Chapter Text
Grian was bored. Grian was so bored, and it had only been like five minutes.
The clearing Xander’s house was in was nice, but it was mostly randomly generated birch trees and grass. Grian had walked through it twice now, seen it through the windows many more times, and that was enough to have seen it all. It was very plain.
Grian wondered what Xander had been doing all this time on the server, if he didn’t build like his brother did. Did he really spend that much time traveling through the Void looking for Watchers to stab that he didn’t do anything on a regular server? Grian would have at least decorated the clearing a bit.
In fact, there was this one tree that was really bugging him, now that he was looking from where he was sitting on the ground. It was just the most awkward shape, in the worst spot, and the leaves were interfering with another tree. It wouldn’t be so bad if he just… got rid of that one, right? It wasn’t like Xander would care. He barely seemed to notice the forest around them.
Grian would just take down that one tree. He could—well he didn’t have any tools, and he didn’t want to use Xander’s good ones in case he broke them. He’d just—Grian punched the tree with a bare fist.
Ow.
Was this how you were supposed to do it? Had Grian remembered wrong? Splotches of his clenched hand were turning a light pink, stinging with pain. He was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to hurt like that. Grian rearranged his fingers, and tried again.
And again. And again.
At some point, it clicked that it wasn’t the fingers that were messing him up, but that he needed to tap into the code the way all Players did to interact with the world. It took him some effort to recover that hidden reflex, but once he did, he had the tree down in less than a minute.
Success! The clearing looked so much better. Grian collected the fallen wood and leaves and turned to return to his sitting spot by the house—and then he saw it.
The tree he’d just taken down had been the worst of the lot by far, but now that it was gone it made the other problem trees that much more obvious. They just looked so wrong! And he could easily fix it, it wouldn’t be hard. Grian was sure Xander wouldn’t mind if he just…
Three and a half trees (the half was necessary, okay?) later, Grian stood back and gazed around the clearing, finally satisfied. His wings ruffled in the gentle breeze, and Grian stretched them out as far as they could go before he plopped back down into the grass.
Aaaand he was bored again. How had he managed this before today? He’d thought he’d be exhausted by this point, considering how much had happened in the past, like—four hours. But no, Grian was practically buzzing with energy. Where was this when he was trying not to pass out in front of the Watchers, huh?
What to do, what to do… well, he didn’t really want to go inside in case he missed Xander returning, and he couldn’t just start walking away for the same reason. He tossed one of his newly harvested sticks into the air.
He could take a nap where he was lying right now? The grass was comfortable enough. But he wasn’t really tired, so trying to sleep would just be a chore.
The stick pinwheeled back into the sky. Maybe if he like… ran a few laps around the clearing first? Tire himself out, sleep to pass the time, wake up in time to make sure Xander got back alright? That could work. Grian remembered how to run, probably. Hmm, but did he want to? He didn’t really feel like—the stick landed on his mask, bounced, and stuck into the ground above his head.
Huh.
No, wait. There was an idea. Grian scrambled to his feet, mind already spinning with plans.
Some unknown amount of time later—Grian hadn’t bothered to count, and it wasn’t like he had a clock or anything—Grian stood before a tall post extending out of the ground. It was shaped like some kind of whimsical curled vine, as detailed as he could manage with only birch wood, with structured fence posts hanging from the hook. And attached to those fence posts was a wide, shallow basket.
Grian leaned a hasty ladder against the side to reach the basket and bounced excitedly before dashing into the house. He returned with a blanket, yanked from his bed, and all but flung himself into the basket.
Ahh. His very own special spot. Grian wrapped the blanket around himself along with his wings, snuggled into a comfy corner of the basket, and relished in the feeling of being high above the ground for no reason other than that it was fun.
Maybe he could fall asleep, after all…
“Oh—Grian?”
“Goodness, is he up there?”
“I see a wing tip on the edge there, see? He’s not moving, I think he’s asleep.”
“Well I’m not asleep anymore, not with you chatterboxes down there,” Grian grumbled, tucking in the dangling wing, “Why are you both watching me sleep?”
