Far to the south rose the towers of the lonely castle overlooking the Community Hub, unchallenged and almost ignored, but bowed under its own weight, as if aware of the price for its existence and too ashamed to look anyone in the eyes. Only the windows – stained glass and depicting various recent events, all products of many laborious hours spent by Karl Jacobs – arched over the land with pride. Few knew that these splendid windows opened into vast expanses of empty gray rooms, furnished only with the watery swaths of cold colored light pooling in through them.

The castle's sole resident often walked the halls lining these rooms, listening to his own ringing footsteps upon the flagstones, his breath echoing along the walls. Up and down, around the courtyard, back to the throne room, where he'd sit for an hour or five before getting up again and wandering until he decided to go visit Manberg before he went insane.

But today, he had a visitor.

Dream: the man who had given him his crown, his throne, the man who had let him keep the castle he'd been saving up and working for since he was fifteen years old, the man he'd betrayed all his friends for so he could keep his beloved kingdom. Dream now stood before Eret in the throne room, small and twiggy on the red carpeting leading up to the dias the king sat upon.

"Small and twiggy" did not explain the vague terror the monarch felt as he gazed down at him.

"What is it, Dream?" asked Eret in a low, quiet voice, not revealing his fear.

Dream looked up at the high ceiling, the carved ribbing and buttresses. Eret had been planning on hanging chandeliers or banners around the hall one day. If President Schlatt could spare Karl long enough for him to design them… "Eh, nothing much," said Dream, pleasant enough. "I mean – well, obviously we're going to war soon."

Eret nodded. "Yes, November 16th, you told me. Manberg against the rebels – Pogtopia."

Dream straightened, looked Eret in the eyes – or rather, turned the dots of his smiley-face up at Eret's blindfold. Eret stiffened. "So! As king of the Dream SMP, which is what you are and have been…"

Where is he going with this? "Yes…"

Dream tilted his head to one side. His words came out slow, measured, certain to the point of rehearsed. "What do you think gives you power? Is it your crown?" Eret frowned. "Is it the fact that you are king?"

Eret scrambled for something intelligent to say. "Those who were given power… hold onto it." I think he's trying to make a fool of me.

Dream settled back on his heels. "Okay. How?"

Eret thought. When I go to Manberg, people seem a little intimidated by me, I think. "I think respect is a big thing."

"Sure, respect is big." Dream paused. "If respect is the only thing protecting you from, say, a knife in the back – respect is nothing, then, right?"

Eret found himself clutching the armrests of the throne so hard his knuckles burned white. He folded his hands in his lap, but instantly felt belittled in front of his superior. He settled for placing his elbows on the rests and tapping his fingers together. "What are you saying, Dream?"

Dream picked at a fingernail. "I am saying that…you don't have power because of your crown. You have power because of me, because of the other citizens of the Dream SMP, like Punz and Sam. We give you power by protecting you and your kingship." He looked back up at Eret. "Am I wrong?"

Eret did not answer at once. What does he want? "You're not wrong."

Dream crossed his arms behind his back. "Now, I'm not saying for you to do anything. I am saying the opposite, actually. In this war, me and the others of the Dream SMP are helping out Manberg, at least at the beginning – and you, as the king of the SMP, all you do is help us out financially, and then you stay here and do nothing. Anything less than that…and you are betraying the Dream SMP. And hopefully, after everything, there will be no Manberg, no L'Manberg, no Pogtopia – just Dream SMP. That has been my plan since the very beginning. I've never wavered on that."

Eret kept silent.

"That is why I had you betray Wilbur and the rest, and that is why I gave you the kingship because I felt like you would be a good king." Dream smiled. "And why did I think you'd be a good king?"

Eret forced himself to speak. "Why?"

"I feel like you don't like to push your power – you're not very vengeful. I feel like you don't hold grudges."

Eret's mouth tightened into a rigid smile.

"You just kind of sit there and you look pretty and that's it. Right?"

The crown weighed a little more on Eret's head. I suppose that's all I am. "Yes," he whispered.

"Right?" Dream repeated, louder.

Eret raised his voice. "Yes, so."

"Okay. Remember where your power comes from. Because it doesn't come from a pretty little crown. It comes from a sword and a shield. My sword and shield."

Eret looked aside. I know, Dream.

"All right?"

Eret faced him again. "I understand."

Dream's voice lightened. "All right. That is all I wanted to say. I will see you soon." He walked out of the room, almost prancing, leaving the king in silence once more.

