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Joe is halfway through explaining why windcharges are an absolute game changer for transportation when Cleo drops it on him.
“Oh, Joe,” they say casually, placing a block with surgical precision, “you should ask Xisuma about his religion sometime.”
Joe pauses mid-gesture.
“His what now?”
“Religion,” Cleo repeats, far too innocent.
Joe studies them.
“I did not realize Xisuma was running a secret new religious movement.”
“He’s not.”
“That is exactly what someone protecting a secret new religious movement would say.”
Cleo just grins. “You’ll know what I mean.”
Joe squints.
“You’re not going to elaborate, are you.”
“Nope.”
Joe lets it go.
He forgets about it, mostly.
Until he doesn’t.
A few days later he’s back in the shopping district, wandering past neon signs and aggressively branded storefronts, when he spots Xisuma behind Impulse’s shop. He’s crouched beside an exposed wiring panel, helmet tipped slightly as he investigates the circuitry.
Joe hops down from a nearby awning.
“Howdy, Xisuma.”
Xisuma looks up immediately. “Hey Joe.”
“So,” Joe says casually, rocking back on his heels, “Cleo mentioned I should ask you about your religion. Said I’d know what she meant.”
He keeps his tone light. Casual. Like this is a passing curiosity and not a carefully deferred conversation he has been rehearsing in the back of his head for three days.
Xisuma pauses.
“…Right.”
There is a small shift in his posture. Recognition, not surprise.
“Are you referring to Xelqua?”
Joe tilts his head slightly. “I might be.”
Which is technically true.
He knew about Xelqua already. Xisuma had explained it once while they were sorting shulker boxes.Joe had listened. Asked small questions.
He had made a deliberate choice not to poke too hard.
If someone hands you something important and delicate, you do not immediately start tapping it to see how it resonates.
Xisuma straightens slightly. “Xelqua is known as the runaway Watcher.”
Joe nods once. “Strong title. Very marketable. Has a mythic sort of ring to it.”
Xisuma huffs softly.
“They’re considered an outlier among the Watchers. Often described as younger, though historically that is debatable. Some of the earliest references to Xelqua are not significantly newer than the others. The ‘younger’ label may be symbolic.”
“Symbolic how?” Joe asks, because he knows the answer but wants to hear the shape of it in Xisuma’s voice.
“Rebellion,” Xisuma says.
Joe hums. “The fun kind.”
“Xelqua is generally associated with chaos and mischief,” Xisuma continues. “But unlike destructive chaos, theirs is transitional. They represent freedom. Escape. New beginnings. The ‘runaway’ title refers both to their detachment from the other Watchers and to the idea of breaking from prescribed roles.”
Joe hums, thoughtful. “So less ‘burn it all down’ and more ‘open a window and let the room rearrange itself.’ Chaos as renovation, not demolition.”
“It’s actually one of the main reasons I ever truly looked into other Watchers,” Xisuma continues, not quite responding, too caught up in the thought as it unfolds.
There it is. That shift. The subtle warmth when Xisuma talks about this. Less administrator. More believer. More… hopeful, maybe.
Joe tilts his head, intrigued despite himself.
“On the topic of other Watchers,” Xisuma adds, “Xelqua is known for being less bound to hierarchy. Less interested in maintaining order. Historically, accounts describe frequent interference. They interfere more directly with the servers they observe. Some even claim to have seen what they look like, though that’s not uncommon for any religion. However, over the last century, that activity appears to have diminished.”
“Retired?” Joe suggests lightly.
“Stepped back,” Xisuma corrects. “Possibly intentionally.”
Joe folds his arms, smiling. “Well, that’s all extremely fascinating.”
He pauses.
“But I’m not entirely sure that’s what Cleo meant.”
Xisuma pauses.
“…What?”
“She made it sound,” Joe says carefully, “like something I’d immediately recognize, or click with.” He lifts a hand quickly, almost apologetically. “Not that I’m not interested in the Xelqua thing. I am. Genuinely. It’s compelling. I just… don’t think that’s the connection she was hinting at.”
