Chapter Text
He became aware of his surroundings as he was falling - rather rapidly - from the sky. He twisted, seeing his great black wings flapping uselessly in the air, not catching the wind and not offering him any resistance as he continued to fall towards the growing ground.
I’m sorry , was the first coherent thought he was able to make, thinking out towards minds that were unable to hear him or respond. At his death, they would be forever unable to hear or respond to anyone.
What a sick joke this was, was the second thought he mustered. After all this time, after all this effort, after all this pain, he was to die by falling . HIM - granted wings by the Code and cursed to never be able to use what he was given properly.
Something whizzed by his head. He turned, seeing a shape becoming vanishingly small to his left. Another, this one zooming to the right. Then a third, following the first.
He looked back at the ground, only a few seconds away, now.
Or…
Huh.
He was falling slower. He looked back at his wings, wondering if they had finally done their job and caught the air. But now, they still were buffeted and flapping like a pair of dying fish on dry land.
But he was falling slower. Rather than plummeting through thin air, it was more like sinking in water - or in molasses.
The ground was still approaching quickly, and he braced for a rough landing.
He hit the ground with a grunt and a shock of pain up his legs and spine.
But pain meant he was still alive. He was crumpled on the ground, but alive. He lifted his head with a groan.
Three quiet thumps came from behind him. He leapt to his feet, his lingering aches and pains forgotten in panic. He brought up his hands to defend himself, as if that’d do anything.
Three strangers stood behind him, mechanical wings - elytra - strapped to the backs of two of them. A third had natural wings spread out behind her. Unlike his own, they were brown, and longer than his. Not as sleek - rather they looked a bit ragged. But not like they were poorly cared for, rather like they were used often for hard, fast flight. Wings like that were almost impossible to keep sleek and smooth.
She, like him, had been given wings by the Code. An avian. Unlike him, hers had oft been in use.
The other two were not avians. One seemed to be human, the other a zombie.
“Howdy,” the human stepped forward, holding out his hand, “Now, uh, not to be unwelcoming but…who are you and who’d you get through the protective Code?”
“I’m…” he began, speaking for the first time in what was probably years. His voice cracked and his throat was sore, “I’m Grian,” he tried again, “I’m not sure how I got through.”
“Well, you must have done something ,” the zombie said.
Grian winced, looking at the other avian instinctively for help. Which was foolish, of course. She was from here - she knew these two better than she knew him. Avians shared much, but they also closely bonded to their friends and kin. He knew that better than anyone.
As expected, the other avian just squinted at him, a bit suspicious.
“What’s wrong with your wings?” she asked, “I never met an Avian your age who couldn’t fly unless their wings were injured.”
The other two looked at her.
“He doesn’t seem injured, False,” the human said.
“Not to you ,” the avian said, stepping closer. Her wings stayed spread out behind her. Grian recognized it as defensive posturing. False did not know what to make of him quite yet, and was trying to make herself look bigger, more imposing, and ready to fly at the quickest of moments.
His own wings drooped uselessly.
“I haven’t flown in a while,” he said. The truth. Ten years was a while.
“Uh huh,” False said, still sounding suspicious.
“Well, how do we handle him?” the zombie asked. Grian shot his gaze towards her. Greenish tinted skin clashed with the bright red hair on her head. More frightening than her unnatural appearance, however, was the untrusting look in her eye. She seemed the sort to be able and willing to ‘handle’ him.
“On it,” the human said, typing on a small device on his wrist. Grian recognized it as a communicator - a ‘comm’ for short. They were in less common use ten years earlier, but word of their widespread adoption across worlds all over the multiverse since then had managed to reach him, “There,” the human said, looking back up, “X’ll be here shortly. He’ll know what to do.”
A full body chill ran through Grian. He had heard of Xisumavoid as well. It was what he dreaded most about this whole ordeal as soon as he learned just where he was going.
To most, the strange figure known as Xisuma was a mystery and a looming figure of power and influence across the Connected Realms. No one knew what he looked like, or what he had done to gain his fierce reputation as a Codeweaver, but his reported role in the defense of the Connected Realms from invaders from the Void - the inky black darkness between the borders of worlds which hosted threats few were equipped to face without going mad, let alone defend themselves from - made him famous, and in some cases infamous, far and wide.
And Grian had just fallen from the sky into Xisumavoid’s own, personal pocket Realm.
Grian stepped back, “I do not mean any harm,” he tried to assure them. His voice was still cracked and raspy.
“I doubt you could do harm even if you did mean to, in this state,” the zombie said flatly.
“Cleo!” the human scolded.
“Well, he can’t fly and can barely speak due to how much he was screaming on the way down!” the zombie said, “And we outnumber him.”
