Footsteps pounded off the floor, bounced off the walls and finally reached high enough to prick Tyron's ears. When he had no duties and felt tired, he would often go down one of the more secluded hallways, summon his great stone wings and ascend into a tight, two block by two block hollow he'd dug out above a pair of redstone lanterns. He had a bed set up over the lights themselves so brightness was no bother, and the crackling redstone circuitry beneath him even warmed the mattress a little. He had made himself a warm, snug little shelter, even setting up a chair on which Kir could rest.

The sword liked to be propped up in this way. "Near enough to lift if there's danger," it would chirp in its high-pitched, genderless enthusiasm, though Tyron doubted this was the whole story. His swordly friend seemed to enjoy lying there and talking to him as though it had a full body. Or maybe it was something different. Maybe it liked the nurturing feeling of watching over a loved one while they sleep. Tyron didn't mind. The dorms Fire had constructed were too open for him. He wanted somewhere close and warm and private. And he didn't want anyone to see him when the nightmares came. He didn't want them to see what Freak had done to him.

For this reason he'd always found an excuse to stay up during the night while they'd been fleeing the Entity, only getting a real night's sleep after they found the inn and he could find a separate room. That's not to say he distrusted anyone in particular or thought they'd use it against him, but he just wasn't that close with these people. It wasn't their business.

As such, when Warnado's wild footsteps skittered down the hallway below and stirred the Dragoknight from an uncharacteristically pleasant dream, a warm pool of positive emotions rapidly drained from his heart, leaving only an unappealing mix of confusion, yearning and irritation.

He sat straight up and anxiously tried to capture the dream before it escaped him entirely, but sadly only dim impressions had stuck around. A sunny paddock. A tree. A bench beneath it and a woman in white. Tyron couldn't even remember if they'd spoken, but he wanted to see her again. But dreams are random things, so this was easier said than done.

Tyron groaned silently, picked up Kir and asked them to reach out and figure out who was below. Discretely.

"Wizard-kid with the spooky glove."

Kir had taken against Warnado's gauntlet for some reason. It wasn't a living being like the Book, but the sword seemed to sense a malignant near-intelligence about it. According to Kir, they had tried to reach out and hadn't found a single coherent thought, but a great many negative and cruel urgings. Perhaps Kir was just mad about being given the silent treatment.

Tyron, yawning, curled around so he could peak through the slats of the trapdoor and see for himself what had brought this on. Maybe Warnado needed to tell him something and had found out about the hiding spot.

However, before Tyron actually saw him, he heard the fusilade of footfalls underscored by panting heaves. The child was crying. He had no gauntlet on. He tripped and slid on the floor a few metres, ending up in view of the trapdoor. Tyron wondered if he should intervene and immediately got an answer. What the child did next was sit up, huddle against the wall and start to sob to himself. The words "useless" and "stupid glove" occasionally permeated the deluge. Each new wave of tears drew Tyron's claws closer to the trapdoor.

"No, will ruin hiding place!" Kir objects.

"Come on," the Dragoknight scolded. "He needs someone to talk to. The least I can do is see if he's comfortable talking to me."

A sound of crackling bounced up to the hollow and the claws retreated.

"Warnado? There you are!"

Kay now hurried into view, wearing his new, lightweight armour over a cotton shirt and black trousers. That weird, red, hooded scarf adorned his neck as usual and he had taken to wearing his aviator's goggles over his fringe again. He looked concerned.

Tyron felt a lurch in his stomach as he recalled the vote he had cast against his friend. However, he was also wracked by a guilty wave of relief as he realised there was someone more qualified on the case and he could keep his nap-room a secret.

"Me too," agreed Kir. "Thank Notch!"

"So, I suppose training didn't go great?" Kay asked.

He had already sat down and drawn the child in with one arm. Tyron noticed the gauntlet laid down beside him.

Warnado remained silent.

"Alright, so much for feigned ignorance. Astro told me you had a problem with the gauntlet," he said solemnly, holding up said metal glove.

Warnado pulled back and stood up, Kay's arm dancing gently away.

"Get that thing away from me."

"Warnado-"

"Get it away," he warned.

The robed demon-child settled into a stance that was just as ready to fight as it was to flee the scene. He held his fists up but had his legs positioned so he could turn tail and run in a single pivot. Tyron couldn't see his eyes, but he imagined fear had prised those red glows wide open.

