After JetRaidz had left, I had to think about things. Was I only interested in my friends for selfish reasons? I couldn't really form an answer to this—for although I loved to help them in their need, it seemed that I was the one who decided what a "need" was and was not.
So I had to change; I had to be better. I didn't doubt that at all. It was scary, too, because my instincts were to look out for myself. And even now . . . maybe I was only really doing it to manipulate them into helping me . . . But I couldn't think about that. I had to think about ways to be a considerate friend.
Thankfully, Jet had left me with some wisdom: Take interest in them, and they will like you more. Care about what they care about, and they will care about you. I wasn't sure how to take this advice, but he pointed out that simply trying to spend time with everyone—individually, personally—would be a step in the right direction. I pounced on this; surely I would be capable of playing with someone.
So I decided, the next morning, to ask Melongan if he wanted to play something with me.
He agreed—so I sent him a party invite, and so we went into a game of TNT Tag.
After the TNT was passed at lightning speed to various people, including myself, I slowly ascended the tower-shaped map to get away from the people who were It. I was safely away from any explosive players by the time I reached the top. I relaxed in one of the corners, right next to Melon.
"Well then, this is a good start," I said. But it wasn't really hard at all to survive the first round, so to compensate for the stupid comment, I added, "Kinda."
"Yeah," he said. "I guess if one of us dies in the first round, we can go to a new game. Also, watch out for Elkk. He's a good TNT Tag player."
I nodded, but said nothing more, and he didn't either.
A few rounds of the game passed. Neither of us had said anything more. I was beginning to worry that we simply wouldn't talk—because then the entire thing would prove to be fruitless—but I also didn't want to force conversation. Still . . . one of us had to initiate, right? And he sure wasn't. So it would be up to me.
So after the fourth round began, and we were still in the safe spot together, I cleared my throat: "Melon?" I said.
"Yeah?" he said, staring down at the fistfighting below us.
"I just wanna say sorry," I said, looking elsewhere. "For everything that's gone on lately."
I did glance at him once, though—and he had a frown on his face. "It's fine, I guess. I don't understand what the problem is, though," he said, "or why you didn't tell us sooner."
I had to process his words for a moment, because before he'd said them, I had been under the impression that I was the one who was always confused. "Because it's hard," I said, hoping that would explain it sufficiently. "I mean . . . sometimes friendships are just awkward, I think."
"I don't think so," he said passively, still watching the activity.
Right before I could respond, somebody came up to us with a TNT. Together, we swiftly knocked him off the edge and away from us. He exploded in an instant as the fourth round ended—and moments later, the fifth round started. Neither of us were It.
So I turned my attention back to Melon. "You don't think so?" I repeated. He nodded. "Well," I said, "but I'm saying that's how it is. It's been awkward for me."
"But how could it be awkward?" he asked. He was now looking at me, and I had to look back. His face was scrunched a little, like he was now less comfortable with the conversation.
I shook my head, and stared at the one pathway that led to us. What was he not understanding? "I'm just self-conscious. Worried about what people will think," I said.
In my periphery, Melon looked away from me, and down at what was going on below. "I still don't understand why," he said. I heard a very slight edge to his voice.
"Because of what—" I began, my own tone becoming harsh, but I stopped myself. If he didn't get it, he didn't get it. Pushing it would just make things worse. If he didn't want to understand . . . if he was too closed-minded . . . then it'd be a waste of time.
Eventually, the round ended.
It was now round six—the first deathmatch round, meaning we all returned to the center. But I quickly escaped any targeting, and left two people to battle it out. I climbed the spiraling path until getting halfway—not going all the way up, because it simply wasn't necessary. I instead moved into a crevice, alone, and tried to think about the situation with Melon.
We had been friends for so long—he was one of my oldest friends—and yet there was something different about our friendship. But I wouldn't say it was a good different: We only spoke about the server or about our own projects. We only did activities together. We could never simply sit down and chat; we always had to be doing something; we seemed to need a mediator. He seemed fine with this, but I was not. . . .