I can't fight back. I know he's too strong, he's too powerful. There's not much I can do. And I know he's right. I want to do better. I really want to redeem myself…no, I can't do it, it's being worked in me – but in any case he's right… Eret sighed. I could give up everything and help Pogtopia…Then maybe we could band together and it would be over for Dream. Maybe I can do all that, though, and still maintain my crown. Can I? Pogtopia doesn't trust me. The Dream SMP is threatening me… He sighed again, shifted his weight on the throne. It felt harder, more uncomfortable than usual. He stood and strode out of the hall to his study just off it – little more than another cold stone room with a chair and a table. Ledgers and fancy writing instruments, presented to him by George NotFound as a coronation gift, lay in neat stacks and lines on the table. He sat at it, opened a ledger, and tore out a piece of paper. Don't negotiate with tyrants. I'm going to help my old allies, though I'll probably lose everything. I don't need this crown, or this kingdom. As drastic as it may be. It's the right thing to do. And I desperately want to do the right thing.

He began to write.

The next day, someone was ringing the bell by the gate in the outer wall, incessant and obnoxious. Eret hurried out of the keep and into the nippy November air, through the ward to the gatehouse – wondering, as usual, why he didn't hire someone to guard the entrance. Maybe I don't because I'm scared. A traitor afraid of betrayal.

Dream, George, and Punz stood beyond the gateway, all armed and decked out in full netherite.

Eret trembled when he saw them, but he made no outward indication of his discomfort as he opened the portcullis. He brought out his most courteous host voice. "Hello, gentlemen. What brings you here?"

No signs of diffidence, no bows or any other marks of respect. Dream pushed past Eret and motioned down the path to the keep with his sword. "Go to the throne room." Eret glanced behind him. Punz had unsheathed his crystal sword and directed it at him. George hung back, looking a little bewildered, which Eret found rather ironic. He sighed, swallowed, held his head high, and strode through the ward into the keep.

Once in the throne room, he mounted the dias and faced them, but he didn't sit.

Dream wasted no time. "We got your letter, Eret."

"Good." The enderman postmaster had yet to fail him.

Dream turned to George. "George, Eret has betrayed the Dream SMP and has decided to side with Pogtopia in the war and help them in their…naughty behavior."

Here it comes.

George's mouth opened and closed a couple times. "Why…? Why did he do it?"

Dream faced Eret again. "And actually, I advised him to do one thing, one thing only – I told him to stay neutral. I didn't even say he has to help us beyond providing financial assistance…I just said: 'You should stay neutral as the king.' But he didn't listen."

George stared up at Eret. "Eret…? You – You're going to just stand there…?"

I suppose none of us were ever friends. "Friendships are –" Eret began.

"I don't know if you remember," Dream interrupted, "but when we established you as the king, we also set in place a chain of command. Do you remember that?"

Eret maintained a level voice. "From my perspective, you just gave me the kingship." He directed his gaze, though hidden behind the blindfold, full on Dream. He couldn't tell if Dream could feel it from behind his own mask, and the green man didn't turn away.

"Yes, we did, and then we set up the chain of command. After you, George is second-in-command, with me above both of you, of course. So…Eret, I need you to take your crown off." Pause. "Can you do that?"

Eret glanced around the throne room as if he could run away. I know what I said, I knew what it would cost me, but I can't do it. I've given up too much to be here. "I can't."

Dream smiled, but it looked threatening to Eret. "You have to do it. I mean, I'm not asking you. We have three of us here."

"Take off your crown, Eret," Punz ordered.

George looked from one to the other of them. "Wait, what is happening…?"

I should probably just back down and let them do what they want…

Eret's stomach twisted, and he managed to remain decorous. "I can't do this," he insisted. Be humble, be humble…

"The crown," said Punz, his tone deliberate. "The crown, please. Eret."

Dream swung his sword in his hand like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. "You can do it the easy way or the hard way, but either way, you are doing it. Take off the crown. George is now king."

George jerked upright, dazed, his eyes behind his goggles surely going glassy. "I'm the –"

"Yes. Happy birthday."

George brightened. "Oh. Oh! Th-Thank you, Dream!"

Eret held firm, even as he knew he should back down, for graciousness, for his own safety. "I can't do this. Happy birthday, George, but I'm sorry."

Dream nodded at Punz. "Punz, I need you to remove the crown and escort him out of the castle."

Eret saw Punz come up the dias, sword raised, but he didn't feel present, as if he was watching everything from a distance. Maybe Punz wouldn't actually kick him behind the knees so he could more easily reach up and remove the crown. Maybe Punz wouldn't actually kick him back to his feet and lead him at sword-point out of the echoing halls he had saved up for, worked for, betrayed all his friends for. Maybe he wouldn't actually find himself standing on the other side of the gatehouse with a cold, hard knot in his stomach, his chest burning with a terrible ache.

But here he stood, on the wrong side of that gate, his knees stinging, staring out beyond the bridge over the river into the hills surrounding the Community Hub. Punz's footsteps retreated back to the inner ward. Eret looked over his shoulder and up at the towers of the castle, glowing silver-like in the late afternoon, the windows throwing the sun back on every surface in more brilliant hues.

Did I make a mistake…? I betrayed everyone, everyone to get this. My kingdom. He blinked hard, faced the castle head-on. Right? Everyone. I betrayed L'Manberg…and now I've betrayed Dream. I'm drifting on my own, with nowhere to go, no one to go to.

