Chapter Text
Wemmbu is bored.
So, he made the smartest decision; he wants to go to The Nether.
Wemmbu wasn't quite sure what to expect if he ventured into The Nether. Most players stayed away from the red land, and for good reason: it was a territory of ash and blood, controlled by the iron grip of ClownPierce with FerreMc and other warriors at his side.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran down his spine. Should I really be scared, though? Wemmbu wondered, his hand instinctively ghosting over the hilt of his sword.
He almost defeated Clown once. It was a close call, close enough to matter.
But bravery didn't brew potions. Wemmbu's supplies of potions were running dry, and he was down to his last few nether wart and blaze powder, the ingredients for the invisibility potion.
It didn't even come from him; he borrowed it from MinuteTech. Well, Minute wouldn't mind, he thinks.
He looked toward the horizon of the Capital City. He could have just bought the supplies from ParrotX2’s potion shop, or even put in an order for a shipment from The Nether.
But Parrot was getting suspicious.
Those sharp eyes were starting to linger a little too long on the "Invisible Knight". I guess he did earn the title of the smartest player, but it is a bit troublesome when he's getting the brunt of it.
Wemmbu couldn’t risk a paper trail. If he was going to disappear from the Capital and stay stockpiled for his journey, he had to gather the ingredients himself.
He needed to be a shadow.
The rumours were already doing the heavy lifting. Egg and Minute had been busy spreading falsehoods from The End, whispering stories of the "Mace Wielder" falling to his death in a trap or being slain by a legendary warrior. It was a perfect smokescreen. No one would connect Wemmbu to the invisible player in diamond armour with netherite trims.
Still, roaming around in diamond gear with netherite trims and chugging golden carrots like they were water wasn't exactly subtle. It was a loud kind of silence.
But the aura farming? That made the risk worth it.
Before heading into The Nether, he had to check in on Egg and Minute.
Wemmbu made his way to the nearest end portal, the air shimmering with purple particles as he stepped through. He dropped into the obsidian box, the cramped space smelling of cold stone and the faint, metallic scent of MinuteTech’s redstone machinery.
Through the reinforced glass, he could see Minute busy with another player, gesturing toward the North.
“Yo, Minute!” Wemmbu’s voice with the voice changer echoed sharply against the obsidian.
MinuteTech turned, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the shimmering diamond armour with netherite trims. “Wait, give me a few seconds. I’ll let you out.”
After guiding the player away, Minute flipped a heavy iron lever. The piston door retracted with a rhythmic thwump-hiss.
“You’re already back?” Minute asked, stepping aside to let him through. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, just wanted to check on Egg and ask him something,” Wemmbu replied as he turned off the voice changer, as they were alone now.
As he stepped out onto the open end-stone, he felt the dimension’s low, rhythmic thrumming vibrate through the soles of his boots. It was the home of the dragons like him; the biting cold and the absolute silence always brought him a strange kind of comfort.
“Where’s Egg gone?” Wemmbu asked, adjusting the heavy weight of his chestplate.
“In the library again,” Minute said, nodding toward the towers. “Writing something about the lore of an abandoned civilization or something.”
They walked together, the void wind tugging at their gear. Wemmbu started grumbling, a vent of frustration about his time in the Capital City—the endless shifts as a guard, fending off bandits, and the constant headache that was Boosfer.
Minute listened with that quiet, "single dad" energy, waiting for Wemmbu to finish his rant before offering a calm piece of advice: “Always think before acting, Wemmbu.”
They reached the library, where the air grew warm and smelled of old parchment. Egg was there, his back slumped toward the table, a quill moving frantically across a page.
Wemmbu picked up his pace. “Yo, Egg!”
Egg jumped slightly, turning with a wide wave. “Yooooo… why are you back so soon, bro?”
“Wanted to ask about something, y’know? Check on you and Minute,” Wemmbu said, patting Egg’s shoulder. He leaned over, squinting at the messy handwriting. “What’ve you got there, buddy?”
Egg picked up the book, his singular eyeball bright. “Was writing about The Farlands—The Echos. The scholars are scrambling to know more, Wemmbu. It’s a massive discovery.”
At the doorway, Minute leaned against the frame, raising an eyebrow. “The Echos?”
