Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After the law was defeated, everything slowly drifted back to the way it usually was. Well… never perfect, not by a long shot, but at least it was something stable(pun intended). Lettuce had been captured somewhere, though he doesn’t really know where—and the uncertainty still left a faint pit in Wemmbu’s stomach. Overall, he doesn't really give a fuck as long as he doesn’t bother him anymore


Parrot had taken charge of him, keeping him safe as best he could—always practical, always level-headed, like he knew exactly what to do even when the rest of them floundered. smartest player , amiright? I mean, he must say he is smart. Thinking back, Wemmbu realized that, somehow, they had formed a surprisingly solid team—Spoke, Parrot him with… whatever it was he actually brought to the table, and Flame.




Flame?


right.




After the whole law arc thing, Wemmbu and Flame got along fairly well. Not as friends—not really—but — pride and stubbornness still and will linger in both of them. Still, underneath all that, there was a quiet, unspoken respect. They knew each other’s strengths, their limits, and maybe, in some small way, trusted one another despite the tension that never fully left. . or on his side maybe.



I wonder what Flame is doing now.

Shaking his head, Wemmbu tried to focus back on Egg, who was happily rambling about his books. The topics never really grabbed Wemmbu’s attention—but there was something comforting about listening to his best friend get excited. After all—Egg had been stuck in the End for three months. Of course Wemmbu had missed him. Of course he wanted to hear him talk, laugh, argue, or just… be there.

Speaking of the End, the duo was making their way toward the portal, heading to visit their old friend—Minutech. It had been quite a while, and really, a little visit wouldn’t hurt, right? The End was still the same hollow, echoing place, but familiar enough to feel almost comforting in its emptiness.

As they approached the staircase leading up to the portal, Eggchan set down a bed and quickly marked his spawn point. The dragon’s laughter rumbled softly behind him, teasing the seraphim as he fumbled with the simple task.

“ yo bro, at least i learned from my mistake “ giving out a slight chuckle.



“ dallright.. “ the purple one replied—still giggling over his friend.

As the final Eye of Ender clicked into place, a loud—almost universal—scream echoed across the server, announcing that an Ender Portal had been opened. Which questions Wemmbu ; Why hasn’t this portal opened before? Thousands of players had passed through this world, yet somehow no one had ever used it. Shrugging, he pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t his concern, why even dwell on it. There were other things to focus on, like making it through the portal in one piece.

They jumped down the portal, the fabric of time twisting around them. Even though it was only a split second, the sensation always made Wemmbu nauseous. The world blurred and stretched, colors bending strangely, sounds echoing oddly in his ears. He struggled to open his eyes, his stomach churning as the dizzying fall seemed to last longer than it should. When he finally did, the hollow air hit him immediately—thick, cold, and empty. The black walls pressed in, sharp and unnatural, unmistakably Minute’s little trap–entrance thing.

eugh .


The angel looks fine ,, and probably used to it which didn't really surprise Wemmbu that much. Wemmbu's throat felt like it was grasping at air, which was weird – he never felt that way, however concluded due to its unfamiliarity and just haven't been in the end for a long time.



“ COUGH cough ADRH how–are you so damn unbothered by it bro “


“ i just got aura bro “


“ dallrght , okay buddy “

Minute—somehow noticing the commotion—opened the entrance, welcoming the two inside. Eggchan waved while Wemmbu’s eyes drifted across the room, barely focusing on the conversation. Minute had clearly spent time decorating; the place looked warmer, more lived-in than before, though he’d never admit it aloud. Small touches here and there suggested he’d had a bit of peace, a few moments to himself without other worries pressing in. Good for him, Wemmbu thought, letting the thought slide through like a faint breeze.

Egg and Minute conversation continued, voices rising and falling in familiar rhythms, mostly about what had happened to Lettuce. Wemmbu answered only when directly asked, nodding or muttering as needed. Mostly, though, he let them speak, letting his mind wander—while still answering some few questions, after all–Egg was the one to request to visit the end so he let him take the lead, however he did consider visiting minute at least some time, he wouldn't do it willingly but he would if he was invited.