There is a pause.
Xisuma studies him more closely now.
“Well,” he says slowly, “you do have a documented interest in classic multiplayer legends.”
Joe smiles mildly. That is one way to phrase it.
“And Cleo and I have discussed my interest in Herobrine before,” Xisuma continues. “They seemed to find that disproportionately amusing.”
Joe does not react.
Internally, however,
Oh. Oh no. We are doing this now.
Outwardly, he just tilts his head.
“So, if not Xelqua,” Xisuma says slowly, “then you must mean Herobrine.”
“Herobrine,” he repeats mildly.
“There aren’t many other mythological figures I’m interested in that could be framed that way,” Xisuma says. “And given the phrasing, that would be my assumption.”
Joe nods as if this is entirely new information.
“Right. That fellow.”
“For clarity,” Xisuma adds, measured, “I wouldn’t call it a religion. It’s an academic interest.”
“Of course,” Joe says. “We wouldn’t want to accidentally invent a syncretic movement and get accused of heresy or anything.”
Xisuma almost smiles.
“Herobrine is one of the earliest persistent multiplayer legends,” he begins. “The core traits are consistent: white eyes, unexplained constructions, cross-server sightings without identifiable player attribution.”
Joe clasps his hands behind his back.
“Most interpretations lean heavily into horror,” Xisuma continues. “But the earliest accounts are more ambiguous than people remember. The malicious framing largely solidified later.”
“How so?” Joe asks lightly.
“In early reports,” Xisuma says, “the structures attributed to him weren’t always destructive. Tunnels, pyramids, leafless trees. Modifications, yes, but not necessarily griefing. The fear response likely came from the lack of explanation.”
Joe keeps his face pleasant.
They were decorative, he thinks defensively. Mostly.
“There’s also the cross-server migration,” Xisuma continues. “Sightings weren’t confined to a single world. The legend propagated independently across communities. That suggests either coordinated storytelling, unlikely in the earliest days, or a narrative of wandering.”
Joe’s brain latches onto that word again.
Wandering.
“I’ve always found that element compelling,” Xisuma says. “He appears, observes, alters slightly, and leaves. No conquest. No sustained domination. Just… movement.”
Joe nods slowly.
“If you remove the horror filter,” Xisuma adds, “what remains isn’t necessarily malevolent. It’s… displaced.”
Joe’s internal composure wobbles slightly.
“Displaced,” he echoes.
“Yes. Not anchored to any particular world. Not integrated into any community. Present, but not belonging.”
Joe laughs softly. It lands just a touch tight. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I have.”
“Why?” Joe asks.
It’s casual.
Curious.
Xisuma considers the question carefully.
“At first,” he says, “it was just an interest in emergent myth. Herobrine is a fascinating case study in communal storytelling. A figure that began as a rumor and became a cultural touchstone.”
He shifts slightly, tone growing more reflective.
“But over time, I started to see parallels.”
Joe keeps his expression neutral.
“Parallels,” he repeats.
“With us,” Xisuma says simply. “With the Hermits.”
Joe’s thoughts screech to a halt.
“…Go on.”
“We build worlds,” Xisuma says. “We move between them. Seasons end. Servers reset. We leave behind structures, memories, entire histories. To anyone outside, it can look abrupt. Disconnected, even.”
Joe listens very carefully.
“Herobrine’s myth revolves around appearing in worlds that aren’t his,” Xisuma continues. “Altering them slightly. Leaving traces. Then moving on. There’s something… relatable about that.”
Joe smiles faintly.
“Relatable how?”
“To enter a space, contribute to it, shape it… and still feel like you’re passing through. Especially early on. Before community solidifies, before relationships are established.”
Joe does not move.
“We move between worlds,” Xisuma says. “We build, shape, leave.”
Joe listens very carefully.
“I suspect that’s part of why the legend endured,” Xisuma says. “It resonates. The idea of wandering without a place to stay.”
Joe smiles faintly.
“Or,” he says lightly, “he was just bored.”
