Webber's POV

"Tell me, Tyler. How did you lose your eye?"

I couldn't see who was pinning me to the ground. Sharp waves of pain burst through both of my palms as I struggled against them, forcing me back and burying my hands into the sand beneath me. I tried to scream, to cry for help, but all that came out was air. I was distinctly aware that I was alone with my attacker.

One minute, I was sure that it was Wilson- black eyes with gray pupils and a too-sharp grin on his face. Then, the image warped and it was WX- sparks flying from a hole ripped through his chest, face twisted into hatred and anger as he raised a knife. I tried to close my eyes, to hide from what was coming, but no matter what, I couldn't stop seeing it.

When the knife came down, brutally slashing into my face, it was Wilbur holding it. He laughed hoarsely, manic giggles bubbling in his chest as he tore the blade through my eye, then again across my cheek, then again over my mouth until I was choking on blood that was leaking into my throat. Instinctively, my stomach lurched to reject the metallic fluid-

I shot violently awake, heart rate spiking.My stomach clearly didn't recognize that it had been a dream, forcing me over as I gagged and coughed on the bile that had risen in my throat.

I fell back, drained and gulping air to restore my lost oxygen.

"Do you do that often or something?"

I angled my head slightly to look at Wilbur, who was blinking sleepily at me. The monkey had led me deep into the forest, where he had stretched luxuriously and made himself comfortable on a thick patch of moss before I even had the opportunity to ask about it. Upon questioning, he had waved a hand at me and told me to wait until morning; that he was tired and let's all just get some sleep, 'kay? He was already fast asleep by the time darkness had approached, leaving me to scramble to light a fire. Thankfully, there were plenty of dry twigs and leaves to keep a fire lively. My sleep had already been light, seeing as how I had to regularly refuel the flames to prevent being vulnerable to the darkness, so leave it to me to have my one decent rest be ruined by nightmares.

I wiped my mouth on my arm and rubbed my good eye with the opposite hand. "Not usually."

"Mm."

There was a moment of silence, one that lasted long enough that I thought Wilbur had fallen asleep until he spoke again.

"You sick or something?"

I shook my head.

He didn't speak again for a few minutes. I glanced over at him, curious as to what was going through his head. Wilbur appeared to be examining me, brown eyes flickering across my face.

"How old are you, Tyler?"

I shrugged as I dragged myself into a sitting position, leaning against the thick trunk of a tree (much taller and thicker than anything I had seen on the mainland). "Eight. Or... maybe nine now? No, I think still eight. I won't be nine until Spring."

Wilbur's eyes widened. He slowly pulled himself up as well, facing the fire. I added more fuel to it, keeping my gaze trained on the tongues of flame as they reached higher. "When are humans considered adults?"

"Twenty-one," I answered softly, knowing exactly where he was going with this.

"So you're still a baby."

"I bet I'm older than you."

"Hah, you wish. I'm old enough to be your father and then some. By a lot." As he spoke, a strange look passed over his face, one that I couldn't even begin to decipher. Instead of acting on it, though, he simply stretched and yawned. "Let's get back on the road, shall we?"

"It'll be dark for awhile."

"Blech." He sat down heavily. "You... Survivors and your limitations." He huffed, frustrated. "You know, it's been awhile since I got to banter with someone. You seem in a better mood than you were yesterday. Which isn't saying much, considering you are still probably in a bit of a sour mood, but you know, baby steps."

"I am," I agreed. It was a lot easier to be in better spirits when my thoughts were singular, my own-

Wait.

Where are you?

The spider that haunted my head was uncharacteristically silent. Even when he wasn't directly speaking, he normally still enforced some control over my thoughts. When I pried, I couldn't even feel him. Now that I thought about it, I hadn't sensed him since the day before.

"Wilbur!" I lunged forward and grabbed the Prime Ape's shoulders, perhaps digging in a bit too much as he started to struggle. "What happened yesterday?"

"Yipes! And there it is!" He squeaked. "He's back, folks! What part of yesterday, exactly?" Wilbur pried my fingers off of his shoulder, keeping just my bad hand resting on his other. "That's an extremely broad question, Tyler. I could respond with things that I did yesterday that you wouldn't want to know-"

"No, no! With me. What happened with me?" Panic was creeping into my voice. "I can't hear him. I can't sense him. Where is he? What did I do!?"

"Are you talking about that part where you started laughing all creepily and then collapsed? Wait, who's 'he'?" The last word Wilbur spoke was tinged with suspicion.

"Laughing all..." I moved my hand from his shoulder to my forehead. "No no, nononono, no no no." Oh stars. Oh please don't let my suspicion be true. "Wilbur, what did he say? Did he say anything? Did he do anything?"

"Calm down, calm down, you didn't do anything, really. If you keep breathing like that, you're either gonna pass out or make yourself throw up again."

He was right, really. I pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes, struggling to get even breaths into my lungs. Had I lost control yesterday? Had... had Webber taken control of me? That barrier, I had thought that it was keeping me from falling apart. Was it what kept him at bay? Had our consciousnesses been completely separated?