Mid conversation, Wemmbu suddenly felt something twisting in his throat. It felt weird–like something rooting inside his chest, air scraping uselessly against blockage. It made him dizzy.  he felt something swell up—wanting to be let out, throw up.

He excused himself out, and ran straight to the bathroom almost tripping himself on the way. He coughed up everything he could in the sink–yet nothing would come out. It was hard – excruciating, he could barely breath, not enough to kill him by asphyxiation, yet not enough for him to stay conscious .


His hands clawing through his chest, the pain was intoxicating and gruesome. His lungs were full—packed so tightly that every breath scraped uselessly against something soft and unyielding. He coughed up. He coughed out something.


His blurred vision trying to make out what it was, and saw red–orange like particles. He couldn't make them out due to the lack of visibility and due to his headache he couldn't comprehend much . His eyes faded out as much—as he looks at his reflection up ahead, well failed to do so. and—




.

.




He felt warm—soft, fuzzy fabric pressed against his back. His wings twitched on instinct, then went still. His hands tingled, numb at the edges, like they didn’t fully belong to him anymore. He couldn’t feel much at all—yet somehow, everything hurt. He forced his eyes open.

It burned.

Light stung like it wasn’t meant for him. His vision swam, unfocused, the world slipping in and out as if it couldn’t decide whether to stay. Familiar shapes blurred together until recognition finally settled, dull and delayed.

…oh

Minute’s guest room.

Right.

He tried to sit up. Big mistake.

Pain flared suddenly—sharp, overwhelming, stealing the air from his lungs.

“ a–owh— ”

His voice came out rough, wrong.

Eggchan was nearby instantly, startled, rushing over and grabbing his arm like he was afraid Wemmbu might vanish if he didn’t. Wemmbu barely registered it. He let himself be guided back down, then—after a moment—pushed himself upright anyway. It hurt. A lot. But staying still felt worse, like sinking.

Egg stared at him, worry written all over his face.

“ Yo, bro— you good?? ”

“… ”

Nothing came out. Not because he didn’t want to answer—he just didn’t know how. His thoughts felt slow, slippery, like they couldn’t stick to anything long enough to make sense.

“ r-right— sorry, ” Egg muttered quickly.

Wemmbu glanced at him, managing the barest hint of amusement. Or maybe that was just habit. Even that felt distant.

“ But seriously, dude, ” Egg continued, quieter now, “why’d— why were you passed out in the bathroom? ”

The question echoed.

Bathroom.

Wemmbu tried to think. His chest tightened faintly at the effort. He remembered… pressure. His lungs feeling wrong. Too tight. Like breathing through something that wasn’t air. And there was that flash of color—orange, maybe—

“ —and why were there petals in the sink? ”

Petals.

…what?

His thoughts stalled completely. Petals?

His mind scrambled, replaying broken images: leaning over the sink, coughing—no, throwing up—something soft, something he hadn’t wanted to look at too closely. Then nothing. Just the floor rushing up and everything cutting out.Was that orange… petals?Why would there be petals?Why would he—what????

His head started to throb, confusion stacking on confusion until it felt heavy, suffocating. His chest felt tight again, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or just fear. Everything felt distant, muted, like he was watching himself from somewhere just slightly off.

“I…don't really know.,” he finally muttered, the words sounding unsure even to him.

And that scared him more than the pain.

Silence consumed them. It was loud. louder than anything.



“ i–. “ egg stuttered. “ You–, you should get some rest bro. “ egg added. “ don't worry bro “



okay.



“mhm”

Chapter Text

Caressing the dog’s fluffy fur as it looked up at him, a sense of peace finally settled over him. For once, there were no lawmen chasing him around nearly twenty-four seven, no constant pressure looming over his head. The relief was immense. He could finally pet his dogs in peace, spend more time building within his base, and do anything at all without being dragged into chaos or distraction. Sure, there were still people who tried to hunt him down now and then, but it was far less of a problem than before. Compared to what it used to be, it barely mattered. He was simply grateful—grateful for the quiet, for the calm, for the rare comfort of peace.