After Melon won the game, we went into another one. But we didn't stay together, and we didn't say anything more about all my friendship troubles. Instead, we simply played the game. And nothing more.
We played a few more games, then went back to the lobby. "Yeah, I think I'm done playing TNT Tag for today," said Melon, leaning against one of the lobby's buildings.
"You wanna come to my place to chat?" I asked, hoping I said it casually. But really, it was an important question: I was reaching out. I wanted more than a skin-deep friendship.
"Talk about what?" he asked. He frowned in a way that I felt like the answer would be a conclusive no.
"Like . . . real things," I said. "There's some stuff I'd like to get off my chest. About three months ago, and all." Really, the idea of talking to Melon about my deeply emotional feelings was . . . horrifying. But if it improved our relationship, wouldn't it be worth it?
"It'd be fun to talk about the artifacts and Sercher," he said, his eyebrows raised hopefully. "I'm still trying to figure out if he's alive or not."
I shook my head, but he wasn't really looking. "No," I said, "not like that. More like . . ."
"Yeah, I know," said Melon. He was back to frowning. "Well, I don't really want to, sorry."
I withheld a sigh. "Alright, Melon," I said, taking out my compass. "See you later."
And before I could receive a response, I was at home.
I had held in my emotions till I was gone from Melon, and I continued to hold in my emotions till I made sure that nobody was in my house. But when I knew I was alone, I collapsed onto my couch and surrendered myself to the rising anger burning inside me.
Does he not care—about me, about this stupid friendship?
I had tried my best, stepped far out of my comfort zone, and offered stuff that would be at my own expense. And yet he said no. He denied me. He chose to keep things like they always had been: shallow.
Does he not care?
I paced around my home, coming up with reasons why I was right—and then shooting them down, and coming up with better reasons. Melon didn't want to have deep conversations . . . but I also didn't want to have shallow ones . . . but he also wasn't willing to at least try . . .
My thoughts went to that Blitz SG game, where Melon kept bothering me, even though I wanted to be alone—for after all, I'd just been told that I was a murderer. But he had come, and he had tried to bring me back, and he had . . . blatantly disregarded my personal space. So it wasn't all just about closeness. It was also about selflessness.
But then . . . of course, there was ChiLynn, the one who I killed. . . .
Cherubily also died, at the hand of lightning sent by Sercher. Rezzus, too, died just the same way. And it had been my fault—I had led everyone to that point—I had killed them.
And what of resurrection? Could I ever hope to fix my mistakes? I would give anything to have that artifact. And yet it seemed so far away from me. It was in the mansion, in Herobrine's hands—and that was assuming it existed at all!
I knew nothing, and I felt so unsure. . . .
I took out my compass and went to my friend list, and looked at my recent messages to people. I saw Jet along with his most recent message of "Are you okay?" That text showed that he cared, right?—that I had a real relationship with him. We had talked a lot recently, and he seemed interested in going to the mansion with me. He was a good friend—I knew that much.
My mind, as I considered Jet, went to Rohre and Dia—or . . . the latter, mostly. Dia was nice; I had always liked hanging out with her. But, of course . . . then there was Kiqy, who I was with a lot more, and who . . . who did things that really made it seem like—
But . . . Melon. He, in contrast, showed no signs of care. . . .
I considered asking Jet to come over and talk, but it occurred to me that it was probably an inconvenience to him—though, he never mentioned it, perhaps because he was such a nice friend. I decided to merely text him about it anyway.
"Melon refused to actually talk much to me," I texted Jet. "I tried to explain why I distanced myself. But he didn't understand. And he didn't want to talk about anything... emotional I guess?"
I waited a while for a response. Eventually I got one. "Did you talk at all?"
I lingered—not wanting to appear hasty or needy—and then replied, "Yeah but just about the game we were playing. And then he was only willing to talk about Sercher."
"Some people don't talk about those personal things," was Jet's reply. "Is it really an issue?"
I laid back on my couch, and held my compass above me. "I don't like friendships that are too"—I struggled to think of a word—"basic."