“That’s also possible,” Xisuma admits. “But even boredom implies dissatisfaction.”
Joe hums.
“I don’t think Herobrine’s story, as I interpret it, is about malice,” Xisuma says. “I think it’s about searching. For belonging. For relevance. For somewhere that doesn’t treat you like an anomaly.”
Joe’s composure tightens slightly.
I was not searching, he insists internally. I was clicking things and occasionally building tunnels.
But he had stayed.
Eventually.
“And what do you think happened to him?” Joe asks lightly.
Xisuma considers.
“The sightings tapered. The myth stabilized. It became nostalgia rather than fear.”
Joe tilts his head. “Maybe he got tired. Or became a teacher somewhere. Imagine that, his white eyes, grading papers ominously.”
Xisuma actually pauses at that.
“…I doubt the grading system would survive,” he says dryly.
Joe grins.
“But seriously,” Joe prompts, “what do you think?”
Xisuma exhales slowly.
“I’d like to believe he found what he was looking for.”
Joe swallows.
“And that was?”
“Belonging,” Xisuma says simply. “Or understanding. The legend consistently frames him as an outsider. Present, but not integrated. Observed, but not acknowledged.”
Joe swallows a laugh that isn’t quite amused.
“Maybe… a place where he wasn’t a ghost,” Xisuma says quietly. “Just… a player.”
“A player,” Joe echoes.
“Yes,” Xisuma says. “It’s easy to forget that possibility. That behind the legend there could’ve been someone. Misunderstood. Or simply… ahead of their time.”
Joe’s eyes flicker white for just a fraction of a second.
He smooths it over instantly.
“Well,” he says brightly, “that’s a very generous interpretation.”
“It’s speculative,” Xisuma admits. “But myths endure because they resonate.”
Joe steps back slightly.
“For what it’s worth,” he says casually, “I don’t think mysterious automatically means malicious either.”
Xisuma studies him.
“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”
Joe’s communicator pings.
Cleo: You busy? Can I grab a bite?
Joe looks at the message.
Perfect timing.
“Well,” he says, stepping back, “I am being summoned.”
“Of course,” Xisuma replies, already half-turning back to the redstone. “Anytime.”
Joe leaves before his thoughts get too loud.
He finds Cleo leaning casually against the entrance to their storage room.
“Busy?” they ask.
“Never too busy for you,” Joe replies, already rolling up his sleeve with theatrical flair.
They step closer, familiar and efficient.
After a moment, Joe says casually, “So. I asked Xisuma.”
Cleo pauses slightly. “Oh?”
“I learned a shocking amount about another hermit.”
Cleo glances up at him, eyebrow raised.
“And it wasn’t Xisuma.”
“…Alright?” they say slowly.
“He infodumped about Xelqua for a while,” Joe continues. “Runaway Watcher. Chaos, freedom, new beginnings. Stepped back from interference.”
Cleo blinks once.
“…Huh.”
Joe smiles innocently.
Cleo studies him for a second longer, clearly deciding not to untangle whatever thread that is.
“So,” they say instead, “what about the Herobrine thing?”
Joe groans softly.
“It’s thoughtful,” he admits. “Very analytical. Generous.”
“But?”
He gestures vaguely. “It’s so embarrassing.”
Cleo laughs outright.
“I mean,” Joe continues, “displaced wanderer searching for belonging? I was clicking things. Occasionally digging tunnels. I was messing with people for fun.”
“Are you going to correct him?” Cleo asks.
Joe looks genuinely horrified. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says earnestly, “I would rather not dismantle the carefully constructed perception of this mysterious entity that Xisuma seems to genuinely respect.”
Cleo snorts. “He’ll be so disappointed if he ever finds out.”
Joe considers that.
Xisuma’s careful theories. The refusal to default to villainy. The quiet hope threaded through the analysis.
“Maybe,” Joe says softly. “Or maybe the myth’s better.”
Cleo hums, unconvinced but amused.
Joe smiles faintly, white eyes catching the glow of the sea lanterns.
Inside, though, one word lingers.
Belonging.