He eventually stood up, earning a small, disappointed whine from the puppy. A soft chuckle escaped him as he gently repositioned the dog before slowly making his way outside. His base wasn’t particularly large or impressively small—it was simply wide enough to store his gear and belongings. It lacked heavy defenses, but that hardly mattered. Most players were already too intimidated to approach, always moving cautiously, convinced there were traps hidden around every corner. Ironically, that fear alone was enough to keep them away. He was grateful for that at least; it meant fewer interruptions and far less trouble.

Speaking of which, only a handful of people actually knew that his base wasn’t filled with dangerous contraptions—Lomedy, Wemmbu, Manepear, Boosfer, and a few others.

Lomedy.

After everything that happened during the law arc, he hadn’t really spoken to Lomedy at all. The thought alone stung more than he cared to admit. He wanted things to go back to how they were. He missed him—but wasn’t it his fault in the first place? Even if he did approach him now, hesitation would cling to every word. Would Lomedy forgive him? Or did he still resent him? And on top of that, he wasn’t even the one who let Lomedy out of his so-called “prison.” In his defense—Parrot had been the one to find Lomedy first. What was he supposed to do about that?! Still… no matter how much he justified it, he knew he’d never openly admit it.

He reached for his sword, which had been resting quietly near the hallway. It was heavy—far heavier than what most players could comfortably wield—but he wasn’t like most players. (Pun intended.) The blade was tall, its surface glowing with a deep orange-purple hue. Even outside of battle, it carried a faint warmth, like embers refusing to die. When he was fighting, that warmth became a living flame—fierce, relentless, eager to burn through anything foolish enough to stand in its way.

He brought the sword over to the grindstone, setting it down with care. The familiar scrape of metal against stone filled the air as he worked, sparks flickering softly with each pass. It was grounding—routine, steady, something he’d done countless times before. His grip was firm, practiced, movements almost automatic as he focused on the edge, watching the glow along the blade sharpen and settle.

That was when he noticed it.

A flicker of purple, just at the edge of his vision.

Odd, he thought to himself.

It was rare to see flowers out here in the badlands—rare enough to notice one at all, let alone one growing so openly. Grown? Growing? He wasn’t even sure which word fit. Pulling himself away from the workbench, he slowly walked closer, the flower seeming to glow faintly each time he drew nearer.

What’s this flower doing here, bro?

He didn’t really want to pluck it out, but leaving it there felt just as wrong. It looked impossibly fragile, delicate in a way that made him hesitate, like a single careless touch could ruin it entirely. After a moment of thought, he figured maybe he could put it in a pot instead. It had been a long time since he last bothered with gardening—but maybe it was worth a shot.

Wemmbu and Egg said their final goodbyes to Minute before heading back home. Egg brought along some of his books that had been left behind in the End, and Wemmbu couldn’t help but feel amused watching him. It was honestly funny seeing Egg obsess over his own collection, carefully stacking them like they were priceless artifacts. He let out a quiet chuckle.

Thinking to himself, he replayed everything that had just happened. Sure, he managed to convince both Egg and Minute that he was fine—but he didn’t think either of them truly bought it. Then again, he couldn’t really argue with them. Or with himself, for that matter. He didn’t even know what had happened. Still, brushing things off had always worked before. Maybe it really was just a cough. Or a fever. A one-time thing, maybe. Hopefully.

Jumping through the portal, that familiar twisting, nauseating pull of the void wrapped around him. Ugh—he hated it. Every single time. Pushing past the discomfort, Wemmbu landed back at spawn, cobblestone scraping lightly against his heels as he steadied himself.

And Egg—

…wait.

Where’s Egg?

Egg had set his spawn point near the stronghold they used, meaning he respawned right there—while Wemmbu was stuck all the way back at spawn. Wemmbu sighed, facepalming hard before pulling out his communicator.




you whisper to Eggchan : yo bro?? where r u??

Eggchan whispers to you : yo WHERE ARE YOU??

you whisper to Eggchan : IM AT SPAWN ???