He remembered when he had decided he would reject the false wealth his mother had promoted all his life: dressed in Prada and Dior at mass (the only time he was allowed outside, aside from school), while eating the offerings from the foodbank at home. At fifteen, he'd decided he'd had enough of it, decided he would go to Cambridge, learn everything he could about architecture and engineering, and then go off and live like a king both inside and out.

And that plan had worked up until Dream had confronted him on his castle's worksite all those months ago, demanding he stop building and leave, or else face the consequences.

In the end, it didn't really matter – everything he had done to preserve his fragile kingdom – because here he was leaving it anyway.

He didn't want to mourn, didn't want to weep for the superficial things – not now – but a tear found its way under his blindfold and coursed down the hard line of his jaw to his chin.

A slash in the clouds above washed the land in light. A couple of birds danced over the dying trees beside the castle, the cold sunbeams brightening their feathers to dove-white. The autumn wind hummed through the broken branches, over the dead grass, pulled through Eret's long hair and kissed his cheek on its way north, and he smiled without meaning to.

I only lost one kingdom.

He wiped his cheek, turned away from it all, and crossed the bridge, through the portico, and up Prime Path. He checked and skirted the valley hills, beside the river flowing past it. I've put everything into this. But I'm no longer the king and it no longer matters. All I can hope for is that they accept me. We'll see where it goes from here…I chose friendship over kingship…And I forgot to ask if I could take my horse with me.

The chill reminded him he didn't have anything else besides the clothes he currently wore and his greatsword on his back, a last-minute decision that morning and a Godsend.

"Hey…" came a soft, monotonous voice from off to his left, in the cluster of trees hemming the valley in.

Eret stopped, reached for his greatsword. A young man with violet eyes, a spiky jacket, and an astonishing amount of piercings on his face slipped out from between the trees, his hands on two sheathed needle swords at his hips. He approached Eret, keeping a distance, but intent on engaging, hopefully not in an aggressive way. Those violet irises looked hungry. Without realizing it, Eret touched the edge of his blindfold with his other hand. "I saw that…" Purpled said in the same silky dead tone. "Pretty unfortunate. But fortunately for you. I can take out that new king." He licked his lips. "For the right price. Once the others leave, I can do it. I'm fast. I can make it painless, too, if you like that sort of thing." His gaze darted to the greatsword for one moment.

Eret took a step away from him. "You're that mercenary Ponk hired before, right?"

Purpled leaned back, the gleam gone from his eyes. "I shouldn't have taken that job. Pathetic. Demeaning."

"Oh." Eret cleared his throat. "I don't want to be king anymore. Even if I did, I wouldn't want him dead, especially not on his birthday. Leave poor George alone."

Purpled snorted.

It might be useful, though…"Might I hire you at a different time, however? I might require your services later."

Purpled turned away. "Without your castle's treasury to pay me? I'm not interested."

Eret said more than he meant to. "I have other assets – elsewhere. Just in case. I can still pay you." No one knows about my other assets, not even Dream.

Purpled stopped, didn't look his way, seemingly contemplating the individual blades of grass. "Maybe." He glanced at Eret. "I'm going on another trip in a couple weeks. But if you want to find me – look for me at the UFO." And he slunk away in the trees again.

Eret let out his breath and kept walking.

Purpled. I haven't seen him in months. But what should I expect from locking myself up in my own castle? I wonder where he goes on his trips.

He walked past the Community Hub valley and along the river, up towards the peninsula and Manberg.

His two towers pierced the line of hills and buildings, once defiance to the L'Manbergians, now a sign of false solidarity to its new rulers – and a symbol of a hated traitor to the Pogtopians. Nothing but mockery to him. The new banner hung motionless from its pole on the other side of the trestle bridge. Silence in the air, no welcome for a traitor.

Eret skirted the country, crossed the little footbridge, and came down to where he thought he remembered the tunnel under the pond opened into the southern woods by his eastern tower. Of course, it had been dark when he had accosted Wilbur and Tommy as they had escaped their country, and everything looked even more the same now with all the trees bare of their leaves. The wind did not sting so much among all these skeletons, but he had been outside long enough for it to have found its way into his bones.

I don't think I'll be able to find the rebels' headquarters, but I'll at least set up a camp in this area. Then maybe they'll come upon me, or I'll come upon them, and we can talk.

He felt the futility of it even as he thought it.

Wilbur will never let me join.

He found a spot not too far from the tunnel and gathered wood for fire.

Everyone probably thinks I'm above such menial work, but they would have forgotten that I built my castle single-handedly, not to mention L'Manberg's old walls and the two towers.

He glared at the stack of wood in his arms.

Actually, probably no one's thinking anything.

