head. Three others – Puffy, Bad and Niki – were crouched around a puddle of dark gloop, of the same liquid consistency the black goo that was in the bedrock perch had been. Ranboo stood on the sidelines, armoured and tense looking. Sapnap was poised as though he’d been shouting at Dream seconds before they’d stumbled upon the event.

This was the great manhunt. They’d found Dream, had apprehended him, and now Foolish and party had walked in on the clean-up operation.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Eret lifted her head at the shuddering of his chest and turned to look at the scene, freezing in his grip.

“The portals must all be connected,” Phil murmured in the hush.

“No shit,” Foolish snapped back.

“Who…” Tommy heaved a breath and found his voice. “Who is that?”

Everyone was staring at Eret. Some with concern, others with ambiguity.

“This is Eret,” Phil cleared his throat, stepping forwards in the tense air. “We saved her from the End.”

Disbelief met his words. “Stop lying,” Sapnap called. “The End is banned. You can’t access it. Plus, that’s—”

Just then, the glitch holding the chat suspended dissipated. The achievements barrelled in, everyone’s communicators buzzing or beeping to signal the alert.

Those keeping Dream at bay did not look at their communicators. Niki pulled her screen up as large as it would project and showed everyone the End Achievement that had appeared for three of them.

“Eret’s dead!” Quackity yelled.

“They turned into this gloop,” Bad agreed.

“How did you get into the End?” Sam queried amidst the shouting.

A horrible, sickly laugh rang out.

Everyone stopped hollering. Eyes, one by one, darted to Dream, who knelt submissively on his knees but laughed as though demonic.

“Took you long enough,” he taunted. “Thought you’d never get out.”

“Foolish,” Eret heaved, voice shivering as her limbs quaked. “Put me down.”

Slowly, he set her on the ground. This time, she did not fall. This time, she stood tall, looming over the kneeling admin.

“You,” she said, voice a thousand pound weight in the atmosphere. It crunched down, suffocating everyone in the room as it echoed. Foolish held his breath as his ears popped.

It had been so long since he’d heard Eret speak in her godly voice – a thing that not many humans could withstand.

“You,” she repeated, yelling, “You ruined everything.”

“So what if I did?” Dream heckled. “This server is no place for a thing like you.”

“Get up,” Eret snarled.

Dream disappeared. Tommy and Tubbo shouted in alarm. Punz lowered his crossbow.

The admin reappeared five feet away from Eret. He stood calmly, looking unbothered at the situation.

“I’m up, Brine.” Dream hissed. “Now it’s time for you to fall.”

He lunged at her with a sword.

Wrath disappeared from Foolish’s inventory, manifesting in one of Eret’s hands. With a clash and a ricochet of sound, Eret deflected the admin’s blow, knocking him away. Everyone stood around them, eyes wide for some, narrowed for others.

“Get him!” Foolish yelled.

Eret slashed upwards. Dream teetered back, catching himself at the last moment with his low stance. No one cheered for the admin, not even his old friends.

No one else cheered for Eret—

The Angel clamoured, “C’mon, mate!”

“Beat him to paste,” Technoblade roared.

Dream snarled something.

Eret’s eyes glowed. She swept low for him, sinking into the shadows and rising up as a great beast of pure power. Foolish had seen this move only once in his lifetime; prophesied as the beginning of a new era two thousand years ago, when a witch paid them a visit and gave them a glimpse at an oracle’s eye.

Settling on her feet, trusty sword held aloft, Eret smirked down at the admin as he fell back, sword clattering away. Dream lay there, and did not move.

No one spoke. Tommy stood, wide eyed. Tubbo lingered, gaze sharp.

Red pooled along the cracks of the stone.

“It is done,” said Eret, Child of Brine, Eyesight of Eras, Eater of Chaos. “The monster admin is slain.”

She turned to the crowd gathered, staring with her haunting eyes.

“Rejoice.”

Slowly, people started clapping. Tommy collapsed onto his butt, Tubbo and Ranboo swarming him. Quackity stared at the body as though he’d lost his purpose. Punz stood above Dream, observing silently, seeming surprised he was gone.

Not all deaths were marvellous, Foolish knew.

Yet, he couldn’t help but feel that Dream deserved worse.

“He’s been stripped of his player lives,” Eret said, informing the room what she could do if she put her mind to it with her glitches. “His next death will be his last.”

“If you’re Eret,” HBomb piped up. “Then who was that?”

He pointed to the gloop on the floor. Eret stared blankly at it.