 Eggchan whispers to you : oh. im at the strong hold

you whisper to eggchan : ohmygod 

He wanted to get angry, but this was just hilarious. Was Egg always this stupid? Or… no, he always was. It wasn’t really either of their fault, so it was fine.

you whisper to eggchan : lets just meet somewhere bro 

eggchan  whispers to you : where ??

you whisper to egg : our base maybe?

eggchan whispers to you : ok ill tell u when im there

you whisper to eggchan : okokok

Closing the communicator, Wemmbu got ready and took off, wings unfurling as he flew out. It wouldn’t hurt to spend some time in the air—just a little while to himself. Thinking about it, Egg would probably take his sweet time exploring anyway. He could get captured along the way, sure, but he didn’t really worry about it. Somehow, he always ended up safe. As always.

Wemmbu flew aimlessly, his thoughts drifting between the scenery below and his own wandering mind. The wind rushed past him, tugging gently at his long purple hair as it streamed behind him. It was really long—long enough to reach past his legs. A lot of people had wondered how he even managed to fight with hair like that. Honestly? He didn’t know either. Nevertheless, it had become his signature. Everyone recognized him for it—the vivid purple, the length, the almost regal presence paired with royalty-like clothing. Honestly, who wouldn’t recognize him?

He found himself feeling grateful for Zam, for introducing him to royal attire back then. Before that, he’d worn much more laid-back clothing, nothing particularly notable. Then Zam came along, claimed he saw “potential,” and dressed him in what eventually became his current style. It had been itchy at first—uncomfortable, unfamiliar—but over time, he got used to it. More than that, he actually started to like it. That was when he decided to grow his hair out too; it just matched better. Thinking back on it now felt… nice. Brushing past the bad stuff, at least. Him and Zam were on good terms now anyway, so it was okay.

Roaming around, he eventually spotted Flame’s base.

It wouldn’t hurt to visit him, right?

…oh. Flame.

What is he doing?

He descended quietly, landing just behind him.

Flame was staring down at a flower and—

“Whatcha doing there?”

Flame jumped immediately on instinct, arm shooting out as if reaching for his sword.

“—!”

“Woah, buddy, it’s just me!”

“—Wemmbu!” Flame snapped, then froze, his shoulders easing when he realized who it was. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Mmhm.” Wemmbu hummed, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned forward slightly, still looking up at him. After a moment, he straightened, hands still where they were, and let out a quiet giggle at the expression on Flame’s face.

“Stop—” Flame groaned. “What do you want?”

“Hmm, dunno. I just wanted to explore.”

“Explore?” Flame scoffed. “Unlike you.”

“Mimimimimi.” Wemmbu waved him off, already walking around the base toward the front door.

“Where the hell are you going, bro??”

“Like I said. Exploring.”

“N— not– what ?? my base, hello?!”

Wemmbu was already inside.

True to his word, he wandered around, taking everything in. The place looked slightly renewed from the last time he’d been here—which had been… a few months ago already. Damn. Had it really been that long? Still, it looked nice. There were armor stands lined up neatly, all fully equipped. Chests packed full. He opened one and—wow. Pots. A lot of pots. speed,strength, invis, even weaving? wtf where is he getting these from.

Yeah. Flame really did prepare for everything. Potions, extra swords, spare armor—no wonder people called him the strongest. Not that Wemmbu would ever admit that out loud. He plopped down onto the new couch, making himself comfortable as Flame stood nearby, watching him with a sharp, glinting stare.

Wemmbu tilted his head to look at the flaming figure in front of him. Flame had his arms crossed, clearly waiting for an explanation—or anything, really. God, he was annoying. Absolutely unbearable.

Wemmbu stared back, eyes full of mischief. Teasing him was just too fun. He could practically feel Flame’s irritation, even through the blindfold. Sometimes, Wemmbu wondered what was underneath all that—what color were his eyes? Gold? Brown? Red? Did he have dark sclera like him? Has anyone even seen them before?

…what was he thinking?

“—WEMMBU.”

“Huh?”

“WEMMbu. Were you even listening, bro?!” his voice fading from loud to concern.