Screaming? Had he been screaming?
Was that why his voice hurt so much? Was it more than from lack of use?
He thought back to his free-fall, and vaguely remembered, yes, panicked screeching as the ground grew at an alarming pace.
Whoops.
False stepped forward as the other two continued to bicker like siblings in the background.
“Grian, was it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Where’s your flock?” she asked.
Grief struck Grian deep in the chest. He took a deep breath, “Dead. Killed by Them .”
False recoiled, “ Them ? The…” she trailed off.
He nodded, knowing what she was going to say.
She swallowed, “How long ago?”
“Ten years,” he said.
“Ten years?” she echoed, “You are not that old…you must have just gotten your wings not long before, then,” a new sympathy was in her eyes now. Good. He needed sympathy from one of his own kind now more than ever.
“Yes,” he said, a dry, humorless laugh bubbling out of his chest, “The very day I got them, in fact. They interrupted my ceremony with Their attack.”
Too much information, his mind warned, she does not need to know that. It can come back to bite you.
“Oh,” she said, voice softening greatly now, “Luckily it did not mess up the process, at the very least,” she then took in a sharp breath, “I’m sorry. That must seem like poor consolation. Wings, but no flock to fly with.”
Grian nodded.
“Is there any of them left?” she asked, “Anyone you might be able to find? Many times, after a fight with Them, flocks are scattered but there are survivors in some cases.”
“No,” Grian said. The grief in his heart turned bitter, “I am the only one left. I saw them burn the hatchery, and slaughter everyone - the Winged and the Wingless. I only survived becuase…” he trailed off.
Why did he survive? It was not fair that he , out of them all, escaped death or worse.
He knew why.
Because They wanted him to, for Their own reasons.
“Becuase They are cruel,” she finished for him. He nodded.
Before he could respond, the mechanical clink of elytra and a soft thump of feet touching the ground interrupted him. All four of them turned, and Grian’s heart seized in his chest.
Xisumavoid.
He wore a covering over his face, a metal mask hiding any distinguishing features he may or may not have had. He was too tall - and far too lanky. As he walked towards them, he seemed to move in a manner that was, in some indistinguishable way, unnatural and wrong . Realty seemed to shift and warp around him in ways that could not be pinpointed. Grian’s mind merely screamed at him to fly or run or leap into the water and swim if there was no other way to flee.
The metal elytra folded in on itself, becoming small enough to be hidden behind Xisuma’s back.
“X,” the human - Grian thought he overheard him be called Joe by the zombie called Cleo, nodded respectfully.
Xisuma approached, the reality changing effect he radiated continuing. Grian’s avian instincts switched from urging escape to urging him attack - this was an enemy , a threat , one of Them -
“Wait, X-” False said, stepping closer.
What was she DOING ?! This was a Voidwalker, the sworn enemy of all avians. For as long as the two species had existed in the same Realm, they had been nothing but enemies. Voidwalkers were creatures of the Void and of darkness. Avians were creatures of the Aether and light.
He sprang forward, without really knowing what he was doing. He barreled past False and leapt at the Voidwalker, slamming into a surprisingly solid form. Usually Voidwalkers were only half corporeal at best, but this one seemed to have adopted a more material form.
He and the Voidwalker named Xisuma were sprawled on the ground a moment later, Grian’s momentum taking them both to the hard earth. Cleo and Joe shouted in alarm behind him. Grian leapt to his feet, his wings awkward and heavy but his avian instincts - the animal desire to fight - held him steady.
Surprisingly, Xisuma didn’t do the same. He laid on the ground, still for a moment.
Joe shoved by, kneeling by Xisuma’s side and speaking to the prone Voidwalker. Cleo appeared at Grian’s side, a diamond sword at his throat.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed.
“Cleo!” False wedged herself between them, facing Cleo and placing her back towards Grian, “It’s okay-”
“Okay?” Cleo snapped, “He’s an intruder and just attacked our Admin-”
“He’s an avian, and we didn’t warn him X is a Voidwalker!” False said.
“They know ?” Grian screeched, his sore throat forgotten. He had vaguely figured the human and the zombie were unaware of ‘their Admin’s’ nature. The trippy effects of being in the presence of a Voidwalker were famously more noticeable to avians - an evolved trait from hundreds of generations of war.
Xisuma got to his feet, groaning.
“You could have warned me that he was an avian,” he said - the wrongness of his nature present even in his voice.
This one is a fighter, for one so young , something once spoken in a similar voice to a much younger Grian, echoed in his years.
“I would have been ready to be tackled,” Xisuma finished.