“Ah, well—”
And then Grian finished waking up. “OH—everything’s okay? You talked, and—and stuff?” Grian hauled himself over the edge of his basket to get a proper look at the brothers, his all-sight vision not reaching far enough on its own.
They both looked fine, not disheveled or rumpled like you would typically expect people would be after learning they almost died and having a crisis about it, but maybe you couldn’t dishevel armor like that. Xander and Xisuma seemed to be acting completely normal, too, Xisuma with one hand on his hip and Xander with his arms crossed appraisingly.
“Everything’s fine, Grian.” Came Xander’s voice, “Thanks, by the way. I see you were busy while I was gone.”
“I was bored,” Grian defended, shrugging, “What can you do? I fixed your clearing, by the way. This is just the wood left over.” He had a sudden thought. “It’s okay that I built this here, right?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, don’t worry. I was just surprised you built something out of the blue. What is it, exactly?”
“I am a perfectly good builder, thank you very much!” Grian informed Xander, almost offended, “And this is my spot! It’s where I can sit and be tall, as required by basic Player instinct. Like a treehouse, but without a tree because I’m horrible at custom trees.”
“You do need all the help you can get to be tall,” Xander agreed, sounding amused, then, “How did you even get up there? Did you fly?”
“Don’t be silly, Xander, I can’t fly,” Grian dismissed, “There’s a ladder right there—ah. Well. There was. See?”
Said ladder was now abandoned on the grass below Grian’s basket, where Grian must have kicked it away in his hurry to get into his spot. His basket was a decent distance from the ground, not enough to kill him but enough to hurt a bit if he fell. But without the ladder, there really was no other way down.
“Hmm. Guess I’ll just have to—” Grian swung a leg over the side of the basket and prepared to jump.
“Wait! Wait, wait, what do you mean you can’t fly!? You have wings!” Xander stopped him, pointing at Grian like he was reminding the winged man that he had wings.
“Well yeah, but they don’t work,” Grian dismissed, wishing he could roll his eyes, “I can flap them all I like and they wouldn’t lift me an inch off the ground. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“When did you try? …Was it in the Void?”
“When I first got them! Of course I was in the Void, what does that matter?”
Xisuma, who had thus far just been watching the conversation like it was a very entertaining minigame, made a little “ah” sound.
Xander made a much louder “AHA” sound. “There’s no air in the Void, idiot! No air resistance means no lift! Of course you weren’t gonna be able to fly there!”
“I—” Grian spluttered. Xander was probably right, as much as Grian didn’t want to admit it. “That doesn’t change that I don’t know how!”
“Just spread your wings and flap them! How hard can it be!?” Xander shouted back, spirited, waving his arms up and down in the world’s worst demonstration.
“The air is a standard density on this server,” Xisuma chipped in finally, “If you’d like to learn how to fly here, you are very welcome to. We have a couple of other fliers on this server, I’m sure they’d be happy to offer some tips.”
“I—um, ah, thank you?” Grian stuttered, struggling with the switch between Xander’s aggressive encouragement and Xisuma’s gentle offer. “Maybe—maybe later?”
“Sure.”
“Griannn! Just jump!” Xander said again, giving up on the flying demonstration and instead making a wide beckoning motion with both hands, “Open your wings and give it a try! Why not?”
“Fine! I will!” Grian shouted, swinging his other leg over the edge of the basket, “But I was going to anyway! Not because you told me to!”
And then Grian spread his wings and carefully did not think about it before he jumped.
Whatever flying was supposed to feel like, it had better not be this, because all Grian could feel was falling but sideways. His wings caught the air, sure, but it whistled through the feathers uncomfortably and Grain was struggling to keep the limbs open. As it was, Grian landed awkwardly on one foot and tumbled down onto all fours.
“You flew! See, not that hard!” Xander enthused, offering Grian a hand up.
Grian took the hand, “If that was flying, then I’m a chicken. No way that was the right way to do it.”
“You’ll get there soon enough, poultry man. Just you wait.”
“I don’t like how threatening that sounded.”
“Good!”
“Hello, Grian!”