“…Nope. Didn’t bother.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but he liked hearing Flame’s voice. It was distinct—recognizable anywhere. And—wait. Why was he thinking like that? What?

“Keep yapping, bro. I’m gonna lie here.”

“I—” Flame started, then stopped. He hesitated. It wouldn’t hurt, right? To let him stay for a bit?

Looking at him now—even with the blindfold—it was obvious. The dark circles. The tired posture. Was he even eating properly? Did this guy take care of himself at all? It really seemed like he only cared about his hair or something. Flame huffed and turned away, heading toward the hallway instead. Wemmbu’s eyes followed him, slowly drifting as he disappeared from view. He kind of wanted Flame to stay.

…whatever. He was annoying anyway.

Chapter Text

bloodbath with a scent of blooming flowers

Wemmbu pries his eyes open, his head immediately slamming with pain as if something inside it had detonated. A nauseating wave crashes over him, rolling through his stomach and up his throat.




Oh my god.




What the hell happened to him? He forces himself upright, teeth clenched, trying—failing—to brush off the intoxicating dizziness clinging to his senses. His entire body feels numb. Not tired-numb. Not sore-numb. Just… wrong. So fucking numb.Is this what happens when you don’t sleep enough? Didn’t he just sleep? His thoughts blur, slipping over themselves as his mind wanders uselessly.

His gaze drifts toward the corner of the room, and that’s when he sees it—a soft purple hue catching the light. A purple iris.




Hm. Cool.

He shifts his weight, carefully positioning himself so he’s sitting upright in front of the flower’s desk. It’s beautiful. Undeniably so. Deep purple, rich and vivid—almost painfully familiar. Just like him. A strong, almost violent scent fills the air, curling around his senses and settling deep in his chest. For a moment, it feels like the room exists only for him.

Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and brushes the petals with his fingers—gentle, reverent, as if touching it wrong would kill him. As if it would die if it wasn’t loved enough.
As if he would.

An unrequited, terrifying pull tightens in his chest. It’s insane. Completely irrational. The flower is marvelous, yes—but it feels too nice. Comforting in a way that makes his skin prickle. He feels attached already, bound by something he doesn’t understand.
Wasn’t this the flower Flame was looking at?

Aw, cute,




he thinks, a weak smile tugging at his lips as he admires it. Flame—still having the patience to garden, despite being known as some feared, ruthless brute. Funny how that works.

His attention slips away from the flower as a slow, excruciating pain begins to churn in his stomach. A deep, twisting ache, like something shifting where it shouldn’t. Like something growing.




…Did he eat a watermelon seed or something?

Sitting upright suddenly hurts. His throat burns. It’s happening again. That crawling sensation—like something scraping up from inside him, clawing its way through his chest and throat. His breath stutters. His hand presses instinctively against his mouth as he feels it move. Vines—no—something—

Flame is at his XP farm, grinding methodically, the repetitive motion keeping his hands busy while his thoughts wander. He needs the experience—enchanting, repairing armor. It’s not badly damaged, but you never know. Being prepared is just common sense. He paces through the house between runs, tail flicking slightly as his mind drifts.

What the hell is Wemmbu even doing?

His rival—just walking into his base and sleeping there like it’s nothing? Seriously? What kind of attitude do you need to pull that off? And yet… Flame let him. He doesn’t know why, exactly. It’s not like Wemmbu’s causing trouble. He isn’t wrecking anything. And Flame doesn’t even have a real grudge left to hold onto. Not anymore. The rivalry had burned itself out—though that stubborn pride still lingers, buried deep.

After that whole law bullshit, Wemmbu had gotten… closer. Too close, maybe. Wemmbu saw potential in them working together, actually teaming up. But after the war, Flame wanted his rematch—and in the end, Wemmbu just gave the title back. Like it meant nothing. It wasn’t even Wemmbu’s to begin with. Flame had it first. Wemmbu just wanted to be first—wanted to prove something. To someone. A certain someone.

Flame doesn’t see it that way. Or maybe he does, and his pride just crushes the thought before it can settle. He doesn’t believe his heart has room for that kind of thing. He doesn’t want to love. He doesn’t see himself loving—
Why is he even thinking about love? It’s just Wemmbu trying to be friends. Hello??? What the hell is wrong with him?