"If he doesn't want to, you can't make him," replied Jet. "If you want to remain friends, accept it and move on. Some friendships will always be surface level."
I sighed out loud, and set aside my compass for a second. I figured that Jet was right: I couldn't make Melon be my ideal friend. I could only take what I was given.
Or maybe I could give up on Melon instead. But . . . this was a weird thought to me, since I had known him for so long. But wouldn't it be simpler? One less problematic friendship to worry about. I didn't exactly want to lose him as a friend, but at the same time . . .
My compass pinged. It was another message from Jet: "Remember, you have other friends."
"And if they're all the same?" I texted back.
"That won't happen, Flawed," he replied. "But if it does, you will still have me and my Spiced Shrubs guild."
I replied with some thank you—something that didn't beg for another response from him—and tossed my compass aside. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be friends with Melon, or Typo, or any of them. Maybe, instead, I would be better off talking to Kiqy or Dia or Rohre; girls always seemed to care more about emotions, right?
But I still needed Melon for the mansion—and, perhaps, he needed me in some way, too. At least it seemed like he'd stick by me, for some reason. And maybe that was better than nothing.
I had nearly forgotten about the artifacts that Codename_B had given me. But now I turned my attention to them.
I entered my secret basement, and then the smaller, second room. I looked around the blank room. I would have to get a table or some podiums for the artifacts, but for the time being, the floor was my table.
I picked up The Sword first. When I took it from Codename, I didn't think of what I was holding. It almost felt surreal. The Sword? In my possession once again? Its gold body glinted, its emeralds dazzling in the room's light. It gave me an undeniable sense of strength and agility. It made me feel powerful—almost like I could actually face my problems, if only I held the great artifact. . . .
I set down The Sword, and picked up The Bow without a second thought. But instantly . . . when I remembered . . . I dropped the weapon. It clanked on the ground.
The Bow had been the weapon I used to commit murder.
I left the room, and my basement, and my house altogether. I couldn't know why, but the emotions hit harder then. They hit like a wrecking ball. And I didn't want to be there for it.
So instead, I texted Kiqy. I wanted to play Bedwars with her. Just to get my mind off of The Bow . . . and off of ChiLynn . . . and off of everything else. . . .
I felt pretty guilty still—I could tell that much. I'd been a terrible friend, and I had to be practically forced before I did anything about it. And what of Dia? Did Kiqy have any opinion on that? At the time being, Kiqy didn't seem bothered by anything at all. Rather, she was happy to play Bedwars with me, and seemed really comfortable.
Ah, but . . . I sure didn't feel comfortable—at least on the inside—and Robity had said that I liked Kiqy. So maybe Kiqy's comfort showed that she didn't—? But I couldn't know. . . .
"Want to go back to your place?" asked Kiqy. It had only taken a couple of games till we had gotten bored. And it made sense: Bedwars was just a cheap simulation of real combat and excitement and stakes.
"Nah," I said. "Maybe your place, though."
"Oh . . . that sounds nice," she said, apparently not expecting me to want to go to her house. After all, I had really never seen it. But now I would.
We decided to walk. So, we started walking.
For a while, neither of us said anything. We simply tried to enjoy the world around us, and think, and relax. My mind went to the last time I was walking around with Kiqy—when we were looking for the rumor starter. I smiled at the thought. It was such a simpler time. There was no fighting staff members. No running through a damp maze. No murder. . . .
My mind returned to the artifacts back at my home—The Sword, the two orbs . . . The Bow . . .
I turned to look at Kiqy, and those thoughts subsided a little. Emotions took their place, and I felt better just at the sight of her. Friends are good, I thought. Kiqy especially cares about me, I think. And maybe with friends by my side, and with enough time, I could get over what I had done.
But my thoughts then went to a topic I was (rather weakly) trying to ignore: Kiqy and me. It was silly, anyway—and I was even hoping to be around Dia more, too. But maybe it was fine; maybe neither of them thought of me as very special either way.