The room went still. Egg and Wemmbu shared a long, knowing look. Then they talked telepathically; it was like chibi versions of themselves talking above their heads in their own world.
“Ahh…” Egg started.
“Bruh,” Wemmbu groaned, rubbing his face.
“Didn’t I tell you not to write about the Farlands?”
“But I might forget if I don’t write it down! You know my memory is bad.” Egg protested.
“If others find out about the orbitals because of this, we’re really screwed, bro,” Wemmbu countered.
“We?” Egg asked, tilting his head.
“Yes, WE.”
“Bro, what… You know what, don’t worry, gang,” Egg said, trying to soothe the tension. “I just wrote about The Echos, not those destructive weapons of yours.”
“Good,” Wemmbu muttered, his voice low. “Because we’re really dead if you do.” He paused, glancing back at the door.
“Alright, bro, should we tell Minute, though?”
“Might as well,” Egg shrugged. “I mean, we’re in his home, under his protection, so…”
Minutes watched them, arms crossed, trying to discern the secret language between the floating eyeball and the dragon hybrid. It was a rare duo: an angel and a dragon being best friends.
And for a moment, he felt a pang of nostalgia—a memory of another duo, devious best friends also telling him about their adventures.
“Are you both good?” Minute finally asked. The pair looked at him, then back at each other, reaching a silent agreement.
Egg began his "yappaton," his voice rising with excitement as he described The Farlands—how the players there didn't talk and couldn't be touched, like living ghosts of the past. He told Minute how the very blocks of the world began to deteriorate and rot the further they went.
Wemmbu listened to the story, but his eyes stayed on the dark obsidian. The Farlands were a mystery for another day. Right now, he had to prepare for the heat of The Nether.
So Wemmbu leaned against a stack of dusty books, the cold air of The End rushing to meet him. As a dragon hybrid, the thrumming of the dimension always felt like a homecoming. He adjusted the small, ornate tiara nestled in his messy purple hair, his lavender skin glowing faintly against his dark armour.
He nudged the figure beside him. “Yo, Egg, do you have any spare potions in your ender chest?”
Egg stopped mid-sentence, his massive, singular eyeball head tilting toward Wemmbu. “I think I’ve got a couple for PvP... strength and swiftness,” he said, drifting toward the corner where an ender chest sat. “I’mma check.”
MinuteTech watched them, his dark armour reflecting the purple particles of the void. A trace of concern crossed his face, radiating that signature "single dad" energy. “Are you alright? Having trouble in The Overworld again?”
“Not really, but it's for another reason,” Wemmbu replied with a sheepish, spoiled-brat smile.
A heavy thump echoed through the library as Egg hauled several shulker boxes onto the floor. They rattled with the sound of a thousand forgotten items—shards of flint, stray sticks, and magenta-glazed terracotta. Egg’s inventory was, as always, a disaster zone of "junk.”
“Why do you need it, bro?” Egg asked, tossing a stray piece of flint aside. “And what were you going to ask me again?”
Then it hit Egg as he stopped searching through his precious junk, ‘Why was this guy asking for potions, again?’ Apparently, Minute too, as he stopped the thrumming of his fingers against his arm.
Both Minute and Egg stopped to look at him. Usually, when Wemmbu asked for potions, he was either up to no good or being hunted.
“I was going to ask if you know what's happening in The Nether right now. Like, if there’s anything new or any wars happening,” Wemmbu said.
Egg squints his big eye. “And why so?”
Minute started tapping his right foot, a clear sign he was worried. “What are you planning, Wemmbu?”
Wemmbu put on his most innocent smile, placing his hands on his hips. “I want to go to The Nether.”
“Bruh,” Egg groaned, slumping against his shulker box. “Are you really that bored, bro?”
“Wemmbu, no,” Minute said, uncrossing his arms to place them on his hips like a disappointed mother.
Wemmbu immediately started whining like a spoiled brat, “But I really want to goooo!” Wemmbu’s voice rose into a higher whine, his arms flailing as he paced the small room. “I hate being a guard, Minute! They stick me on a wall and tell me to watch the horizon. I’m starting to hate the sea and the sky. It’s blue, blue, blue—it’s always freaking blue! I’m starting to hallucinate that I’m turning blue!”