He shakes his head, forcing the thoughts away, grounding himself back in reality. Right. Focus.

Then—

A gut-wrenching scream tears through the base.

Flame whirls around instantly, instincts screaming louder than his thoughts. As a tiger hybrid, his hearing is sharp—too sharp—and the sound hits him like a blade. Every muscle in his body locks onto its source without hesitation.

That scream—

…came from his base.

Wait.

Wemmbu?!

Coughs followed—sharp, broken, almost animalistic. They could’ve been mistaken for screams if someone hadn’t been there to hear them properly. Something felt wrong in his mouth. Heavy. Thick. A violent weight he couldn’t swallow down no matter how hard he tried. He forces his vision back into focus, only then realizing he hadn’t even known his eyes were shut. When they finally open, the world feels drained of color, washed into a dull greyscale haze. A warm, metallic taste spreads across his tongue. There’s blood pooling in his mouth.




Blood…





Blood?

Flame rushes forward—hesitant for only a second before bursting the door open. The sight makes his stomach twist. Wemmbu is staring at his own hands, frozen, trembling slightly, crimson smeared across his fingers. A thin trail of blood drips lazily from the corner of his mouth, staining his chin.

“WEMMBU!”




He’s at his side immediately, one hand bracing Wemmbu’s back, steadying him instinctively, as if that alone could keep him together. Wemmbu coughs again, his body jerking forward with the force of it.




“W-wemmbu, bro—are y—you—what…”




Flame doesn’t trust his own voice. It sounds wrong, uneven. He doesn’t know what to do. What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? Let him cough everywhere? Ruin the couch, the pillows? No—no, that’s stupid. Flame turns and bolts for the bathroom. Wemmbu coughs again. And again. It’s bad—really bad.



Panic claws its way into his chest, making his breaths shallow and erratic. His thoughts spiral uselessly as his body refuses to listen to him. He presses a hand to his mouth, trying desperately to keep whatever it is inside from spilling out.



Flame comes back with a towel and shoves it gently into Wemmbu’s hands. Wemmbu takes it hesitantly, fingers weak, barely gripping the fabric before another violent fit hits him. He retches into the towel, coughing, gagging, forcing something out—lungs, chest, stomach—he doesn’t know anymore.



He just knows it hurts. He just knows it needs to stop. Flame looks down. His breath catches. Half-formed flowers—small, crushed, not fully bloomed—are tangled in the blood-soaked towel. Purple petals, slick and ruined. The sight is horrifying. The towel, Wemmbu’s hands, his mouth—everything is stained red. It’s a mess. A complete, overwhelming mess. Blood is everywhere, mixed horribly with the floral scent hanging thick in the air. 

Flame looks down, his face tight with concern, worry etched clearly into his expression. In the towel, tangled and ruined, were flowers—small, growing, not fully bloomed. Their petals were crushed and soaked through. It was a bloodbath. The coughing, Wemmbu’s hands, his mouth, the towel—everything was stained red. Even the flowers weren’t spared. It was messy. Horribly, overwhelmingly messy. Too much. Far too much.

Wemmbu’s eyes felt hollow, distant. His stomach felt unbearably full, heavy in a way that made his head spin. The room seemed to tilt, vision blurring at the edges. He could hear Flame saying something—his name, maybe—but the words wouldn’t register. Everything felt loud and muted at the same time. His body grew heavier by the second, strength slipping away from him like water through his fingers.

Then he collapsed.

Flame reacts just in time, arms snapping forward to catch him before he hits the floor. He steadies Wemmbu against his chest, one hand gripping his back firmly, the other bracing his shoulder.

“Wemmbu…?? Hey—uh—”




He shakes him gently, panic creeping into his voice despite himself.




“Uhm, Wemm… are you awake…? Fuck.”

Wemmbu is awake—barely. His eyes flutter weakly, unfocused, but he doesn’t have the strength to speak or even move. His body refuses to respond. He just hangs there, breathing shallowly, trapped somewhere between consciousness and slipping away.