While no stranger to living off the land, Eret usually had tools or weapons other than his cumbersome greatsword to get things done. The sword proved helpful in building a little lean-to in the thickest part of the grove surrounding the tunnel, but it would be near useless in trying to acquire food. He instead fashioned a couple of simple snare traps using sticks and a length of cord from the inside of his cloak. He refastened the cloak by tying the two loose ends together. He didn't expect to catch anything today, though, unless God decided to give him a blessing this chilly, lonely night.

And though no squirrel or rabbit tangled themselves in the once-royal cord, Eret still received a blessing – but a strange one at that.

Eret watched his fire after everything else around him had darkened and gone to sleep – or awoke from the depths and came out to watch him. He removed his blindfold and curled in his cloak, tried to distract his numb mind from thinking about food or the cold. He thought about how the firelight created a hole in the unmoving blackness of the rest of the world. A hole – or perhaps all else was the hole, and this little fire had come out of it, drawing him into its circle.

The thought didn't comfort him as much as it made him feel like the sole inhabitant of the world, beneath a sky kindled full of stars.

I think I made the wrong decision. I'll never find the Pogtopians. And even if I did, there's no way Wilbur will let me join them. I made the wrong decision.

Wrong decision, but still the right thing to do?

I don't know.

He caught some movement off to the side, in the thick shadows hedging around him. He started rising, then thought better of it. "Hello?" he called in a hoarse voice as he quickly retied the blindfold. It doesn't really matter who it is, I have nothing to lose at this point. "You can come out," he added. "I don't have any food, though."

Purpled slunk out of the darkness, violet gaze darting every which way until it locked on Eret. And then Eret remembered that he still did have something to lose.

How long has he been following me?

"I'm not poor," Purpled snapped. "Not like you."

It stung, but Eret maintained his peace while his mind raced, wondering how much the mercenary knew about this location, about how close it was to Pogtopia – however close that was – and the fugitives with bounties on their heads. "I imagine it's been a while since you've just sat and talked by a fire, though, am I right?"

Purpled did not answer, but edged near to the fire, eventually sitting cross-legged on the other side of it, opposite Eret. He took off the water skin at his belt and sipped on it, staring at the trees. Eret poked at the fire with a stick. He wondered why the mercenary was here. Purpled eventually drew his gaze down and watched Eret from across the sparks and flames as he drank from the water skin.

"Are you – are you, by any chance…do you have any enderman blood in you?" Eret ventured, hoping he didn't sound jittery.

Purpled narrowed his eyes. "No." His violet gaze penetrated the blindfold, and Eret turned away, though the mercenary couldn't possibly see through the thick cloth. "Why?"

"Your – eyes. Your eyes are violet." Actually, this close to the mercenary, Eret could see that Purpled's eyes were not both the same shade; the left one looked a little lighter-colored. Though it could have just been the campfire's flares.

Purpled licked his lips. "Regeneration potions."

I don't recall Wilbur mentioning those. They must be fancier than invisibility potions.

Purpled extracted a metal flask from the pouch at his hip, unscrewed the lid, and slurped on whatever it contained. Eret nodded at it. "What's that?"

Purpled shook it. The contents made a thick sloshing sound. "Dinner."

Eret's stomach growled, but he decided to stop asking questions. They sat in silence, watching each other through the haze of flame and smoke. Soon Eret felt too tired to keep his eyes open any longer. He had gotten so used to sleeping untroubled in the castle, no mobs to worry about, and certainly no mercenaries. Would Purpled kill him as soon as he fell asleep? No, he'd only kill if someone paid him to do it. A new fear struck Eret. What if Dream had hired Purpled to kill him? What if dethroning him wasn't enough?

The two men eyed each other. Every muscle in Eret's body ached, and his temples throbbed. His eyelids felt as though they were made of lead, his neck from rubber. Trying to force his eyes to stay open under the blindfold made them water and burn. Purpled kept sipping from his flask and water skin.

At last he spoke. "If you want to sleep, go for it. If I wanted to kill you, there's nothing you could do, and it would be in your best interest for me to kill you in your sleep instead of you thrashing about and getting more cut up than you need to." The corner of his mouth twitched. "We both know that you're not a great fighter. Sleep. I'll keep watch."

Not reassuring in the least, and the comment about him not being a good fighter hurt, but Eret needed only that vague excuse to slump sideways and fall asleep almost at once, completely forgetting about the lean-to.

The next morning, shivering with cold, wet mist scarfing along the ground, Eret found his companion lying on his side by the dying fire, the water skin in his hand.

Thanks for nothing, Purpled. We both could have gotten eaten by zombies last night. How can he sleep with so many spikes on that jacket of his?

He got up, wrapped in his cloak, and checked his traps. Still nothing. He felt he might pass out if he didn't eat, but he couldn't let that happen now. He returned to the camp and blew the fire back to life from the sleeping coals. He knew he would have to obtain something more substantial than his cloak to keep warm, but he couldn't hunt a deer for skin with his greatsword. Would the Pogtopians be willing to help, if he could find them? That would be today's task, after getting some more food, of course.