Grian perked up. “Xisuma?” He placed one last block before scurrying to peek over the roof of his new little hut. He reveled in the ability to rely on his line of sight—they’d managed to give Grian a toggle for the everywhere-sight with their latest code fixes, and he almost always kept it off.
Xisuma waved up at him. “Your build is looking lovely! Are you planning to move in when it’s done?”
“Well—” Grian paused, “Hold on. No use shouting.” With a quick hop, he descended to ground level where Xisuma was standing, spreading his wings awkwardly. He hadn’t tried very hard to learn how to actually fly, and so far all he could do was clumsily slow his fall. Xisuma still clapped in appreciation.
“You’re getting better!”
“That doesn’t really mean much. The only way to have done worse is if I’d fallen flat on my face.”
“And you didn’t, did you?”
Grian groaned, looking away (he could do that now!). “Well, anyways! What did you come over for? Did you want a tour?”
“Can I not just come and say hello?” Xisuma said casually, cheerfully, suspiciously, like there was nothing wrong, “But yes, I would love a tour.”
“It’s not much right now,” Grian warned, waving Xisuma to follow him anyway, “I’ve only done the outside, and it’ll be a while before I finish that.”
After his hanging basket, which Xander had later pointed out was his very first foray into building since he’d left the Watchers, Grian had gotten the itch to create more. More than just birch wood, with detailing and colour variety and a story. Xander had helped him clear out an area next to his house and now Grian was free to build whatever nonsense he wished.
“Building takes time,” Xisuma agreed, “Is the outside finished?”
“Oh, Void, no,” Grian grimaced, “I’ve barely got the roof on, see! That’s what I was just working on. And there’s barely any detailing. And—you know what, there’s a good place to start.” Grian spread his arms wide. “Welcome to my house! It is small because I felt like it, and it isn’t detailed yet because I haven’t gotten around to it. It’s got most of a roof on, and it’s even got windows already! I consider that progress.”
“It already looks fantastic, Grian.” And Grian couldn’t see Xisuma’s face through the helmet, but he still somehow knew that Xisuma was smiling. Voidwalkers were just like that. “I love how much you’ve been able to do with something so small. The colours just go together so well. I would never have thought to do something like this myself!”
“Aww, Xisuma, you’re gonna make me blush!” Grian stuttered, fanning his masked face with a hand.
Xisuma laughed. “I speak only the truth, my friend.”
Grian’s chest warmed at the title. He was naturally closer with Xander, considering their history, but Xisuma was quickly becoming someone he trusted. All those code fixing sessions had to count for something, after all. “Then thank you—friend! Oh! And here, take a look at this, I decided to try a new thing with the fence posts, I want to know what you think—”
Grian and Xisuma chatted about Grian’s build for a while, and then chatted about other things, wound up on the topic of TNT at some point—
(“—The things they do with a simple explosive! Sometimes it’s not even TNT, it’s something that’s not even supposed to be able to explode, but they find a way!”
“I don’t know if you’ll want to hear about the things I’ve done with TNT then—”)
—and eventually landed on the topic of the server they were currently on.
“I really do think you would be a perfect fit for Hermitcraft, you know,” Xisuma said, leaning back on his elbows to watch the sky. They had migrated up to sit on Grian’s barely finished roof, Grian having stopped a few times to plug up the remaining holes. “Like, in an official capacity, with all the other Hermits. They’d love you.”
Pushing down an immediate, instinctive ‘no’, Grian asked curiously, “You never actually said what Hermitcraft is. Obviously it’s survival, but your build is enormous for a regular survival. It’s not a hardcore, is it?”
“Did I really never say? It’s not hardcore, it’s unlimited lives. I don’t like the idea of locking people out of their home if they’d just died one too many times. I could never run a hardcore server.” Xisuma chuckled.
“That’s good to know, in case I ever do end up falling on my face when I use my wings.”
“We would never kick you out for that.” Xisuma laughed, “Hermitcraft is—well, it’s just one great big psychotic dysfunctional family. That sounds bad, I’m realizing, but it truly is wonderful. We build, we do redstone, we play pranks, we blow stuff up, and at the end of the day we’re all still friends.”