" yo bro answer me dawg "😭✌️

The metallic smell of blood fills the room, thick and suffocating, colliding with the sickly-sweet scent of flowers. The mix makes Flame grimace. It’s irritating—wrong. Why now? Why does it have to smell like this?

He looks back at the towel.

At the petals. flowers.

His breath catches.

Why was Wemmbu coughing up flowers anyway—

Oh.

Oh.

Chapter Text

Rubbing his eyes open, his surroundings slowly stitched themselves into focus. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—too high, too steady. This wasn’t the couch. His chest tightened as the realization settled in. He turned his head slightly, and the soft crackle of flame answered him before his eyes did.

Firelight danced along the walls.

God.

The pain came back immediately.

It was repetitive. Maddeningly so. Like his body remembered before his mind could catch up. Every nerve screamed in recognition, a cruel déjà vu looping through his veins. He swallowed sharply, breath hitching as his chest burned.

“Huh.”

“You good now?”

Flame’s voice reached him carefully, gentle in a way that almost hurt more than the pain itself. It was restrained, cautious—spoken like one wrong inflection would shatter Wemmbu into something unsalvageable.

“Mm.”

It was all Wemmbu could manage.

He tried sitting up. The moment he shifted, his body protested violently. His muscles felt heavy, sore, and weak, as if they’d been torn apart and sewn back together wrong. Pain flared through his spine, down his arms, into his legs. He clenched his jaw and pushed anyway.

He was used to pain.

Too used to it.

Flame noticed immediately. He stepped forward, instinctively placing a hand at Wemmbu’s back to support him. The contact lingered for only a second—Wemmbu didn’t lean into it, didn’t acknowledge it. Pride, probably. Or that practiced indifference he wore like armor, pretending nothing ever affected him.

After a few tense seconds, Wemmbu managed to steady himself. The room stopped spinning—but the burning didn’t.

It crawled up his throat next.

A sharp, searing ache bloomed in his chest, spreading into his mouth and lungs. Every breath felt wrong, like inhaling smoke instead of air. It burned—deep, raw, relentless. Like fire soaked in gasoline, waiting for one mistake to ignite into something worse.

He swallowed and immediately regretted it.

Flame wasn’t there when he looked up again.

For a brief moment, panic flickered through him—but before it could grow, Flame returned with a glass of water held carefully in both hands. Since when did he leave? Wemmbu didn’t know. Didn’t care. None of that mattered.

“So…” Flame hesitated, his voice quieter now. “Mind explaining?”

Wemmbu’s shoulders lifted in a weak shrug.

He didn’t trust his voice. The thought of speaking alone made his throat ache harder, like it would collapse in on itself if he tried. He opened his mouth—and nothing came out. His breath caught painfully, his body refusing to cooperate.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him.

And that scared him more than anything else.

It hurt. God, it hurt so bad. Every second stretched longer than the last, pain pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Flame watched him carefully, piecing things together. After vomiting that much blood… yeah. Silence made sense. Still, the quiet pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.

“Are you… are you—” Flame stopped himself. “Tch. Never mind.”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. He wanted to say something—anything—but didn’t know how without making it worse. This was annoying. That’s what he told himself. Annoying that he didn’t know what to do.

“I—” Wemmbu swallowed painfully. “Wh—where’s Egg…?”

The words came out hoarse, cracked, barely louder than a whisper. But the moment he said it, memory slammed into him.

Egg.

Had he left him behind?

His chest tightened again. He tried to recall what happened—everything blurred together. The End. The pain. The nausea. Had he told Egg to wait? Had he promised to come back?

Knowing Egg, he wouldn’t leave. He was patient. Always too patient for his own good.

“I’ll contact him,” Flame said gently. “Alright?”

He stood, turning slightly—

—and froze when Wemmbu’s hand wrapped around his wrist.

Flame jolted, eyes widening as he looked back.

“You’re…” Wemmbu murmured weakly. “Warm.”

“I mean—I’m a blaze hybrid,” Flame said quickly, stuttering. “So, uh… yeah.”