What will Wilbur think?

Wilbur, I once told you were welcome to join me in my life of luxury…

He let out a scornful laugh.

And now I want him to let me join him in his endeavors.

As he fanned the flames, Eret kept glancing at Purpled. The mercenary still hadn't moved. Fear prickled Eret's skin, dissipating his initial anger. Was he dead?

Once the fire burned bright, he crawled over to Purpled, hesitant in case he suddenly leapt up and attacked. But the mercenary remained immobile as a rock. Eret leaned over him. A strong, acrid stench filled his nose and mouth, seared his throat. Holding his breath, Eret felt for Purpled's pulse, peeled back his lids (the eyes were definitely different shades of violet), checked inside his mouth (his tongue was pierced), shook him – and realized he wasn't just sleeping, but passed out. Eret eased the water skin out of Purpled's fingers and sniffed the rim, almost keeled over from the gaseous fumes emitting from it. Purpled hadn't been drinking water last night. It wasn't alcohol either, though.

What is this? A potion? Invisibility potions are virtually odorless, but that doesn't account for other types of potions.

Did he overdose?

Eret took a deep breath, closed his eyes to steady his rising panic. He didn't know the antidote for any potion. He opened his eyes, remembered Purpled's violet stare, the death and silence behind it. I don't know if I can save him, but I'll do what I can. He rolled Purpled onto his side so he wouldn't swallow his tongue or choke on vomit should he need to wretch. He also tilted the mercenary's head back to ease his breathing, which was almost too faint for him to detect.

He sighed and sat back on his legs, clutching the cloak around him, wishing he knew how to help more. His heart continued pounding and he felt faint, though that could have just been from the smoke or his hunger. It occurred to him that Purpled might be cold. The leather jacket looked thick, but his head was uncovered, the long ashy-blond fringe of his mohawk falling over his gray face like strings of dirty snow. Eret took off his cloak and wrapped it around Purpled's head, leaving space for him to breathe.

Eret returned to the fire, though he knew he should start searching for food. His limbs ached, his chest contracted, his head hurt from the chill enclosing him. His thoughts drifted as he crouched by the fire, watching Purpled, wondering if the mercenary would die, and wondering if he would feel sad about it if it did happen.

Am I doing the right thing?

He took off the blindfold, blinking in the cold freedom it left as he absently wound it around his hand. He really had no problems seeing with it on, as long it was right up against his eyes. No, he couldn't see through clothing, and he couldn't see if he closed his eyes. He had some difficulties with details while wearing the blindfold, but he had learned to live with muted colors and rough outlines.

No details, no castle, no friends.

I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. I wanted a castle, a grand place where I could look down on others and laugh at everyone who had laughed at me before. But there was no one to laugh at in that castle.

He was the child hidden away, the shameful one, the one everyone pretended didn't exist. He hadn't understood why everyone else could go around with their faces bare, while he always had to wear that stupid pair of sunglasses every time he stepped outside the house. Once, he had taken the glasses off before going out to play with his so-called friends – and then he understood in a way he had not even considered before. The incident left scars on his soul, but he told no one. He wore the sunglasses without complaint after that, and when he eventually went to Cambridge to study architecture, he switched to a blindfold, which commanded more respect, as he had anticipated. Certainly people had wondered, had egged him to take it off. But he maintained gracious, distant relationships with people, and so no one came too close to play a prank. Everyone else must have been too frightened.

He replaced the blindfold.

Am I finally doing the right thing?

After moving Purpled within the lean-to and concealing the shelter with underbrush, Eret scavenged for food. The first snare came up empty again, and the second one had been triggered, but with nothing inside. He reset it, and then searched for food of the vegetable kind. He found plenty of wild carrots and sweet chestnuts. He also found a tangle of some sort of gourd, which he avoided. Circles of mushrooms persisted everywhere, but he didn't take his chances with those. The temptation to eat the unwashed produce almost held sway, but he gathered his findings into Purpled's hip pouch, which he had taken the liberty of borrowing, and started back to camp.

A silver blade curved in front of his throat, only centimeters away from his skin.

"You must be King Eret," hissed a soft, but undeniably American voice. "What are you doing so far from your castle?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Eret saw Skeppy holding the other end of the scimitar, his dark gaze narrowed in malicious glee. He would have looked more intimidating had he not had to strain his sword arm up to keep the blade level with Eret's neck. Eret swallowed his sigh and reached for the hilt of his greatsword, careful not to move too much and accidentally slice himself on the scimitar. "What do you want?"

"Oooh! Yeah, a fight!" whooped Bad Boy Halo, jumping out from the trees on Eret's other side. He wielded a throwing knife in each hand.

Not now, Bad, please…

"That's all we want," chuckled Skeppy behind his veil. "We just want a fight."

