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It was the middle of the night when their world was turned upside down.
A heavy rumbling that shook their whole base woke the two men up, though Grian admittedly quicker, with a sharp gasp and shudders running through his body.
“Grian?” Scar mumbled, voice and body still laden with sleep. Ready to dismiss the whole event as an average night on HermitCraft, he continues, “It’s probably just another one of Doc or Mumbo’s machines, let’s just-”
He pauses in shock, his hand that was previously reaching for the avian left suspended in the air. A mix of surprise, worry, and a slight tinge of wonder quickly sobered Scar up from his drowsy state.
Grian’s deep brown eyes that sometimes rivaled the void in their darkness were now glowing an eerie shade of purple, and were staring directly back at him in horror.
As to be expected of the reckless man, Scar throws all caution to the wind and pushes himself up, grabbing the other by the shoulders. “Grian? What’s going on?” He asks worriedly, pushing the avian’s messy bangs out of his face. This only serves to make his eyes glow brighter, his wings rising in what he recognizes as a defensive stance, as if Scar had snapped him out of some trance.
Before Scar can say anything more, another boom sounds outside; though, this time, it’s accompanied by a voice. Or rather… voices.
“Xelqua.”
The voices rattle the house once more, dust being kicked up from the floorboards. Scar looks from Grian to the door almost frantically. Who was Xelqua? More importantly, who on Earth was outside?
Without a word, Grian’s body tenses, and he hesitates for just a moment before stepping off the bed, seemingly to make his way over to the door.
“Oh no you don’t mister!” Scar calls out, fumbling for his cane resting against the bedside table to catch up. “We don’t answer weird scary solicitors, especially in the middle of the night!”
Grian barely seems to hear him, one of his aural wings merely flicking in recognition that he even said anything. He pushes the door open before Scar can pull him back, stepping out into the starry night.
What was waiting for them there nearly made Scar stumble straight to the floor.
Three looming figures, surrounding the now much larger boatem hole, with far too many wings and far too many eyes to be anything natural. Masks sporting a broken rectangular shape covered each of their faces, and their bodies were cloaked in deep, purple robes. It was hard to grasp what their shape really was, given the wings and dark clothing covering most of their bodies—not to mention the masks. Scar didn’t even want to know what was under them.
Grian seemed undeterred by their startling form though, marching right up to them and clenching his hands into fists, craning his neck to stare straight at them—as if he recognized them. As if this has happened before.
“Xelqua. Have you had your fun?”
Their combined voices reverberated across the entire village they’d built around the boatem hole. It was far more than just three people—Scar couldn’t even wager a guess of how many voices they had layered on top of each other. Again, though, Grian didn’t seem startled or deterred, his talons only digging further into the dirt he stood on.
“I told you, I’m not coming back with you.” The avian practically snarled, his wings fully spread in a clear aggressive display, feathers standing on end until they looked almost sharp and dangerous to touch.
Scar, having caught up at this point, reaches out to put his hand on the other’s shoulder. “Grian? What’s going on? Do you know these things?” He gestures vaguely up at the frankly terrifying beings standing in front of them, all of the alarms going off in his head that this is bad and they need to get away, not stand out here in the dark and have a conversation with them.
Grian startled, as if he had just been reminded that he isn’t alone out here with these things. He swings his head back around to stare at Scar with his still glowing purple eyes, now wide with terror. “Scar, get out of here, they aren’t—this isn’t safe for you. Just go home, I can handle it.”
The waver in his voice did nothing to boost Scar’s confidence—if anything, it just made him more stubborn to stay out here by his side. “Are they going to hurt you? Because I-”
“Xelqua. We asked you a question.”
The towering voices cut Scar off, easily overpowering him in volume. He casts one searing glance at them before turning back to Grian and forging on. “What’s Xelqua? Why are they calling you that?”
Grian shudders as the name leaves Scar’s mouth, his wings faltering just a bit. “It was my Watcher name.” He admits softly, shame lacing his voice as his eyes turn to the ground.
It was Scar’s turn for his eyes to widen in shock, glancing back up at the figures as a chill runs up his spine. “Those are the Watchers?” All he knows about the godlike beings is from old, dusty texts and the bits and pieces Grian has told him about his past. It always seemed to make Grian uncomfortable to talk about it, so he never pushed, figuring that if it was important, his lover would let him know. He never had it in his plan to get a front row seat in meeting them in person. What he did know is that they weren’t kind, they were dangerous, and they were immensely powerful.
“Is this one of your toys, Xelqua?” The Watchers asked above them, sounding much too sinister for it to be just a curious question.
“Toys? I’m not-” It was Grian who cut Scar off this time with a hand on his chest—which is still bare from sleep, he realizes a bit belatedly.
“Don’t answer them. It’s what they want.” Grian warns, still staring defiantly up at them as he shifts one of his wings to hide Scar behind it. In a voice that someone only gains from experience, Grian spits, “They’ll use whatever you say to get inside your head. It’s what they do.”
