Chapter Text
The last thing he remembered before everything went dark was Grian’s face, creased with a sadness he rarely allowed himself to show.
The relentless heat of the desert, and the ring of cacti hemming them in like a silent verdict.
Then there was nothing.
No pain.
No wind.
Just the sudden absence of the world.
When awareness returned, Scar did not know where he was. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above his head, only darkness, vast and complete.
And yet.
He...he knew this place.
Or rather...
He knew the feeling.
He had felt this once before.
Back when he had escaped...?
Or had he been taken...?
He had never truly understood what had happened then, whether he had clawed his way out of his original server by sheer luck, or whether something else, something higher, had intervened on his behalf. The question had followed him for years, unanswered and conveniently ignored.
At the time, the end had seemed certain. Zombies had surrounded him, countless and relentless, their groans filling the air as his strength failed. He had been so sure that was where it ended.
That death would finally claim him.
But instead of pain.
There had been darkness. And then something else entirely.
A lobby.
A place between servers.
That was where he had met Xisuma.
Where a door had opened into Hermitcraft.
Where Scar had introduced himself not as something dangerous or strange, but as an elf—simple, harmless, curious.
A traveler who only wanted to explore beyond the limits of his first world.
This darkness felt like that moment.
Almost.
There was one difference.
This time, the silence spoke.
Voices echoed from everywhere and nowhere, layered over one another, ancient and amused.
They did not shout.
They did not whisper.
They declared.
“From now on, a truth you’ll keep inside,
A secret sealed until its proper tide.
Act as you do, the fool, the friend, the scar.
Smile, stumble, lie… pretend you are.”
The words faded, leaving behind a resonance that settled deep within him, threading itself through code and memory alike.
Scar did not understand what had been said—only that it mattered. Only that it waited.
Then the darkness released him.
When he returned to Hermitcraft, the transition was imperfect.
A minor error. A brief desynchronization.
For just a moment, the illusion slipped.
Those who knew how to look might have noticed the wrongness: the sharpness behind his smile, the unnatural flicker in his form.
Beneath the crafted persona of an elf was something older.
A Vex.
A magical entity born of hunger and memory, feared in stories and scarcely understood.
Creatures said to feed on the flesh of other players, whispered about but never studied, because terror had erased curiosity.
Because the past had been abandoned, and its children left orphaned of their own history.
He knew Hermitcraft might accept him.
But “might” was not certainty
Of course, he still thought that even after years, even after meeting another of his kind on the same server...
He thinks it's a little late to tell the truth...
How could he explain to everyone that he deceived them?
How could he explain that he's not really who they know him to be?
He made a quick motion with his hand, drawing on a thread of magic so natural it barely registered as effort.
The distortion faded, and his elven appearance settled back into place as if it had never been broken.
Only then did he truly come back to himself.
He walked through his base, grounding himself in the familiar angles and half-finished builds. Jellie padded toward him, tail high, greeting him with a soft meow. He crouched instinctively, letting the normality of the moment steady him.
The day continued as usual. Or close enough.
From a distance, he felt it; a gaze watching him with quiet intensity.
When he looked up, he met Grian’s eyes.
Something passed between them.
He could see it. Grian remembered what had happened in Third Life.
The voices had told him to keep a secret. He still did not fully understand what they meant, but a feeling lingered, persistent and uneasy.
Before the game had begun, it had been made clear: only the winners would remember everything.
Those who did not win would retain fragments (important events, stripped of the emotions that gave them weight)
Memories dulled, easier to dismiss. But winners remembered it all: the fear, the desperation, the bonds forged and broken.
Scar smiled.
It was warm, easy, genuine...the kind of smile he had always given.
Because here, now, on this server, they were simply friends.
Whatever had happened in that other server, in that desert, did not belong here.
It was not meant to be remembered.
He had to admit it: at first, meeting Grian’s gaze had been easy. Grian looked relieved in a way that was unmistakable.
“Hey,” Grian said, breaking the silence, forcing a casual tone.
“Hello there...” Scar replied lightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Grian let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… something like that. Just—good to see you, that’s all.”
Scar’s smile softened. “Always good to see you too.”
And for now, that was enough.
He had to admit it.
At first, meeting Grian’s gaze had been easy. There was relief there, unmistakable and almost fragile.
Perhaps, in some twisted way, Grian believed that being the only one to remember everything was a lighter burden for the rest. As if carrying the full weight alone could spare the others. But Scar could see the doubt beneath that relief, the question Grian never stopped asking himself.
What does Scar remember?
When Grian finally asked him directly, his voice was careful, casual in a way that betrayed him.
“So… what do you remember?” Grian said, eyes fixed on the horizon rather than on Scar.
Scar laughed softly and shrugged. “Little things,” he replied. “Dancing under the moonlight, remember? We got used to the desert way too fast.” He paused, then added lightly, “And my first death. The creeper one. You know...the one you definitely didn’t cause.”
Grian snorted despite himself. “Hey, that was absolutely not my fault.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Scar said, smiling.
He did not go further. He did not mention the kisses, the closeness, or the moments that had meant more than survival ever could. Some memories were too sharp, too dangerous to expose.
Still, Scar noticed how Grian’s eyes brightened, how the tension in his shoulders eased.
“I’m glad,” Grian said quietly. “That you remember… something.”
Scar’s smile softened at that. Their relationship had never gone beyond friendship...at least, not here. Yet a small, stubborn hope lingered in his chest. Hope that something might still grow, or that Grian might one day dare to reach for it.
For now, though, they stood together in the familiar calm of the server, pretending that friendship was all there had ever been.