"I don't want to fight," whispered Eret. He took his hand off the greatsword. They were being unreasonable, and he wouldn't play whatever rank game they wanted him to partake in.

His stomach growled, and he flushed.

"I think you do," said Skeppy. He swung the scimitar around, aiming for Eret's arm. Eret jumped out of the way, pulled out his greatsword.

They'll toy with me, and then they'll kill me. So much for redemption. What will become of Purpled? What will become of Tommy, Nihachu, Wilbur?

Bad spun a knife at him, toward his face. Eret saw it just before he deflected it with his blade. It stuck in the ground with a dull thud.

"Why –" he began.

"We're the Badlands, that's why," said Bad with a little laugh. "Don't you know? Chaos is our jam. C'mon, help us out."

"I am hardly in the mood to create chaos right now," gasped Eret as Skeppy lunged at him again, this time swinging at his legs. Eret jumped back, sweating. At least he didn't feel cold anymore.

Just as Bad readied the other knife in his hand, a gunshot sounded. Bad froze, then something broke through the trees in a hurricane of broken branches and dead leaves, kicking him to the ground and landing hard on his chest. Whatever had bowled him over leapt up again, turning on Skeppy before he could react beyond a gasped curse, and Eret saw it was Purpled, wild-eyed and snarling. He would not have been surprised if the mercenary had been foaming at the mouth. Skeppy, trembling but not backing up, raised his scimitar with a growl. Purpled returned the pistol he held to its holster. He jumped up and swung on a branch above, coming down on him from the top, where Skeppy had less of his diamond armor. Purpled cracked him between the neck and shoulder with his foot, and Skeppy crumpled to the ground. The mercenary straightened and faced Eret, swaying, the wild light still pulsing in his eyes, but his body quivering with tremors. His face had turned an almost translucent white under its gray pallor. He took a shaky step toward Eret, heaving.

"Thank you," Eret whispered.

Purpled rolled his head back, staring at Eret so the whites of his eyes flared red-veined above the violet irises. "Give me my pouch back," he growled. He held out his hand. Eret could see him trying to make an effort to keep his arm steady, but it still trembled.

How is he able to stand, to fight like this?

Eret unstrapped the pouch and tossed it to him. "I'm sorry, I would have asked to borrow it, but you were…I think you overdosed. Are you doing all right?"

Purpled opened the pouch and examined the contents. For one moment, Eret thought he would toss all the chestnuts and carrots onto the ground, but to his surprise, Purpled closed the pouch again and attached it to his belt next to his holster and needle swords. He staggered back two steps, turned, and wobbled through the woods in the direction of the lean-to. Eret followed, wary.

They broke into the clearing where the makeshift shelter stood. Purpled lunged inside it and reappeared bearing the contents Eret had emptied from the pouch earlier – the dinner flask, some flint, and a couple small potion vials. Purpled sank into a squat beside the fire and carefully extracted the food Eret had collected onto the dirt beside him. Eret approached, but waited.

"Purpled, are you sure you are doing all right? You were passed-out."

"It happens sometimes," said Purpled in a low voice. He replaced his own items in the pouch, and Eret noticed how he fingered the potion vials, could almost hear him pondering the merits of taking one now. But they all returned into the pouch, and he buckled it closed. Having finished, the mercenary lifted his head to look up at Eret, squinting in the sunlight. He looked a little less deathly than earlier, his skin starting to warm with some color, though a gray film still seemed to cover him. "I didn't help you because you helped me, by the way."

Eret nodded, crouching to gather the chestnuts and carrots. I'm not expecting anything from you, Purpled.

"I just did that because you're a potential customer."

Eret kept nodding. He stood with the produce in his arms, ready to go down to the river to wash them. "I don't know when I'll be able to get to my reserve, though."

Purpled shrugged. "I can wait."

Please wait somewhere else. Can you wait somewhere there aren't wanted men hiding around?

Purpled rolled his shoulders, leaned back on his elbows, quite comfortable. "You don't want me here, do you? You think I'll kill those fugitives and make off with the bounty, huh?"

Eret did not speak, unsure what to say, unsure what would reveal too much, in case the mercenary was bluffing so he could give away something on his own.

Purpled shook his head. "Same as with you, if I wanted them dead, they would be dead already. I heard of the reward late, though, since I had been gone for so long, and Punz will have his eye on them."

Eret frowned, and spoke, immediately wishing he hadn't. "Does he know they're here?"

Purpled made no indication that Eret had spilled anything incriminating. "I don't think so, since they would also already be dead if he knew. I think he's just been busy with Manberg."

This did not comfort Eret. "Then why don't you just go while he's so clearly occupied?"

Purpled almost glared. "Because Punz will have his eye on them," he repeated.

He did not elaborate, but Eret thought he understood. Either some sort of mercenary code, or…Purpled is scared of Punz.

