Mythical Shadows

Chapter 1: The Invitation

I had never known that a server-wide earthquake was possible on the Hypixel Network. But apparently it was, because it had happened over a month ago. The staff members had called it "an unusual occurrence, but nothing to be worried about," and yet . . .

"What do you think of the earthquake?" I asked, sitting down across from my friend, JetRaidz. Lately I'd been quieter, wearing darker clothing, being more secluded. But after being nagged enough by my "friends" . . . I had finally decided to get advice from someone I could confide in.

"Really, you're going to start with that?" asked JetRaidz. His hair was dark, his eyes unreadable, his posture casual. I didn't respond, so he shrugged. "It was . . . weird."

"Weird," I repeated, prompting him to continue.

"Yes, weird," he said. "Would you call it something else?"

"I'd call it worrying," I said, pulling my legs to my chest for warmth and comfort. But then I wondered what he thought of it, so I brought them back down so that I was sitting normally—but maybe this only made me look weirder.

"Why is it worrying to you?" he asked. He did not look even slightly annoyed, which was surprising, seeing as we both knew I was trying to avoid talking.

"Because of what happened," I said. He just stared at me. I sighed. "Because they lied to everyone about the rumors. Months ago."

"The rumors about The Sword?" he said. "If you're not going to give me detailed answers I'm not going to invite you back here." He looked out the window for a moment, then back at me. "I don't know everything that happened."

I just stared at him, hesitant to say much—because, really, I didn't want to relive the memories. "They lied, saying that they started the rumors and made The Sword," I said. "But they were actually made by someone named Sound_sercher2, the . . . original server owner."

"I have a friend who's told me bad things about him," said Jet. "So, he made The Sword?"

"He made all of them," I said. "The . . . all the artifacts. There are a lot."

"Then, what I'm hearing . . . is that you don't trust them because of a lie four months ago," said Jet.

I shifted in my seat, looking below Jet's eyes. "I don't think they've changed," I said. "Even after everything happened, they didn't seem sorry for it. They wanted to protect the server. Always will, I guess."

"Well, Flawed, then maybe it is more than they'd like to admit," he said, "but it's their business. So I won't try to stop you from investigating further, but . . ."

"But?" I said, glancing at his black eyes momentarily. They were fixed on me, and I felt like looking away, but I had already committed.

"But you don't want history to repeat itself," he said. His tone was fairly flat, but it came off as grave. It brought memories to mind—memories that I did not want to remember. So much came from my curiosity. . . . So he was right: I didn't want history to repeat itself.

"Then I'll drop it," I said, my eyes elsewhere again. Although I meant to say it resolutely, I didn't succeed.

"Tell that to yourself, not to me," said Jet.

There was a silence as I thought about it. My curiosity was strong, but unlike last time, I had no way to act on it. This time there was no way to force the information out of people who had it.

"But I'm scared of doing nothing," I said—quietly, because it was a scary, vulnerable thought.

He stared at me thoughtfully for a second. "Flawed, if the past keeps haunting you—" He stopped. I looked up at him expectantly. His posture didn't seem as relaxed as it has been. "I'm not the one to ask for advice."