“That—sounds nice…”
“It is! We’ve got some fantastic builders here, I’m sure you’d fit right in. But there are some Hermits who can’t build at all, and they still manage to find their niche. As long as you’re happy here, you’re free to do whatever you love. Everyone supports each other.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“I am very lucky to have the Hermits.” Xisuma agreed. Then, in a move that Grian really should have seen coming, he asked, “What was the server you were on before like?”
Grian froze.
Xisuma must have noticed—something, Grian wasn’t even sure what he looked like right now, but Xisuma hastily added, “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, of course.”
“It’s—nothing bad,” Grian shook his head, staring out over the horizon, “It was a great server. It was—it was a lot like Hermitcraft, from the sounds of it.”
“Was it?” Xisuma asked quietly. Grian barely noticed, trying to find a safe way to word it.
“The—we weren’t all builders, we could build, of course, but we weren’t all on the level of your base. Or, it sounds like some of the other Hermits have built even bigger? We didn’t do much like that. But we were all friends, and we hung out together, and we pranked each other but we cleaned up after and everything was just fun. Survival, unlimited lives, it was home for some of them and I could never dream of locking someone out either. It was… it was great. Yeah.” Grian curled up, hugged his bent legs. It was a bit awkward on the narrow stairs of the sloped roof, but they’d managed to sit comfortably enough that he didn’t have to try too hard to find a new balance.
“That sounds lovely. Did it run for very long, or was it a temporary thing?”
“It was, ah, we did have a goal in mind, a set end date, but we were taking our time to get there. We were—I’d found a way to roll back updates, reinstate them manually, so we went back to Beta and played through each update. For the nostalgia, you know?” For the nostalgia. If only missing old updates had stayed their greatest concern.
“That’s incredible!” Xisuma’s voice was awed. “You discovered a way to code that? I’m sure the Players loved it.”
“They did, yeah. It was fun.”
“Grian, ah, tell me if this is too much but, did they—were they with you? In the Void? Did the Watchers—”
“NO!” Grian whipped his head up to look at Xisuma for the first time since Evo had come up. “I would never have let the Watchers take my Players. Never. I went because they said it was the only way to save them, but I was the only one who went. They never had to—to deal with them. If—” Grian choked. If only—But that was a dangerous thought.
Xisuma seemed frozen under Grian’s gaze. It made Grian wonder if he was seeing right, or if he’d managed to mess up his vision again. “That was an incredibly brave thing for you to do, Grian.” He said with a calmness that battered against Grian’s rib cage. “It must have been hard to endure that alone.”
“I—Xander was there. For a while.” Grian forced out, frozen statue-still under the eyes of a predator he couldn’t find, “I chose to go. It was my choice, I had to deal with the consequences.”
“I think we both know that wasn’t really a choice. Not when the only other option was abandoning your Players.”
“I would never.”
“I know. And neither would I. But the Watchers made that choice for you, Grian, it was never your fault.”
There was a pressure building up, in his head, in his throat, in his shoulders, in his chest. Grian felt like he was going to burst. But he wouldn’t, because he couldn’t. He never could. It would only make things worse. He took a single, shaky breath.
“But it was.”
“Grian, you can’t blame yourself for the Watchers hurting you,” Xisuma insisted, “I wouldn’t even have blamed you if you’d chosen yourself in that situation—that’s a terrifying choice with no right answer. But you can’t punish yourself for saving your Players—”
The pressure burst. Grian broke.
“I DIDN’T!”
He swung his fists down as hard as he could, hands hitting the unfinished edges of the stair blocks they were sitting on. His arms trembled from the shock and from the rage.
“I DIDN’T SAVE THEM! THEY’RE DEAD! THEY’RE ALL DEAD!!” Grian went to slam his fists down again, but Xisuma caught one in his own hands. Grian ripped it out of his grasp to tug at his hair instead. “They tore it apart and made me watch. I watched them all DIE!”
“Grian—” Hands tugged at his wrists again, trying to pull them away from his hair. Grian tore away again, reverting to an old habit—he curled his fingers around the edges of the mask that covered his face and pulled.
Of course, it didn’t do anything. Days, weeks, of stolen moments, curled up in corners or huddled away behind his wings, trying to take that mask off. Pulling, scratching, prying, anything to get rid of the thing locked to his face that marked him as belonging to the Watchers. Nothing had ever worked.