"How do you normally make your money, Purpled?" Eret asked. "I mean, I know Punz works full-time for Manberg –" and Dream "– but I hardly ever see you around. Yet surely you are getting compensation from somewhere. Are your jobs more undercover?"

"You could say that."

Eret forced the next words out. "Say, Purpled, if I needed to hire you for the war on the 16th, would you –"

"I require up-front payment."

"I – you know I don't have anything with me right now, but I promise that I can give you the full amount once I get to my hidden supply. It's rather far away, though."

Purpled sat up and pursed his lips. "I still need something up-front. In case you back out and you would rather live."

Eret swallowed his nervous laugh. "Understandable. I just don't have anything right now." He made a show of feeling his pockets.

Purpled continued in the same monotone, nothing flickering under that dead-pan expression of his. "Do you have both your kidneys?"

The question took Eret off-guard. His face flared with heat. "What?"

Purpled repeated the question as though asking Eret what he thought of the weather. "Do you have both your kidneys?"

Eret dug through his pockets, hoping his trembling wouldn't betray him. "You know what, I actually have this little emerald. I forgot I had it. Will it be enough?" He held out the gem chip to the mercenary, who took his sweet time turning his head and casting a dubious eye upon it. He plucked it from Eret's hand with his thumb and forefinger, held it close to his face. His gaze found Eret's.

"I usually take more. But I think you're a man of your word, and when the time comes, you'll pay me what I'm due."

Eret's heart pounded. "So…you're letting me hire you?"

Purpled frowned, looked away again. "Sure."

Eret couldn't help grinning. Thank You. "Thank you. I mean – yes, brilliant. I will let you know when I want you to come in. We – they will already have Technoblade, and I don't want to play our best cards too carelessly."

Purpled's frown deepened. "That sounds like I might not get paid."

"I will give you a commission whether or not I have you do anything," Eret added hurriedly. "For your time, for sticking around. Just wait for my signal."

"And what will be your signal?"

Eret thought. Then he knew. "When I take off my blindfold and wave it, then you'll know."

Purpled nodded and stood. "I need to go now. You know where to find me." He paused, looked Eret up and down. "And I know where to find you." He faced away from Eret, but didn't leave yet. When he spoke again, his voice was low, a note of confusion weaving through it, breaking the monotony of his usual speech. "Why…why did you help me?"

Eret looked off into the broken tangle of trees, thinking of his castle, of Nihachu, of Wilbur. Thank You, for keeping him alive. "Because we all need mercy."

Purpled shot him a glance, neutral as always, but somehow almost surprised this time. Then he ran off into the forest, and Eret suddenly felt very tired.

One of the snares caught a squirrel, and Eret, wrapped once more in his cloak, busied himself in sitting by his fire and skinning it, trying not to think of anything. With the meat cooked to a turn, he ate all of it in one sitting along with the wild carrots and chestnuts. The meal made for poor eating without salt or other seasonings, but at least he had sustenance. He felt bad for missing the meals he had made at his castle, all the ingredients provided by Dream or Punz, who had come once a week with provisions.

But Eret felt more revitalized afterwards, and so he then took up his greatsword and set out in search of Pogtopia. He had no idea which way to look, except that it would be far from the tunnel and Manberg. He also supposed that they couldn't have gone north, since the inlet swept in close there.

As he stalked the forest edging the inlet, Eret spotted Karl Jacobs walking along the beach and carrying an envelope. Eret waited and watched as the Manbergian wandered in the direction of a tacky campsite on the northeastern end of the shore. He no sooner made it, than Vice President Quackity of all people popped out of the tent to greet the freckled fellow. Eret withdrew into the trees, useless questions buzzing in his mind. One thing was sure: the Pogtopians were not here.

Wilbur and Tommy wouldn't settle somewhere so exposed. Logic reasoned they would have gone either further east or south. Eret walked. The skeleton trees marched on, mirroring the gray sky and the mourning clouds. The dead underbrush dragged at his trousers and feet, faint rustlings indicated scampering animals, and Eret thought of his other empty trap. The wind fell cold and lifeless around him, whispering of winter, of snow, and death in dark places. Eret's limbs ached with numbness, and his thoughts drifted to his fire and his snares even though it wasn't dinnertime yet – but out here, he always felt hungry. He stopped, filled his nostrils with the crisp air. On the other side of the wind, he thought he heard the sound of voices.

"Ni'achu's birthday is tomorrow." Tommy? He sounded weary. "What are you going to do?"

"Should I do something? We have a war to prepare for." A coarse laugh. "We have a country to blow up."

Surely…not Wilbur?

"No, Will, you promised, remember?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I just like seeing you discomfited, Tommy. "

Oh, Will, what's happened to you? You want to blow up…blow up what? Do you want to blow up Manberg? Why would you…

" 'Ey, Eret! Is that you? Eret! 'Ey, Wilbur, I found Eret!"

Eret turned. The child tumbled through the bracken toward him. He stopped short of Eret, red-faced and breathing hard. A shortbow slung over his shoulders, and a quiver hung at his belt.