“I forgot how most avians are with Voidwalkers,” Joe said, chuckling apologetically, “We haven’t had an issue with it in a while, now.”
Xisuma looked at Grian, and held out his hands placatingly, “I mean you no harm, friend. My name is Xisumavoid - you may have heard of me, but if you haven’t, I’m one of the good guys. I do not support the Voidwalker invasions of the Realms. I mean no harm,” he repeated.
Grian’s instincts were beginning to settle, and he felt his face go hot.
“I…I have heard of you,” he said, “And I had heard that you were a renegade Voidwalker. I just…panicked,” he admitted.
Xisuma laughed. It seemed genuine, “Well, good. Glad it was something that easy to clear up, then.”
Grian remained tense, glancing at False. The other avian seemed to be relaxed enough around the Voidwalker.
But Voidwalkers could mess with minds. He knew that better than most.
“What is your name, friend?” Xisuma asked.
“Grian,” he answered.
“Well, Grian, I suppose a welcome is in order. Though I will be honest, I am not sure how you managed to enter this world. My protective Code is quite robust.”
“I’m not sure either,” Grian said, a squirm of guilt in the pit of his stomach.
“No?” Xisuma asked, voice taking on a humming note, “Odd. Perhaps some of my other Code-attuned Hermits will have an idea, then.”
“Hermits?” Grian asked. He wasn’t sure what the Voidwalker meant.
“Ah, of course,” Xisuma shook his concealed head, Grian burned with curiosity at what he would see if the Voidwalker would take off his helm. He had seen the forms that other Voidwalkers had assumed, but had only seen a Voidwalker in their natural form a handful of times - and his mind seemed to refuse to conjure up a mental image of the sight.
The inhabitants of the Void were so alien to those of the connected Realms - a place full of strange and fantastical species in its own right - that it was not fully comprehensible.
“This is Hermitcraft,” Xisumavoid said, “I created it originally as a place for me to hide from my own kind - only a complete fool would refuse to acknowledge tht they still want me dead for my treason and while I am a fool, I am not a complete one,” he said. Grian got the impression he was trying to joke, “Ah. Ahem. Well, over the years I’ve found others without places to call home, or without the ability to return or remain there for whatever reason.”
“Some of these, I have offered a home here, in my own pocket world. Not all have said yes, but those who have remained here as long or as briefly as they need. Many have never left, some have left for short periods of time and have since returned, and some have found that there is, in fact, a place for them in the rest of the Realms and have moved on. Joe here was one of the first,” he added as an aside, gesturing to the human.
“And you’re not getting rid of me, X,” Joe declared, saluting smartly. Cleo elbowed him in the side.
“I told them that it is my duty to defend them, in exchange for the great loyalty, help, and friendship they have shown me,” Xisuma said. The fondness for his ‘Hermits’ was clear in his voice.
Right. Right, Grian knew this. Sort of. He had been told that there were Realmers in hiding with Xisuma. He just hadn’t really…thought much about them. His thoughts had largely been on the major threat of the world’s Admin - a talented Codeweaver and powerful threat.
But there were Realmers here, too. Many, by the sound of it.
And Xisuma had promised them protection - and from what Grian knew of him, the renegade Voidwalker clung tightly to his promises.
“You think any of the others would have any more idea over how he got here than you do, X?” Cleo asked. Her voice was still tinged with suspicion. She was smart to be suspicious, Grian didn’t dare hold it against her, but it made the hair on his next prickle with unease. She might be a problem for him.
“Well, I am hardly the arbiter of all knowledge,” Xisuma said, “And I am from the Void, originally. There are still things that are not intuitive to me as they are to the rest of you. Someone like Doc, or Cub, or Etho, or anyone , really, might have insights as to what happened.”
“So might he ,” Cleo gestured with her head at Grian. Again, that prickle of danger followed her words.
“We can - and will - discuss it as a group, Cleo,” Xisuma said resolutely, “Maybe the three of you should go round everybody up for a meeting? In…two hours?”
Joe and False nodded. Cleo grunted but followed them as they took off. The three of them shot off into the beautiful blue sky.
Leaving Grian alone with Xisuma.
“I, uh,” Grian cleared his throat, “I am sorry, for intruding.”
“You know, Grian,” Xisuma said, “My Code is very good. I hope I don’t sound conceited for saying so.”
“No, I imagine it is,” Grian said politely.
“And it has never failed before,” Xisuma mused, “Not in the over fifteen years since I’ve fled the Void, or the five or so since I found this world.
“What do you think made it fail now, then?” Grian asked, not looking the other man in the eye.
“I don’t think it has,” Xisuma said. Grian snapped his head around to look at him.