Even after escaping, Grian would forever be trapped behind this forsaken mask. It would be sealed to his face as a brand, that he had failed to protect his friends, no matter how hard he tried. A reminder that he hadn’t been Watcher enough, and that he would never again be Player enough.
“I was too Player,” Grian sobbed, digging in short, blunted fingernails to no avail. The hands stopped pulling at his arms and wrapped around him instead. “I did everything they wanted, but I couldn’t let them delete him, and they killed them.” The arms around him stilled, and Grian tugged again. It didn’t hurt. He’d never been able to feel a thing. “They tore the server apart with everyone in it and they held me down and made me watch.”
“Grian,” Xisuma said as Grian fell limp in his arms, “You did everything you could and more. You loved them and I know that they knew it. Nothing you did was in vain.” Grian breathed in, and then out. “And, it may be selfish of me, but thank you for saving my brother. Thank you so much.”
Xisuma held him tighter, and Grian wailed.
Grian woke up in his bed in Xander’s house, beneath his usual red blanket as well as a new dark green blanket. He felt well-rested in the way that came with crying your eyes out, even if he probably hadn’t cried at all when he’d collapsed dramatically into Xisuma’s arms. Dramatically and on top of a roof, he remembered, which wasn’t the safest.
Cringing, Grian made his way out of bed and into the hallway. Hopefully Xisuma was still around so Grian could apologize for screaming at him.
When he entered the main room, now properly furnished after Grian had gotten impatient and made couches to sit on since Xisuma kept visiting, the air was swirling with pink-purple energy. And—Xisuma and Xander weren’t wearing their helmets. Grian turned his head away hastily.
“Hello…” He tried.
“Ah! Grian! You’re awake. Are you feeling better?” Xisuma asked.
“Yup. Uh—can I look or is this a private thing?”
“Private thing?” This time it was Xander talking, and Grian was only barely able to tell. The brothers sounded very similar without the helmets distorting the audio, and Grian wondered why Xander’s audio normally sounded so low. Had he set the helmet to deepen his voice?
“Your, uh,” Grian motioned a hand around his own head, “Your helmets.”
“Oh!” Xisuma again, he was pretty sure. “No, no, it’s fine. Thank you for checking.”
“‘Course.” Grian moved to sit in an empty armchair next to the couch the brothers were on. Curling up and fiddling with his fingers, he took a breath—
“So, Grian—“
“Sorry for yelling at you, Xisuma.”
They spoke at the same time, and then stared at each other for a second.
Grian wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Xisuma’s face looked like any other Player’s face—no special Voidwalker-ness standing out. His eyes reflected a bit of the fluorescent purple-pink energy flowing through the air, but for some odd reason it just made him seem even more normal. He turned to look at Xander, and Xander was just the same. A perfectly normal person—who had saved Grian from the Watchers, yes, but nothing supernatural.
“Sorry for yelling at you, Xisuma,” Grian repeated once it was clear that Xisuma wasn’t going to say anything, “I think it was pretty obvious by the end that I wasn’t angry at you, but you still didn’t deserve to be screamed at. So.” Grian shrugged awkwardly.
“Oh it’s quite alright, Grian, I’m just glad you were able to let it out. It sounded like that had been coming for a while.”
“Yeah. Probably.” Silence. Grian cast around for something else to say. “So, uhh… what’s the light show about?”
Xisuma’s smile grew—and while Grian was used to hearing it in his voice, seeing it was going to take some getting used to. “Just some Voidwalker magic—it’s lowering the air density here so we can take the helmets off for a bit. You should be fine since you’re, ah, acclimated to the Void.”
Well. At least his time in the Void had been good for something. Grian would take wins wherever he could. “It’s pretty.” He complimented.
“Thank you!”
There was a pause, and then Grian realized, “Sorry, was I interrupting you guys?”
This time Xander smiled, and Grian tried not to lean back too obviously. Too bright. Maybe they wore the helmets to avoid blinding people—Grian might not be able to survive both of them smiling at once. “Nah, just hanging out. Actually—now is a good time for breakfast! Are you up for some food?”
