A/N: I guess I'm back with another attempt on a fic. This one will be full of tragedys and things of that sort (I hope so, I don't actually know if it'll be much of a tragedy) so, that'll go as a warning I guess. Thanks for passing by! (and could you leave some words of critics or the sorts if you could? thanks! It'll be very helpful if you do.)


Change; it was one of those words that humans fear the most.

I've changed; we've changed. Holding each other's heart out into the open we knew that we have came so far from what we were; before we forgot how something so simple yet so happy was like. You know that we both know that this path of life was never in our dreams. Though we knew from long ago that this world is broken, but we choose to not know; the power of not knowing. Power is a drug you grow addicted to and the power of not knowing was the ultimate ecstasy that could captivate a man.

But maybe change is just something I perceive, after all, we perceive the world as we are, not as it is.

We perceive the world as we are, not as it is.

I believe I read that before. Maybe, from that distant childhood in Rajanaga. Before the world became like this; before humanity's unity turned into diversity. Before we became like this. Or was it before we opened our eyes to accept how humanity is actually like; I don't know.

We were still young. That afternoon we fought about something silly, I don't remember what it was. But I had to find you because mother was worried. We are brothers after all, and we always will be, Denholm.


"Denholm! Yeesh! Where are you?!"

Rajanaga was a large city in the midst of a prairie with a large river flowing life through. It was always crowded by this time of day. I was at the verge of giving up because my annoying little brother was nowhere to be seen inside these crowds of people. This city is overwhelming.

But the atmosphere around me always reminded me that this was home. The scent of Mister Frederick's newly baked bread on the corner of the street or Uncle John's gunpowder from just across it, the heat of the sun at day or the heat of the torches and glowstones at night. This was truly home.

"Hey, Mister Frederick, have you seen my little brother?"

"Oh that little sprout!" He chuckled as he passed his freshly baked bread to one of the happy customers. "I think he was playing with his friends in the alley, they really make a ruckus ya' know."

"Friends?"

"Yeah, I think," he replied as he scratched his shiny bald head. "Oh—oh no, no, no, it was Graham."

Oh lord. "Where did he go?"

I quickly dashed the moment he pointed the way. Art Alley. I heard Mister Frederick cheered me as I was meters away; "Go save him, boy wonder!"

When my foot stepped into the alley, I could already see Denholm. He was beaten up good; blood was trailing down his nostrils to the sides of his lips and I knew that his vision wasn't as vivid as it was several minutes ago. But with his blurry eyes he was absorbed into the graffiti before him.

"Denholm… What have you gotten into now?"

"Oh, Damy, hehe!" His smile was bright as ever. "They were just punching me because I always hang with Lisa and not them, just a bunch of whiny jellys, no biggy."

I nudged him on the forehead with my fist.

"Ow! What was that for!"

"For being stupid. When they're about to get to you, just run!"

"But it's fun when we're fightin' like this, nehehehe," he replied with a very easy going laugh. Is this guy a masochist?

Denholm turned again to the wall before him.

"'We see the world as we are, not as it is.' What does that mean, Damy?"

I turn to my younger brother with raised eyebrows; at that time I didn't quite understood it either. We both tilted our heads in harmony as we tried to decipher what it meant. It was a sentence in the chaos of graffiti and scribbles on the alley wall. It was a sentence that repeatedly echoed throughout my eleven year-old head. But at that time I didn't quite paid much attention to it too, so we walked.

Along this peaceful alley of our hometown there were many murals and graffiti that weren't there the week before. This alley was dedicated to street art which was periodically cleaned so new artist could try to fill in the spaces provided.

"Hey look Damian! Itsa drawing of The Miner!" My brother rushed to the image of our famous hero, Mortimer; who defeated the Enderdragon, sealed its egg with enchanted obsidian blocks, and ceased the work of all Spawner blocks across the Overworld. "Eww! There're also drawings of monsters!"

"These drawings are called graffiti, dummy," I said as I mockingly punched him on the shoulders.

"What was that for?!" Denholm took revenge and punched me back, I just shook it off with a laugh. "But these drawings are soooo cool, I wanna be a drawer when I grow up."

"It's artist, dummy."

"Yeah, whatever, but I'll be a drawer when I grow up," my younger brother replied stubbornly. He made a frame with his index fingers and thumbs as if he were some professional inspired by the universe around him. "Yeah, I'll be a drawer."

"You want to be everything! Yesterday you said you wanted to be a mailman when Mister Hamilton gave you an apple-muffin."

"Well, I can be both! Why are you so bossy?!"

"I am not!"

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not!"

"You are!"

"Am not!"

Our endless arguments echoed through the alley and on to the streets. Brothers.

"But when I grow up I wanna be like him," my brother declared as he pointed to Mortimer. "I wanna protect the city and dad and mom and Lorenzo and Mister Hamilton and Lisa and and and everyone else in this city. We could do that, right? Just like how The Miner did it?"

"Yeah sure we could," I exclaimed as I placed my hand on his shoulder. "We'll protect everyone."

"…Promise?"

"Promise."