. . . But when I had returned home from the maze with my friends, so long ago, Kiqy was there waiting for us at my house, and actually . . . hugged me. And then at the crypt, before the mansion, she'd said she liked me. And as for me, Robity had said that I liked Kiqy. Did she and I—
"Have you been wondering if resurrection is possible?" asked Kiqy, thereby suddenly interrupting my thoughts.
"Of course," I said, trying to forget what I was thinking, and focus on the current conversation. "It's . . . what I want most."
She glanced at me. "Well . . . but you'd be okay if it wasn't possible, right?" she asked.
I thought about it, then looked straight ahead in silence. I kept thinking.
"Right?" asked Kiqy. "You could continue with life and move on?"
I knew I had to respond, so I forced myself to shrug. "I don't know, Kiqy," I said. "It's a lot."
She sighed. "I know that killing somebody is a lot, yes," she said, "but I don't want you losing everything just because of the past. I don't want that for you."
"Thanks," I said quietly. Her love was a double edged sword: it made me feel better, and it made me feel worse.
For a while we continued to walk in silence.
"I feel like we should be there by now," I said.
"Yeah, we should be," said Kiqy, and I glanced over to see her cheeks flush a little. "I decided we could take the extra long route."
I gave her an amused smile. "Why would you do that?" I asked.
"I wanted to remind you of the long hours we spent walking these roads," she said, looking in the opposite direction of me. "Just to torture you."
I laughed. "Torture me?" I repeated.
"Yes," she said. "Did it work?" She glanced at me, and I could tell she was holding back a smile.
"Oh, absolutely!—not," I said. "Those were great times for me, you know."
Now she was the one to give me an amused smile. "You find walking for hours fun," she said incredulously.
"Well, no." I was able to hold back laughing, but I couldn't hold back a smirk. "But it was worth it—to spend time with you."
For a second she looked to the houses opposite of me again. "Oh, shut up," she said, shaking her head. I could only wonder what her face looked like; after a second she turned back to look straight ahead, but by then, any facial expression had been lost.
But I had seen enough to know her thoughts. . . .
"Anyway," she said, "we're almost at my house."
As we neared the entrance, I asked, "Wait . . . why did we come here again?"
She turned to look at me. "To hang out and talk, I assumed," she said. "Are you suddenly disinterested?"
I inhaled, wondering if I really had the energy to keep playing our little game. "No, but we should be serious now," I said.
She opened the front door. "Have we not been serious?" she asked, smiling at me.
I shrugged innocently, unwilling to give her anything over me.
I entered her home, which was marvelously decorated and colored. The main color was orange, yet there were plenty of grays and whites and browns. Lamps hung from the ceiling to light up a horizontal dining table in the center, the sleek kitchen on the right, and the cozy living room on the left. All in all, it felt vibrant and warm, and . . .
"You need to redesign my home," I said. "This looks amazing."
"Thanks," she said. I wasn't looking at her, but she sounded appreciative. "Anyway, shall we sit in the living room?"
"Sure," I said. There were four couches, so I sat down on the left one, and Kiqy sat on the one to the right. "So," I said, "do you think you'll come with me?"
She frowned at me. "Do you need to ask that?"
"Well," I began, "I didn't want to assume."
"Don't forget that I'm adventurous," she said with a smile. "And, as another thing, I don't want the server to fall into the hands of the wrong person."
"You can say that again," I said, adjusting my position on the couch. I didn't have a lot of one-on-one conversations, and needless to say, I was awkward at them. "But uh . . . that's good."
"Yeah," said Kiqy. "Are you working on getting everybody else on board?"
I sighed. "It's not going well, but . . . it doesn't matter. I'll figure it all out."
"I hope you will," she said. "Once you do, we can start planning what we're going to do."
"Yeah, that's—" I began, but my eyes drifted somewhere into space. . . . "That's a little daunting," I said.
"A little daunting?" repeated Kiqy. "Planning is?"
I nodded, still looking somewhere on the ground. "Planning who goes . . . what we're up against . . ."
"We'll talk about it with everyone," she said. "You know, as a team."