“What?”
“The Code is set to keep out threats - especially from the Void, but from elsewhere as well - and to keep those who need a sanctuary safe. Generally when someone new is joining us here, I modify the Code to let them through. There are legends amongst Codeweavers, actually, about Code that is so carefully maintained and crafted that it sort of…takes on a life of it’s own. You know?”
Grian did not know. He was no Codeweaver. He was barely even an avian, at this point.
He nodded regardless.
“Maybe that’s what happened here. Walk with me?”
They set off, Xisuma leading Grian through a wooded area with well-trodden paths broken in by many feet.
“Your Code…came alive?”
“Or modified itself somehow,” Xisuma said, “I’ll look into it tonight, when I have some time. But tell me - how did you end up falling through my sky?”
Grian nodded and began the well-practiced story, “I don’t remember much. I was fleeing some Voidwalkers - a sect called the,” he hesitated for only a moment, “the Watchers.”
Even wrapped in metal and hidden from view, Grian could see the way Xisuma tensed.
“The Watchers ?” Xisuma repeated.
“They’re a group of Voidwalkers who want to rule the connected Realms,” Grian began.
“I’m very familiar with the Watchers,” Xisuma said darkly, any levity and light vanished completely from his voice now, “Some of my Hermits have personal history with that… sect, as you put it. I’d rather say ‘cult’, but to each his own.”
“Yes,” Grian said, clearing his throat, “Well the, uh…the Watchers and I have a history , too. They attacked my flock a decade ago. I escaped - or maybe I was let escape, I don’t even know at this point - and they’ve been hunting me ever since.”
“They let you go just to hunt you down for ten years?” Xisuma asked.
“I can’t explain it,” Grian said apologetically, “I just know that there shouldn’t have been a way for me to escape without having been let go. They had me cornered and somehow…I got away.”
“And your flock?”
Grian shook his head, “No, sir. All of them died, I’ve been looking for any survivors but…nothing. The children, the elders, the fledglings…everyone…” he cleared his throat to dispel the lump forming.
“Don’t call me ‘sir’,” Xisuma said.
“You’re this world’s Admin.”
“I am not a ruler, though,” Xisuma assured him, “I am the Code’s caretaker, the Hermit’s protector, but I am not their king, or their god.”
What a strange Voidwalker.
After a moment, Xisuma spoke again, “Forgive me for harping on this issue but…do you have any other kin? Friends?”
“No,” Grian shook his head, “My parents died when I was young - not Watcher related, just a plague that hit our flock. I had a sister. She’s gone, too. They took her from me, as well,” he again tried to clear that lump away, “and my friends too. I saw some die right in front of me, others I found their bodies afterwards…”
“Any missing?” Xisuma asked, “If so, maybe-”
“There were no survivors ,” Grian’s voice hardened. Xisuma held his hands up in that same placating gesture.
“Of course. I’m sorry. For pushing you, and for your great loss.”
Grian nodded wordlessly.
“So the Watchers were chasing you,” Xisuma said, “Were they chasing you when you came through?”
Grian felt the grave, unspoken importance of this question down to his semi-hollow bones, “Yes,” he said, “Though I think I lost them before I actually passed through the barrier.”
“You think?”
“I passed out, I think,” Grian admitted, “I remember being on the other side of the boundary and then all of a sudden I was freefalling.”
“Hmm,” Xisuma nodded, “Maybe an effect of passing through the Code boundary without my modifying it beforehand. Interesting. Cub might have something to say about it. He’s quite good at Code-science.”
“Code-science?”
“Ah, it’s not a widely used term, but it’s what my Hermits use for the intellectual study of Code, as opposed to the art of Codeweaving. Cub can’t Codeweave, but he has studied the Code from a scientific standpoint.”
Grian blinked. He had never considered Code as something that could be studied in the same way physics, potion brewing, or redstone was. It was always something that was an innate gift of some, in his eyes. Some were born with the ability to change the fabric of reality, and some weren’t.
But if what Xisuma was saying was accurate, it meant that there were elements of Code that could be grasped - or even mastered - by a non-Codeweaver.
They broke through the treeline, and Grian stopped dead in his tracks.
It was…
Unbelievable.
How many Hermits were there? How many people built this?
A sprawling… City , was the best word he could think of for it, was in front of him. Towering buildings, complex redstone contraptions, large farms and automated machinery…
He was taken back to two times in his life.
One, was home with his flock, before the attack. They had built great treehouses and towering structures, too - though simpler than any of these.
The other…
The dark, imposing, oppressive buildings of black stone and purple energy pulsing sickly through the darkness as he struggled to breath the non-existent air as shouts of anger and commanding orders followed after him as he ran .