“Uh, sure?”
Xander bounded off to the kitchen, waving a hand in acknowledgement when Xisuma called out a request for food too. Grian watched in fascination as some of the purple-pink wisps followed to swirl around his head.
“Voidwalker magic is so cool,” Grian breathed quietly, “I still can’t believe that Players can have magic.” He’d only had the smallest clue when he’d arrived on Hermitcraft, having seen the shield around the Voidwalkers as they made their escape. Xander had mentioned using magic a couple times, but it wasn’t like Grian had any experience with magic outside of the Watchers, whose magic was strictly code-based and similar to the abilities of an overpowered admin. He had no idea what it looked like.
Xisuma chuckled. “There are many more Players with magic than just us, you know,” he said, apparently having fun completely overturning Grian’s worldview, “Some of them are even on Hermitcraft. And you have some magic of your own, too.”
Skipping over the concept that Players could have magic, Grian scoffed, “You can barely call it magic. I could do more when I was just an admin, considering how many of my permissions they’ve locked. Besides! Yours is prettier anyway.”
“I will accept that it is prettier. Thank you for the compliment. Though you really should be telling Xander that, he’s doing most of the work here.” Xisuma’s smile grew again.
“Really?”
“Oh yes, he’s always been the best at magic, between the two of us.”
“And Xisuma’s always been better at code!” Xander reappeared, setting a platter of bread and fruit on the small coffee table Grian had built between the main couches. “What are we talking about?”
“Your magic is pretty.” Grian waited for both brothers to grab something before snagging an apple and tossing it between his hands.
“Thanks, you already said that.”
“Well, that’s what we were talking about.”
“Boring,” Xander declared, “You should have more interesting conversations when I’m not here. Like wondering what I look like under the helmet.” He raised his eyebrows in an amused look at Xisuma.
“I can see what you look like under the helmet,” Grian said confused, while Xisuma just groaned. “Why would we wonder—?”
“The Hermits keep placing bets on what I look like under the helmet,” Xisuma narrowed his eyes back at Xander, “Even though half of them already know, and I would show the rest in a heartbeat if they just asked. Xander keeps egging them on.” He took a pointed bite of his bread.
“Huh.” Grian paused, absorbing his apple through his hand the way all Players did when they just wanted some quick nutrients instead of having to deal with the full digestive process. “I think Xisuma’s got pointy teeth under the helmet.” He said, staring right at Xisuma’s not-pointy teeth.
Xisuma just sighed, and Xander barked a loud laugh. He stopped laughing when Grian added, “And I think Xander’s hiding a poor attempt at a moustache under his helmet.”
It was Xisuma’s turn to laugh as a decidedly non-mustachioed Xander gasped in faked outrage. “Well I think that Grian’s hiding that he’s got no eyebrows under his mask!”
The mirth leaked out of Grian at that. “I probably don’t,” he agreed, quieter, not quite as happy as he’d sounded before. His legs curled back up on the chair. He wasn’t sure when they’d come down.
The sounds of laughter and exaggerated outrage cut off at that. “What do you mean?” Xander asked, alarmed, clearly aware that something had gone wrong but not sure what.
“I probably don’t have eyebrows,” Grian repeated, “I probably don’t even have a face anymore. The mask doesn’t come off.”
Xander blinked slowly, an overwhelmed look appearing on his face. He turned wide eyes to his brother, but Xisuma was already looking at Grian in concern.
“You do,” Xisuma said with finality, and Grian’s head spun with a mix of emotions he didn’t know how to name. “There is something under your mask. I’m not sure what, but your code isn’t missing the huge chunk of Player skin code that would mean something as big as your face is gone. And,” he added in a conflicted tone, “Yesterday, when you cried, there were tears coming from under your mask.”
Grian trembled, the pressure in his head spilling over. Maybe it was dripping out from under his mask again, but he wouldn’t know. All he could feel was the air in his lungs trying to come out in a sob and getting caught on the hope in his throat. “I could…take it off? And look like me again?”
“We could do the fix now, if you’d like,” Xisuma offered immediately, setting down his half finished bread and shifting towards Grian.
