The Trauma of Two Worlds

Darker, yet Darker, and Darker Still.

(Tw: Unknown Narrator, It's a short chapter, sorry!)

He was no longer so afraid of the alone. Of the dark. With time, his prison, his exile, had turned from punishment to reward. He had made a friend.

Her scales shone beautifully against the stars, the small pinpricks of light that had appeared one time ago after the void below shifted. She was his protector, and he was grateful.

She had even flown him over to the distant islands so that he may loot the old cities for materials. He was more than happy to say that his outfit had improved.

Now, he wore a mask made to mimic his friend, so that the Enderman would not fear him. Now, he wore arm bands made of shulker shell, a material so strong that not even his sword could break through it. Now, he wore light purple clothes made from the banners he found in the cities, died purple with the strange fruits that grew in the cities.

He even had a special staff that, when shaken, would make a noise to let his friend know that he needed her. It had proven useful many times by now.

And not to mention, the wings.

They were not quite 'wings', though. Not only were they too damaged to do more than glide, they did not belong to him, and so he could not fly with them anyway. Upon further inspection, he found a slight enchantment upon the wings that allowed them to bind to his very skin, until he desired to remove them.

He wonders how long he had been gone. If the others missed him.

He could have sworn, just then, that he heard a woman's fond laughter.