This was…
Unlike either of those.
This had the intricacy and size of those dark buildings, and the brightness and beauty and wonder of his flock’s home.
“Oh,” he said simply.
“Nice, right?” Xisuma said, sounding proud, “There’s not much to do here, in terms of survival, really. So we use our time inventing and playing and building.”
They continued to walk, getting closer to the buildings and machines.
“How long did this all take ?” Grian asked, awed.
“It’s hard to say,” Xisuma said, “Each Hermit has their own little projects. Some take longer than others.”
‘Little’ projects, Grian thought.
“X!” a new voice called. Xisuma and Grian turned, seeing a short man - appearing mostly human aside from his proportionally too-large eyes - riding up on horseback.
“Ah, Bdubs,” Xisuma greeted, “Did you hear we’re having an emergency meeting in,” Xisuma looked down at the comm on his arm, “an hour and a half?”
“Yes,” Bdubs said, his large eyes not blinking once, “Cleo landed in my yard and told me a little birdie fell from the sky,” he turned his eyes to Grian, “I take it you’re the little birdie?”
Grian nodded, pulling his shoulders back. Something told him most of this newcomer was bluster. Bdubs grinned.
“Wonderful. A third bird, some might say.”
Before Grian could ask what he meant, Bdubs looked back at Xisuma.
“Well put it on the docket that Scar’s freaking cats escaped and is killing all of my chickens whenever I’m not there.”
“I feel like that’s a neighborly dispute, Bdubs, not a meeting dispute,” Xisuma said, a smile in his voice.
“Oh, this isn’t a dispute with Scar!” Bdubs said, “No, he wants the cat back as much as I want alive chickens. We just need help catching the thing.”
Xisuma chuckled, “We can mention it, then.”
“Good. Oh, also,” Bdubs said, as he turned to ride off the way he came, “Doc’s barking mad. I heard him shouting as I was riding over.”
Xisuma sighed, “About what?”
“About him,” Bdubs gestured at Grian.
“Me?” Grian asked before he could stop himself. What had he done already to anger one of the Hermits?
“Why?” Xisuma asked sternly.
Bdubs shrugged, “I don’t know. But it’s Doc. I’m sure you’ll learn at the meeting.”
With that, the big-eyed man rode off.
Grian didn’t think Bdubs had blinked once in the whole interaction.
“Well, that’s…potentially a problem,” Xisuma said.
“Is it?” Grian asked.
“Oh, don’t be concerned,” Xisuma assured him, “Doc is just…well, Doc. He is very smart, and as protective of the Hermits as anyone else, though he pretends we annoy him. I’m sure he is concerned about your unexpected arrival from a threat point of view, but if I get him and Cub to sit down and ponder out some answers as to what happened, he’ll calm down. He’s just the sort who doesn’t like the unknown, you know?”
Grian was keenly aware he was very much unknown.
“Anywho, that was Bdubs,” Xisuma said, “He’s intense and…expressive…but has a good heart.”
“What, um,” Grian trailed off, shaking his head.
“Hm?”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Grian said, “But what…was he?”
Xisuma laughed, “The eyes, yes? Ah. He’s part glare hybrid,” he said, “But from a few generations back, so he pretty much only got the big eyes, and the distaste for the dark.”
Grian nodded. For hybrids, the amount of attributes they got could vary greatly by individual.
Hybrids could be mixes of just about anything. Some were from actual unions between different species that were closely related enough, and others, and the far more common method of producing a hybrid, were from Code manipulations or scientific gene modification - giving players attributes from mobs, such as glares, as well as from other intelligent species.
Avians rarely hybridized with other species or mobs. For some reason, either their own genes or the inherent Code inside of them that gave them their wings, did not mesh well with that of other creatures. Attempts to hybridize avians never ended well. It either ended with nonviable offspring, or offspring without the ability to gain their wings, or something far, far worse.
Twisted bodies. Skeletal wings. Sharp, animalistic teeth. Labored breathing and wild eyes…far, far too many eyes…
“-ian?”
He jumped, turning to see Xisuma looking at him.
“Are you okay?” the Voidwalker asked, voice concerned. Grian nodded.
“Yes, sorry,” he said.
“That’s alright,” Xisuma nodded, “Let’s continue? Or do you need a moment?”
“I’m okay,” Grian said firmly. Xisuma nodded again.
“Alright. Let me know if you need some time to think, at any point.”
“I think my problem is that I think too much,” Grian muttered under his breath. Xisuma ‘hmph’ed.
“I think that is many people’s problem, to be fair.”
They set off again, further into the beautiful chaos of the Hermit’s creations.