“Y-yes—please,” Grian managed, pulling his wings tighter around him. It was awkward with the armchair in the way, but his wings had always found a way when he needed them to make him feel a little bit calmer. “But—f-finish your breakfast f-first. I can w-wait a few minutes so you don’t s-starve to death.”
Xisuma laughed, picking up his abandoned bread in one hand and opening an admin screen with the other. “I’ll get right on it, don’t worry about a thing.”
Meanwhile, Xander appeared in his still-limited field of vision. “So I hear you like magic, huh? Do you wanna see what else we can do?”
Grian knew what he was doing—Xander was being very obvious. But even so, Grian mustered up a laugh for his friend and said, “Sure. Show me what you got.”
And so Xander showed Grian glowing fireworks and little shield bubbles and spectral swords until Xisuma interjected with a “Done!” and then a “Ready?”
Xander lowered his hands he’d been using to produce magic and stepped away to give him space, but Grian caught one of the hands as it fell and squeezed it for a moment in thanks. Letting go, he said, “Ready.”
“And…code has been updated. You should feel it soon.”
Grian wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, maybe a lightning strike or the mask suddenly exploding off his face, or even for nothing to happen at all, but it felt like all the other updates they’d done. A wave of sensation came into existence around the front of his head, and suddenly he could feel the edges of the mask digging into his cheeks and temples. There was a strange pressure coming from the middle of his face, and it took Grian a second to realize that it must be his nose pressing into the mask. There was a wobbly feeling around where his vision was on one side—was that one of his eyes?
Slowly, slowly, matching the rising of hope in his chest, his hands reached up and curled around the edges of the mask. Would it still look like Grian underneath? Or would there be a stranger? Would Xander and Xisuma still like him afterwards, or would they recoil in horror? Grian breathed out shakily.
“Grian?”
Grian tugged.
The mask came off easier than expected—his hands flew forward, leaving Grian staring into the smooth white interior of the mask. It looked so plain and innocent from this side, with no brand in sight. Grian pushed his fingernails into it until it cracked soundlessly, spiderwebbing in from the sides and cracking down the middle.
No going back, now. Grian was never putting that mask back on, no matter what he looked like. He hesitated over the mental switch that would turn on his full vision and let him see his own face. Would his friends have been able to recognize him, if they were still alive? Did he even look like a Player anymore? Or did he just look like a discarded toy, dragged through the mud and torn apart and put back together so many times none of the original remained?
He looked up at Xander, still standing close by. “How do I look?” He tried to sound teasing. It came out flat.
Xander stared at Grian’s face, tilting his head this way and that, looking to be scrutinizing carefully. Finally, he nodded, saying decisively, “You do have eyebrows.”
Grian blinked for the first time in months. Then his face scrunched in a smile for the first time in months, and he laughed, the steady stream of tears coming from his unglitched eye never stopping.
(“To be honest, I didn’t even think you had a head at first, so this is way better than I expected.”
“Why would I not have a head? What??”
“Well, ‘cause Watchers don’t have physical heads, it’s just the mask—”
“They WHAT!?”
“Wait did you not know that—”)
“Hey Xander, are you—what is that.”
“Mm?” Xander glanced up at Grian from where he was sprawled on the ground, weaving together long strands of grass. He looked completely innocent, like he was about to do something that he absolutely should not get away with. “Oh, just seeing if I can make a blanket.”
“Sure.” Grian squinted at him with two newly Void-black eyes, which used to be one shining purple and one glitched hole punched into his face, which used to be two bright blue. They were actually just windows into the Void, his pupils and irises fully missing from his code, but nobody needed to know that. And if they wanted to know, well—nobody would ever believe them. “Want help?”
Xander’s head tilted in the way that meant he was smiling. “I think I’m just about done. Why don’t you pick our target?”
Grian grinned.
An hour later, Xander and Grian fled several loudly startled Hermits, dragging the grass blanket bush disguise with them. “I cannot believe that worked!”
“Bushes are easy,” Xander called back as they ran, “Wait till you get to the real disguises. It takes them ages to notice anything’s happening at all.”