Finally, I dropped my hands, staring blankly at them. How much longer would these hands be my own? How much longer until I lost control to him? For so long I had thought that it was impossible, that he could never overtake me, but look at what was happening now. There was a timer I never knew existed, now ticking all-too-loudly in my head.

Would there be a point when I would never be myself anymore?

Would there be a point when I no longer existed at all?

I tore my eyes away, letting them rest on the prime ape standing a good few feet away from me. He had clearly backed up, a weary glint in his eyes. The smallest, lightest of disbelieving laughters bubbled up in my throat.

If there would be a point when I was no longer myself anymore, then I would spend every moment I was myself being where I wanted to be. Or at least, trying to get there.

I felt my shoulders drift back down as oxygen finally came back to me.

Who knew how many breaths I had left?

And here I was, wasting time.

"I see," I said softly. I wrapped my fingers around my lame hand and squeezed it closed into a fist. "We really should get going."

"Oh, now you're not worried about the darkness?" Wilbur huffed. "You still have like, an hour before the sun rises. Sit down."

I obeyed, folding my legs into a criss-cross position and turning my eyes towards the darkness. My companions were still out there. I should want to go back to them. And I did! I wanted to be back with them, for however little time I had left.

But...

What would be the point? I liked Winona, but I hadn't known her for long. In my head, she was safe. Really nothing more, and nothing less. Maybe one day she could be like a sister to me, but that day hadn't come. And WX-

No.

But Wilson.

If Wilson knew what was happening to me... would he try to kill me again? Would it be best if he did? Who knew how long I had? But I didn't want to die. Maybe that was my own fear, or maybe that was the spider's fear of losing my body before he had the chance to completely take it over. I knew that he wouldn't hurt me. I knew that he wouldn't hurt me. But now, every time I saw him I was terrified, and now my hands were shaking and I was breathing funny and all I wanted to do was to hide behind WX, who would always protect me no matter what-

And oh now all I could think about was that, how none of this would have happened if he was still here. I would still have someone that missed me, someone who I felt like I could trust with my life, someone that would give me a reason to really fight to go back to the mainland. If I hadn't been so stupid and weak as to get myself injured, and if he had walked away from that battle alive, but he hadn't and he was gone-

"Oh geez, uh, go back go back. I didn't mean to make you cry. Um, there there? You can walk into the Darkness and die if you want to, that's okay."

He broke me out of whatever I was spiraling into. A sharp breath entered my lungs and, startled, I wiped away the tears that I didn't realize were forming. "It's... not you."

"Oh thank me I thought I made a child cry. Depressing backstory, then? Drop it on me, spider boy."

"My brother..." I struggled to elaborate. Should I even elaborate? How could I possibly even begin to explain if I wanted to? The giants, the Ancient Guardian, everything leading up to WX dying, WX giving his life for mine, WX gone.

"The martyr."

Wilbur said it so matter-of-factly, in a tone that suggested no argument. He knew exactly what it meant. I nodded weakly, still refusing to meet his eyes. He wouldn't understand. To him, my companions were nothing but titles. The Host, the Sister, the Martyr.

"He meant a lot to you, didn't he?"

"He saved me. In so many ways. He-" I choked on my words, squeezing my eyes shut. "He died for me. He sacrificed himself to save me. Took the hit meant for me. And now..." I let out a harsh laugh. "Wilson, Winona... they probably think I'm dead."

I looked down at my hands. The hands that would no longer belong to me soon. The hands that had killed so many innocent creatures, and the hands that had held my dying companions and failed to save either.

"And is that what you're running away from to end up here?"

"No. At least... not entirely."

"Oh, let me guess. You're running away from 'yourself' and 'your mistakes', right?"

A wry half-smile quirked my lips. "You could say that."

"And you decided it was better to run away from things that you can't outrun than to simply face it and work it out. Which is, by far, the worst option you could have picked."

I bristled, suddenly on the defensive. "You don't have the right to ridicule me for that. You don't know anything about what I've been through. Don't try to act like you're better than me."

"So let me get this straight. You're wallowing in your own misery and expect me to just encourage it. Listen, I know what it's like to wallow, and it's not healthy." His tail whipped to the side, fur bristling with annoyance. "For some people, talking about their trauma helps them through it, but it seems to me that you're just using it as an excuse to complain. Your problem isn't that you've made mistakes, or that you have-" He made a general motion over my body. "Whatever is going on there. Your problem is the fact that you are so desperate for the world to know that you are miserable that you refuse to acknowledge that you're only miserable by your own doing. Who do you think it's helping to sit here, crying out 'woe is me, my life is miserable and I want everyone to know it!'? If you actually wanted to help yourself, you would actually try to. Do you think that nobody else has baggage? You're not special, Tyler! You're just another link in a crumbling chain, every single one of us as miserable as yourself."

Wilbur's words stewed in the following silence. A whirlwind of emotions raged in my chest, everything from rage to fear to sadness to guilt.