Kay looked at him for a second, blinked. Turned his eyes on the gauntlet. Blinked. He threw it aside. It clattered down the corridor and made Tyron's ears twitch in pain.

"Okay," he said.

Warnado lowered his fists. He flopped an arm forward in silent apology before sitting. His legs were crossed and he was facing Kay head on.

"So," the General smiled. "I get that you're a little spooked by all this. Want to talk about it a little?"

Tyron took this as an excuse to roll back away from the trapdoor and back into bed. They needed some sort of privacy. He couldn't tune them out, though, not even when he started up a conversation with Kir to distract himself. And so he heard pretty much the whole thing.

Warnado told Kay and his unseen listeners the story of his father. His growing madness. All those deaths. All those mysterious walks where he'd disappear muttering into the night. How, one day, he hadn't come home. Warnado had gone out to look for him and found him dead at the foot of a tree. The gem was torn out of the gauntlet, hanging around his father's neck. Warnado was only five years old.

And all that fed into what went on in the training room.

"Astro should have quit while ahead," Kir concluded. "Just kid."

"Yep,"Tyron agreed. "Kind of a douche-y move. I have no clue what's going on with that guy since Kay woke up."

"Since Kay showed up, you mean."

Tyron nodded in surrender.

"I can't touch that thing again. Whatever's in there is too strong, and I can't trust Astro and Shadow to stop it before it overpowers me. But I'm not going to be strong enough without it. I don't know what to do."

Kay laughed a little.

"Warnado, you are the strongest kid I have ever met," he began. "You have genuinely been through so much I wouldn't have been able to deal with. You are thirteen years old and you were going toe-to-toe with heavily-armed Endlings. Thirteen-year-old you could easily kick thirteen-year-old me's arse something fierce."

Tyron heard a childish sniff, followed by "You really think so?"

"You would have wedgied me so hard, little guy. I was such a little nerd back then. Heck, you could probably still bully me now if you set your mind to it."

The two laughed. Tyron smiled and reshuffled himself so he could look out again. Kay was on one knee before him, ruffling Warnado's hood.

"You are more than a match for the little squatter in your glove," he continued. "Tell you what. It sounds like Astro really messed this up. I'm sorry about that, he spends so much time agonising over decisions he overcompensates when he's trying to be decisive. I'll give him a bit of a bollocking, and you'll try the gauntlet again at your own pace, when you're ready."

"I don't know…" Warnado began, leaning back.

"Warnado," he comforted, placing a hand on his shoulder and drawing him back in to make eye contact. "You would be surprised how often your greatest weakness can become your greatest strength. Being half-Thaum was my greatest weakness until suddenly I was perfect officer material in Herobrine's army - who I again remind you is nothing like in your world. He's just a bit of a disappointment since he gained power, but what are politicians for? The point is, being part-demon doesn't have to be your weakness. It shouldn't. It won't."

Warnado was nodding away.

"I just need to figure out a way to keep it in line," Warnado agreed. "Astro just kept telling me to remind it whose power it was using, but what does that even mean?"

"My advice," Kay squeezed the shoulder. "Don't be afraid to be rude. Yell at it and call it names until you feel more comfortable giving orders. Just act like you're a rude customer at a restaurant."

"Is this good life advice?" Kir pondered rhetorically.

"Probably not," answered Tyron.

Warnado chuckled but didn't say anything more. His head drooped a little.

"And," Kay pressed further. "These might help."

He reached up and pulled the goggles off his head, dangling them before Warnado by the strap.

"The Professor gave me these back in the day. He used to say, 'Little Kay, life's always throwing something at your eyes. Rain, dust, emotional trauma etc.. It doesn't matter what it is, you always need something to keep your eyes clear, and let you focus on what's really important.'"

Warnado took them and held them in his hand. Tyron couldn't see his face, but Kay seemed encouraged. He warped the gauntlet into his hand and he asked:

"So, you ready to give this another try?"

And the child took up their gauntlet and fixed it back on. The gem glowed for a moment and then settled. At that, they stood up and wandered down the hallway, with Kay rambling about Urist interrupting him while he was drawing up troop formations all morning.

Tyron lay back and wondered to himself how he'd let himself to be persuaded to vote against him. It wouldn't have made a difference, but how could that man lead badly?

But it wasn't about him being a bad leader. That hadn't been what Astro's face had said. His words were ambiguous, but the creases in his forehead, the quiver of his eyes had been crystal clear.

"What happens next?" Tyron asked himself. "What happens next that makes him such a horror?"