“I didn’t know you were one for pranks! It’s fantastic!” Grian laughed back. They reached the little clearing between their houses, and Grian stumbled to the center to flop down and finish his laughing fit. Xander joined him.
“Messing with the Hermits is one of my greatest joys in life,” Xander announced, hand on his chest in what looked like complete sincerity until you took his helmet off. Grian sniggered and flicked the hand away.
“Do you do this often?”
“Oh, all the time. Whenever I visit, always a few pranks. I gotta remind them that I’m around, you know. Can’t have them getting complacent.”
Xander leaned back to lay on the grass, and Grian blinked as he remembered his original mission. “Oh, by the way.”
“Hm?”
“We finished fixing my code last week.” Grian flexed his red, yellow, blue wings proudly, smiling wide with the mouth that hadn’t been there when he’d first taken off the mask.
“Congrats! But—you’ve still been doing code stuff since then?”
“We made you something,” Grian said, dropping a little strip of fabric onto Xander’s chest in response.
“Um—?”
“Distress signal that actually works. Wear it like a bracelet and it’ll integrate with your Player skin, so nobody can take it away or deactivate it.” Xander didn’t move, just running the strip between his fingers, and Grian continued, “And then you can activate it at any time, without interference. We based it on your anti-Watcher code, Xisuma says he helped you develop it the first time.”
“He’s better at code.” Xander said immediately, like it was something he’d said a hundred times before. His hands hung frozen in the air for a moment, then jerkily started wrapping the band around one wrist. Once the circle closed, the fabric glowed and shrank, changing to look like the armor underneath. “So this is just in case, huh?”
“Just in case,” Grian agreed, “And preparing for an inevitability. If it’s happened once odds are it’ll happen again. You didn’t call for help until after the first few sessions, this time. I don’t like the idea that you might not ever call for help if it doesn’t seem as bad.”
“I know how to—”
“I know you can take care of yourself, Xander.” Grian cut him off, voice quieting. His fingers curled into the grassy dirt they were sitting on. “But Xisuma said this was the first time you’d ever called for help. That means it was the first time you thought it was bad enough to need help. There’s no way you’ve never struggled with a Watcher before. If you ever get caught again, I don’t care if it’s one Watcher or twenty. Call, and we will come, and we will win. But don’t ever suffer like that again. Please.”
“You don’t… need to deal with them again.”
“And neither do you. And neither does anyone else. And yet.”
Silence. Then, Xander sighed. “Fine.”
“Good.” Grian huffed, and flopped down to lay beside Xander on the grass. One wing wrapped around him like a hug, feathers reaching past him to buffet against Xander’s helmet until he pushed them away.
“You know I’ll be leaving at some point, then?”
Grian huffed again. “Of course. I’ve seen you, you’re getting antsy. You don’t like staying in one place. You can go and surf errant code strings in the Void again, or whatever it is you do. Hunt Watchers. Weirdo.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“What did we just have a whole conversation about. Use your distress signal when you’re in distress, and I won’t have to worry about you.”
“With me leaving, I mean? I know everything’s still new for you. I don’t want to just abandon you…”
“You’ll visit, won’t you? I know Xisuma too, and he’s going to introduce me to some of the Hermits soon, see how I like it. Says they’re starting a new world soon, and I could officially join then—Season Six? Odd name.”
“So—”
“Waauuughhh I’ll be fine, you dummy!” Grian flailed, flinging torn grass bits at Xander’s helmeted face. “Go, have fun killing headless masked gods, and I’ll tell all the Hermits horrible lies about what’s under your helmet so you have to come back and tell them why I’m right.”
“Okay, okay!” Xander laughed, helplessly trying to shield himself from the grass onslaught, “I can tell when I’m not wanted! I’ll go soon!”
“Good!” Grian shouted back, throwing more grass. He swatted Xander over the head with his wing as a final parting shot and flopped back down. The wing spread over both of them like a blanket, tip extending just past Xander’s shoulders.
“And if all else fails, you’ll still have this.”
His wing fluttered just a bit, feathers brushing over armor where underneath, Grian knew, there was a red feather on a cord hung around Xander’s neck.