“And the solution you thought of is to go to the Nether to... what? See red this time?” Egg asked, as he crossed his arms. “Bro, this isn't going to end well, y'know. You know how that place is.”
Wemmbu stopped his flailing and pointed to his shimmering, trimmed armour. “But I'm invisible now!” He argued, gesturing to his armour. “I’m not 'Wemmbu' as far as they know. I can slip in and out.”
“What are you even planning to do there?” Minute’s voice was low, and the air in the library seemed to drop a few degrees. His "aura" was filling the room, making the stakes feel suddenly very real.
“I need potion ingredients. Invisibility, mainly. And I want to explore.”
“Can’t you get those at the Capital? Or wait for a shipment?” Minute asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Wemmbu saw Egg pinching his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh at Minute’s full-blown parental concern.
Wemmbu pouted, crossing his arms. “That quack-quack is getting suspicious of me.”
“And who is this ‘quack-quack’?” Minute asked, baffled. “I don't know a duck smart enough to influence people.”
“Parrot,” Wemmbu hissed, the irritation clear in his eyes. “He and his little bird friend Theo. He’s starting to ask too many questions. I bring him riches, I play the part, but he just hovers. He looks at me like he knows who’s under the helmet.”
“Bro, a quack is a duck, not a parrot,” Egg snorted, a grin splitting his face.
“Whatever! It’s the same thing! They both fly, and they both talk too much!”
Egg snorted and offered a sheepish shrug. “Then why don't you just change your look? Get a different weapon, alter the trims.”
“That’s too much work! And I didn't even do anything wrong,” Wemmbu stomped his foot, though he caught himself before it got loud enough actually to irritate "DadTech."
“Why should I be the one to change?”
For a moment, a heavy silence spread through the room. It even felt like the void itself was silent—which was impossible, because the void is silence, but this was silence.
“Uh… I heard from a scholar that heard from another scholar—who is a cousin of a scholar, then a friend of a scholar—through another not-so-scholar who is a scholar, that The Nether is planning a festival. Something to ‘boost morale.’” Egg said, gesturing wildly with his hands.
Minute and Wemmbu looked at each other, then back at Egg and his "scholar-whatever."
Then Wemmbu’s eyes lit up, “Then there is fun!” his previous anger vanished in a heartbeat. He lunged forward, shaking Egg by the shoulders. “A festival, Egg! Real life! Not just guarding a wall!”
Minute sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of a man who knew he was losing the argument. “It’s not safe, Wemmbu. If you get into trouble in The Nether, I won’t be able to reach you in time.”
“Yeah, bro,” Egg added, as he swung his gaze between his two friends. “Your mace won’t work right in those tight tunnels, and you can't use it. You can't use an elytra; You're supposed to be broke. And the heat, it’s not like The End, that is cold. It’s suffocating.”
Wemmbu pouted, “But I'm really bored.”
Silence stretched through the library. For a moment, even the void outside seemed to hold its breath. Minute rubbed a hand to his face, and Egg was sitting politely with his arms now in his lap, smiling as if everything was fine.
“By the way, the festival is in a few months,” Egg continued. “It's just rumours for now, but I trust my source.”
“How'd you even know they're trustworthy, bro?”
“Trust me.”
“D’alright.”
Minute stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on each of their shoulders. Minute tightened the grip on Wemmbu’s slightly—not to hurt, but to ground him. “Are you really that low on supplies? I know you went through my personal stash last week, Wemmbu. I saw the empty stands.”
Wemmbu grinned, his teeth white against the dim light of the library. “Hehe... well, I know you need yours too. They won’t last forever with all the players trying to cause trouble in The End. I need to be self-sufficient, Minute. I can't just keep eating your stash.”
Minute let out a long, defeated breath, finally releasing his grip. “D’alright. But you’re staying here for a few days first. We’re going to stock you up properly. If the festival is months away, you can spend some time here. With us.”
“Okay, Dad,” Wemmbu chirped.
Egg snorted loudly at the title, already turning back to his shulker boxes. “Good plan. Maybe if you vanish for a few months, Parrot will find someone else to obsess over. Might get that suspicion off you.”
Wemmbu nodded, but his mind was already drifting. He could almost feel the heat of The Nether on his face, a sharp contrast to the cold obsidian of the library.
He was ready for the red.