“Enough. Xelqua-”
“I’m not going back!” Grian shouts, his shoulders hunched, as if he plans on trying to tackle one of these beings that could easily meet any of their mega bases eye to eye with their height alone.
“We aren’t asking.”
With just a lift of one of their hands, Grian slams to the floor with a painful yelp, body curling up in pain as he whines.
“Grian!” Scar cries as he attempts to move forever towards him, but the avian quickly throws an arm out to stop him.
“Don’t touch me! You’ll get caught in it too.” Grian cautions, his free hand covering his face that was scrunched up in the pain wracking his body.
It wasn’t like Scar had much of a choice, being batted away by the countless more wings that were sprouting from his back, the new ones pitch black and spotted with starlight as if they had been dipped in the void, rather than his usual brightly colored parrot feathers. Scar would probably call them beautiful if whatever was going on wasn’t obviously hurting Grian, his nails—claws—grasping at the grass he was laying on.\
Dotted across his new wings were several new purple eyes, which shifted around wildly, as if they didn’t know what to focus on. The red sweater Grian was so known for around their friend group seemed to evaporate, replaced by purple robes just like the ones the watchers were wearing—almost a carbon copy. He looked…
…just like one of them.
But he wasn’t. Scar knew he wasn’t, this was Grian, the same bird that moments ago was hiding under their blankets, face comfortably nestled in his chest. He brushed Scar’s messy hair for him, and Scar preened his wings in return. The pile of old, discarded feathers was still sitting on their bedside table.
All Scar could do was stand and watch until Grian’s shaking stopped. He almost looked peaceful, laying in the grass like that. All the panicky eyes surrounding him told a different story, though.
He held his breath as Grian struggled to get to his feet, at first his back now covered with wings facing him. The new weight almost threw him off, and Scar had to resist reaching out to steady him. He found his footing quickly enough, though, and when he turned to face Scar, each and every one of his violet eyes were pooling with sorrow.
Scar didn’t even have the time to appreciate how the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks now sparkled like starlight, or the deep purple that surrounded the two natural eyes that managed to remain on his face. All he could focus on was the look in his eyes—he’d given up. Grian doesn’t give in, he doesn’t surrender to people who oppose him—but these aren’t people. They’re Watchers, and if they wanted Grian to come with them, they’d make it happen. By whatever means necessary.
Scar felt his breath catch in his throat as his eyes grew wet with tears. He was losing him. He was losing his pretty bird, his sunshine, his Grian. He couldn’t- what was he supposed to do without him? Grian was his light in the morning, his warmth in the dark. He couldn’t just leave like this.
Grian’s expression slowly morphed into a small, sad smile, his extra eyes closing into just light purple lines across his wings. Scar hated it. He hated all of this.
The grass barely shifted as Grian stepped closer to him, as if he wasn’t walking at all. “Oh, Scar, please don’t cry.” He murmured, just loud enough for the two of them to hear in their little bubble of safety. “I don’t want my last memory of you to be you crying over me.”
As Grian wiped one of Scar’s falling tears away, his thumb, now coated in black, leaves behind a smear of sparkling void blackness. “I’m sorry.” He whispers before pulling Scar in for a kiss. It feels like finality. It tastes like goodbye.
It doesn’t last long before Grian is once again slammed to the ground, effectively popping the bubble and leaving the avian wheezing as his breath gets knocked out of him. Scar chokes on his tears as he takes a step back, gripping the head of his cane so tightly it makes his knuckles grow white.
“Enough. We warned you about mortal connections, Xelqua.” The Watchers echo, their tone leaving no room for argument.
Grian pushes himself up on his elbows, shooting a brief glare in their direction. “Yes, Master.” His focus isn’t truly on them, though.
When the avian pushes himself up a bit more and finally meets Scar’s eyes again, he’s flooded with about a dozen emotions at once. Under it all, the sorrow, the pain, the loss of being taken away from his home and loved ones—there’s still that spark of determination hidden in his now purple stare. Even with what the Watchers had done to him, they hadn’t managed to put out the fire that had drawn Scar to Grian in the first place. The mischief, the playfulness, the devotion to what he truly cared about. All of it was still there, for now nestled under the blanket of his wings. The message in his fierce gaze was clear.
This isn’t goodbye. He would find his way back, back to the one who holds his heart safe in his care, no matter what the Watchers do to try and stop him.
Scar swallows back whatever tears he can, nodding back solemnly. Grian would return to him, and Scar would wait. He would wait however long it took for Grian to come home.
He forces himself to stay rooted in his spot so he doesn’t follow his lover as he gets back to his feet and marches towards the boatem hole, towards the Watchers. With a final nod, they descend back into the void, where they must have come from in the first place.
Before Grian joins them, though, he looks over his shoulder at Scar one last time. The sly smile he tosses him is a promise. He’s no Xelqua like the Watchers think he is. He’s still Grian, and he’ll come home even if all he leaves behind him are ashes.