“A doll,” Phil answered for her. “A doll we think XD made to hide the fact it banished Eret near the start of the server.”

“Who’s XD? Why would they banish you and hide it?” Tubbo asked, square eyes searing into Foolish as he glanced over him. His glare fell on Eret, who stood nonchalant.

Honestly, Foolish was surprised she was still standing.

“I am the highest god there is, little one.” She did not know who Tubbo was. Startled, Foolish realised Eret probably didn’t know anyone in the room aside from him and the two beside him. “That alone, is reason enough. To boast of trapping a god in a subworld? That is any fallen’s wish.”

“Fallen?” Someone asked.

A crack of light had everyone shying away. A ring levitated about six feet from the ground, as large and wide as a table for two.

“XD is a fallen, aren’t you?”

“You were not meant to escape, Brine Child.”

There was no mouth, no ears, just a multitude of eyes along the ring that blinked all out of order. Foolish gritted his teeth and stared at it, readying himself for a fight if need be.

He would go down with Eret, if the fates so decided.

“You weren’t meant to trap me in the End,” Eret tattled back. “You’ve broken rules older than yourself, Wretched.”

“That is not my name.”

“Do I look like I care?” Eret’s face was a snarl. She was angry, had been angry for years, and it was all building up into this moment. “How dare you imprison me? How dare you taunt me with no power? You are nothing but a past godling—a bug that became a server godling by sheer luck. You should thank the stars Dream was stupid enough to invite you here, lest you be dust.”

“I am powerful,” XD said.

“No. You are not.” Eret explained. She snapped her fingers and the ring shrivelled and shattered into a thousand pieces. A hollow, inhumane shriek rang out through the room, echoing in the mountain’s cavern.

“Foolish,” Eret turned to him. She clicked her tongue and her communicator was deposited in her open hand, sitting innocently, little flower charm glinting in the harsh lights. He stepped forth to meet her as she strapped it back to her wrist, looking innately pleased. “Let’s go home. Who knows what the state of my garden is.”

“Seas forbid that knotweed be back,” he chimed. Pulling his arm around her, he gave a nod to Philza and Technoblade and logged out. He’d show her the pictures of his pyramids, no bother.

[FoolishGamers logged out.]

Eret lingered a moment longer than her husband. She stared at the people gathered and looked at Tommy Innit, who still sat on the ground.

The server had moved on without her. The things she’d wanted to do, the people she’d wanted to know and the friends she’d wanted to make – all of them were gone. Now, the children sat as grown adults and shivered in their war against the monster admin. Today marked their victory.

“Tommy,” she called. “Give my sympathies to your brother. I apologise for not aiding him in his game.”

The boy caved in on himself. She turned away. She looked to Phil and Techno and smiled at them, once, before logging out herself.

[TheEret logged out.]

“Let’s get going, mate,” Phil hummed, spinning on his heel and strutting away. Technoblade made to follow.

“Techno,” Tommy called, sounding every bit like the child he was. Every bit the child they hadn’t let him be. “Here.”

He flicked his gaze over and found the boy standing with his hand outstretched. A large battle axe was gripped by white fingers. His arm shook as he held it out.

The Axe of Peace sat in the boy’s palm, gentle and finally having lost its thirst for blood.

“Keep it,” he grunted. “I have a feeling it’ll serve you much better, Theseus.”

He turned his back and made for the portal – which Sam had quickly rigged back to normal once Eret and Foolish made their dramatic exit. Eret always did have a flair for the eccentric. She’d left the Antarctic Empire in the middle of a war because she’d been bored.

“Wait,” he heard someone mutter. “So, we never really knew Eret?”

“She never betrayed us,” gasped Tubbo.

Satisfied justice had prevailed, Technoblade kept quiet and stepped through the portal. He was glad Eret was safe, that was all.

“Long time no see, huh?”

Brine turned around from the carrots he was chopping. His dour expression became bright as he laid eyes on her.

“My child,” he said, knife forgotten on the counter as he turned with wide arms. The hug he scooped her up in was relieving. It was homely. It was familiar.

She hugged back, burying her head in his shoulder, remembering the smell of the aftershave he always wore and the feel of the cardigans he’d taken to in the last decade.

Her father caressed her cheek, not daring to break away. “I’m glad to see you back, my dear.”

“I’m glad to be back, dad,” she smiled.

He led them into the sitting room and sat her down. A click of his fingers had a hot chocolate in her hands and the fire crackling to life. “Now tell me,” he ushered close, pulling a blanket around them. “Who do I need to kill?”

She grinned.