"Right," I said. I stared aloof for a while, thinking in the silence—wondering if Kiqy was hoping I would say something. "You asked about resurrection," I said.
"Mhm. Do you think it's possible?"
"Well, I don't know how Herobrine would be alive if it wasn't," I said. "It's hard to know. Maybe Sercher is just a really good liar."
"Right," she said, looking at me gravely. "I asked about it because . . . why, it seems like resurrection is the cornerstone to everything."
"Hmm?" I uttered, looking at her now.
"Think about it, Flawed," said Kiqy, sitting up straighter. "If we figure out how to bring back people from the dead, nobody will be able to threaten the server anymore."
I frowned at the thought, but she was right. If all of the stakes were ignored—if there was no death, and thus no consequences—then it wouldn't matter. If Rezzus was alive again, and could never die, then Sercher would be powerless.
Death was Sercher's ultimate power. And the same would be for anybody else, like Herobrine.
"Was it an orb that Herobrine said could revive people?" I asked.
"A black one," said Kiqy. "He said it led to a place called Limbo."
The name Limbo echoed through my mind. It sent a shiver down my spine, just thinking about how he described it—a dark, mournful place. . . .
It was clear to me that it didn't matter how many artifacts we'd get when visiting the mansion, or if we'd stop Herobrine, or anything of the sort. "All that matters," I said, "is that we get that orb."
I thought about a lot of things as I stared up at the ceiling.
It was night, and I was hoping to go to sleep—oh, how exhausted I felt—but my mind was active anyway. A lot was going on: there was the mansion visit to plan, and friendships to mend, and fun to be had with the people I liked being around. I had gotten myself into a new adventure—one that kept my mind preoccupied with all the activity.
But I couldn't forget the previous adventure.
No matter how much fun or how focus-capturing a day may be—no matter how much it looked like I was perfectly fine—the thoughts of murder and pain haunted my mind. I couldn't forget what had happened; I couldn't undo what I had done; I couldn't escape the pain.
So of course, I liked the activity and the buzzing of adventures in my head, because it distracted me from the reality I lived in. But eventually the adventures of the day ended, and the thoughts died down, and I was left alone—in my room, in the darkness, and in silence.
And the silence, I knew, was where the nightmares came out to play.
- — —— — -
". . . Now with all of that said," concluded JetRaidz, "would you both like to go to the mansion with Flawed, myself, and anybody else?"
xDiqmondz and Rohre both agreed.
"That sounds dangerous," said Rohre, "but the more help, the better?"
"I'm not sure if it is—which is why I'm not guaranteeing that you'll go at all," said Jet. "The truth is that Flawed has yet to plan anything . . . but, I just thought I'd ask."
A silence hung in the air.
"This stuff is crazy," said Dia. "I never would have thought . . ."
Rohre nodded. "I never knew the server could be in danger. But look where we are now, huh?"
"I think the server will be fine," said Dia, "if Sercher is really dead."
"If only there was a way to know for sure if Sercher . . ." said Rohre, but she trailed off. "Jet?"
Jet was being quiet—staring blankly—thinking hard.
"I keep trying to figure it out," said Jet. "Because it just doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't make sense?" asked Rohre.
Jet got to his feet. "Everything I've been hearing from Flawed makes it sound as if Sercher is a threat," he explained. "Hypixel is just as much an owner as he is, and even has an innumerable amount of people on his side, and yet . . . yet he—Hypixel—has set up so much security. It seems to me that he is afraid."
Rohre frowned. "If Sercher really killed someone, then yeah, I'd say he's a threat!" she said. "So where are you seeing a disconnect, then?"
"In his supposed death," said Jet—his voice deep, his face serious. "If Sercher is a threat, then how could he have ever died in such a thoughtless way?"
"It's still . . . possible," said Rohre, but she didn't sound sure.
"It's possible that he died, yes," said Jet. "But I'm leaning toward the most likely scenario."
"So you're saying that he's still alive," said Rohre. "That he's still out there."
"Yes, I believe that he is alive," said Jet. "And by extension, I believe that he has a master plan, and that Herobrine is part of it."