“Stay,” Wemmbu whispered. “…Please?”

“Huh—w-what?”

Wemmbu let out a quiet, broken sound—somewhere between a whine and a breath he couldn’t fully control. He hadn’t meant to. It just slipped out.

Was he always this needy when he was vulnerable?

He tried shifting back, intending to retreat to the seat—but instead, his grip tightened. Flame lost his balance slightly and ended up closer than intended. The position was awkward, limbs tangled in a way neither of them had planned.

Wemmbu didn’t care.

He leaned forward, pressing himself against Flame’s chest, nuzzling instinctively into the warmth there. His body relaxed despite himself. Flame was warm—not just physically, but in a way that grounded him. A steady heat, reassuring, anchoring him to the moment.

A soft purr slipped out of Wemmbu before he could stop it.

Flame froze.

His face burned hotter than his flames ever had. Something twisted in his stomach—light, fluttering, confusing. Butterflies, maybe. He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t push him off.

He just stayed.

Wemmbu tugged him closer, and Flame didn’t resist.

It felt okay.

More than okay.

Flame still had questions. So many of them. But something in his chest told him he already knew the answers—and maybe asking them out loud would break something fragile.

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

EggChan whispers to you: “wembu where the fuck r u ???”

“So yeah,” Egg finished quietly.

“That’s how I got here.”

Parrot took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes unfocused as he processed everything Egg had just told him. The capital city was unusually quiet that morning, the soft clink of porcelain echoing louder than it should have.

“So,” Parrot said at last, “let me get this straight.”

He leaned back slightly.

“You and Wemmbu went to the End. He threw up… something. You returned to the Overworld. He teleported to spawn. You were stuck at the stronghold because your bed was set there. You planned to meet up.”

Parrot’s eyes flicked up to Egg.

“And then he stopped responding.”

“Yeah,”

Egg muttered, staring down into Parrot’s cup. The steam rising from it fascinated him. He wondered what warmth tasted like. What it felt like to swallow something that didn’t hurt.

“Well,”

Parrot sighed,

“you can stay here for now. You’re welcome anytime. It’s not like you’re hostile to the capital city.”

He paused.

“Unlike Wemmbu.”

Egg snorted softly, a quiet giggle escaping him.

“But,”

Parrot continued, his tone shifting,

“what exactly did he throw up? You said you didn’t know what it was.”

Egg frowned, trying to recall details through the haze of panic and confusion. “Honestly? Nah, bro. I don’t remember.”

“Oh.”

“I mean—” Egg hesitated. “It was blood. And flowers. Or—uh—flower petals. To be precise.”

Parrot went still.

That felt wrong. Unsettlingly familiar. Like a story he’d heard once and hoped never to hear again.

Egg hummed, watching Parrot carefully. “He’s been taking care of himself, right?”

“Well—yeah,” Egg said slowly. “I mean… he tries?”

Parrot didn’t buy it. His gut twisted sharply, and he trusted that feeling. It always led somewhere unpleasant—but true.

“Wel—”

“Yo, Parrot! I got more ingredients!”

Theo burst through the door, arms full of bags. “Oh—hey, Egg.”

“Yo.”

“You can put those upstairs,” Parrot said quickly. “Egg and I are heading to the library.”

“Oh?” Theo blinked.

“Huh?” Egg echoed.

“Come on,” Parrot said, already moving. “I need you with me.”

“Uh… okay.”

Egg followed Parrot through the capital city streets, eyes wandering everywhere. He’d been here before—but never like this. Never without Wemmbu dragging him along, always rushing, always moving on to the next thing.

The city was massive. Beautiful. Alive.

“Well,” Parrot said, stopping in front of a towering stone building. “Here we are.”

Egg looked up.

“Capital City’s national library ”

His heart pounded softly in his chest.

To be continued.

Lilium bulbiferum 

symbolizes intense passion, survival through suffering, and inner conflict concealed beneath striking beauty.

 Purple iris

represents royalty, dignity, respect, spirituality, wisdom, power, peace, and hope after death—often associated with silent endurance and unspoken pain.