"Eret! Wot are you doing 'ere?" Tommy straightened, tense, a hand on his bow, looking around as if expecting Dream and the others to jump out at him like before.

"I was just –"

"Oh, no you don't," said Wilbur as he appeared behind Tommy, bearing a brace of pheasants. How changed Wilbur looked from the last time Eret had seen him: his wild dark hair flying in all directions like a murder of crows, his eyes wide and listless with dark crescents cradling them. He also looked thinner than before, but maybe he had always been that way. He glared at Eret, such hate in his face and demeanor, but Eret merely stood and faced them, concentrating on keeping his breath and voice steady. He thought of his greatsword strapped to his back, but he didn't reach for it.

"Hello, Tommy. Hello, Wilbur."

Wilbur leaned forward, leaned back, grinning. "Here to spy on us? Report back to Schlatt? Kill us and collect the bounty? Oh, I know you'd just love to. Dream says there's a traitor among us, but the only traitor I see is –"

Tommy hung back, but curiosity and a sort of earnestness held him against the bluster of Wilbur. "Wait, Will, I don't think Eret is –"

"Oh, Eret is definitely here for the money. Aren't you, Eret?"

Tommy shook his head, his hand still on his bow. "Why are you 'ere, Eret?"

Eret squared his shoulders. "I don't care about Schlatt or the bounty. But I was hoping that maybe I could –"

"No. No way." Wilbur let out a high-pitched laugh. He walked in a small circle, head tilted back as he laughed, then suddenly he swung around, wrathful, reminding Eret in a way of Schlatt. "Don't you dare. You actually think – you actually have the audacity – the impertinence – to show your face around here – and then! – to ask to join us! Don't. You. Dare."

"I know I've wronged you," Eret whispered, forcing himself to look at the ground. "And I understand if you can't forgive me. I regret everyday that I betrayed you all. I'm trying to make it right. By casting my lot with you –" he was aware of how similar his words sounded to those on that far-off day when he had joined the Dirty Crime Bois "– I've betrayed Dream, so he dethroned me and made George the new king of the SMP and threw me out of my castle. But none of that matters anymore –"

" 'None of it matters'?!" Wilbur kept laughing and shouting. He paced, gesturing with the pheasants at Eret, the clouds, the trees – everything. "How dodgy. You are still not taking this seriously. You think you can just butt your way in wherever you like and that people will let you do it because you're so high and mighty."

Eret remained silent.

"Leave," said Wilbur through his teeth. "Now."

Eret raised his head. "I'm staying here. You will need help on the 16th. I can help."

"We don't need your help."

Both Tommy and Wilbur glared at Eret.

"I would rather die –" Wilbur snapped, "I would rather we all fail and die than take any help from the likes of you."

I want to do the right thing…but how can I if I'm not allowed to? Eret thought of Purpled. He probably wouldn't have wanted my help, either. But he would have died if I hadn't done something. He glared at the ground. He might still die. They all might die. We all might die. There's only so much we can do, so we might as well do the right thing.

Even so, voices from not so long ago filled his mind, no wild laughter or rambling tones, just gentle and eager, innocent of the future.

"These are beautiful, Eret. Perfect."

"Can you sing us a song, Wilbur?"

"What do you most want in all the world?"

"You're invited to join me, Will."

"We shall see."

And his own voice again, louder, brassy, and empty:

"It was never meant to be..."

All for his kingdom, his castle of fallen dreams and insubstantial wishes.

Dream was right about one thing. Respect is worthless.

Slow and deliberate, Eret reached up behind his head and untied the blindfold, letting the folds of the torn, dirty cloth fall away from his face and curl into his palm. He saw Wilbur and Tommy, clearer now than before, saw them recoil, their angry and confused faces rearranging into expressions of disgust and horror as they beheld his eyes – hauntingly purple, from one end to the other, glowing sparks twirling around them similar to tiny embers. Tommy trembled as he looked Eret up and down, and Eret knew what he must be thinking. Not just his eyes, but his height – like an enderman.

I'm not hiding anything anymore.

"Will, 'es…wot…look…"

Wilbur sneered. "You're a beast, Eret."

"Think what you want of me," Eret whispered. He trembled, but took another breath and spoke in a soft, level voice. "I don't need to enter your headquarters. Just let me stay out here."

Wilbur's laughter rang higher, almost shrieking. "You will never, ever enter Pogtopia, you disgusting monster. Stay out here for all I care. Stay out here and die."

He grabbed Tommy's hand and dragged him back into the forest.

Eret did not move for a long time, and stood there watching the place they had gone as the clouds coiled above him.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

oo-KaTe-oo: Thank you! All glory to God. :) Don't worry, VAERYS and I have every intention of continuing this story. ;D

Hib-Owl: Merci, je suis ravie que ça te plaise !

God bless,

Unicadia