I looked back down at my hands, shaking furiously under the pressure of Wilbur's words, and they were just my hands. Nothing else. Nobody else's. I took in a deep breath, then released it just as slowly. I wanted to be mad at him, to tell him that he was wrong.

But... I couldn't. He was right in every sense of the word.

Another breath in. Out. In. Out.

Then, softly: "What do you suggest, then?"

"Think about good things."

"What?"

He shrugged. "You're so focused on everything terrible, maybe you need to remind yourself that not everything is."

Another slow exhale. I carefully turned words in my head. I had been so... pessimistic, it was genuinely hard to think of anything good.

"I have a pet hound," I started slowly. "I mean, we have other pets as well, but Popsicle... well, he's mine. He's so loyal to me, and he's so strong. And he's just a little puppy! I know that hounds get really big, and his mum was huge. I really hope that he'll be like that one day, too. I keep forgetting that he's not already full-grown. He's so big now. He's already twice the size he was when we first found him. There's also Chester, but we don't really see him much. He kind of just appears around camp from time to time and doesn't do anything. Pyrite is the newest little addition to our pets- she's a baby dragonfly, and she loves Popsicle so much. She's always following him around like a little mosling."

I leaned backward, an unfamiliar warm feeling rising up in my chest as I gazed up at the sky. Wilbur had a dreamy expression on his face, as if thinking deeply about something.

I continued to speak for awhile, voice drifting in and out as I dredged up brighter memories. It was hard, but I felt lighter somehow. Every memory I recalled was a small reminder of the good things I had. I talked about Erika, then meeting my companions for the first time. From there, I drifted to playing Chess with WX, hunting with Wilson, the scraps of praise that I would hoard like food, even when given freely and often. The thrill of sparring, the warmth of late-night campfire conversations, softly sung words under my breath, impossibly gentle lullabies in the midst of injury and sickness. When finally, my throat was soar and the sun was rising, and I ran out of things to talk about, I fell into a comfortable silence, eyes half-closed as I pondered my current situation. Everything I had done. Everything I had gone through. Everything that led me here, pouring out my life story to this monkey who... probably wasn't listening. He certainly didn't seem like he was paying much attention to me, eyes glazed over as he seemed to be deep within his own mind.

Then, softly, I spoke again. My voice cracked from overuse and the still-present sting of saltwater.

"I... I know there'll come a time when I lose myself. When I'll have lost myself completely to the spider. But I think that... I want to spend that time I have left with my companions. With my family," I corrected, sturdier. "But..." I added shyly, as the warmth of a new idea blossomed in my chest. "We're really not a complete group unless we have all five of us, right?"

At that, Wilbur snapped out of his mind, perked up, and tipped his head. "Eh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"This journey was meant for five. The Young Heir, The Host, The Sister, and Martyr, and..." I dropped off.

"You're asking me to join you."

"I am."

Wilbur said nothing for a long moment. His eyes flickered across my face contemplatively. Finally: "Stay here." And with that, he turned tail and fled into the night.

I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. I hadn't intended to bring Wilbur back to the mainland with me, but I felt like... I needed him. I hadn't felt so light in months, mind running circles around the laughter, the joy, the hope we had once shared. Maybe he would be a good addition. Maybe he was exactly who I needed.

I had already stamped the remaining fire out and was trying to gather the energy to get up when he returned, skidding to a halt in front of me. In his hands, he held a strange, fascinating piece of jewelry. A necklace, to be specific. Hanging on a tarnished silver chain, a surprisingly untouched yellow gem winked and glimmered in the early morning light.

"This once belonged to someone very important to me," Wilbur said solemnly. "And I would like it very much if you took it."

Curiously, I took it from him. The gem had a surprising amount of heft to it, weighing a bit more than I anticipated. The chain, while clearly old and tarnished by ocean water, was sturdy and thick. And yet, I couldn't help but sense that this necklace had been dearly loved by someone once. I clenched my fingers around it tighter. "Why... why would you give this to me?"

"I won't be able to join you, Tyler," Wilbur answered. "But that necklace once meant a lot to me. If you are wearing it when you knock Maxwell off of his throne, well, then I'll feel like I was there too. Kick him in the teeth an extra time for me, 'kay?"

"I can't take this."

"You can and you will. Listen, Tyler. You drive me absolutely insane, and I've only known you like, a day. But I think that you've got a good heart under all that fur, one that just needs a little nudge to remember that not everything is terrible. You... you remind me a lot of someone I once knew. Who had a lot of trouble remembering the good things and always needed an extra nudge to pull her out of her own head. Someone who I think would be very proud to see you wear that."

I pulled it close to my chest. It was warm against my skin. "So you won't come with me?"

"I have a kingdom to run. A kingdom that, unfortunately for us both, would be absolutely crushed without me."

I hung the necklace from my neck and let the gem rest comfortably against my chest. I kept one hand on it, thumb rubbing the flat surface of the stone. "Okay."

"Let's go, then. We're wasting sunlight, and there's precious little of that sometimes."

He bounded ahead, kicking up dirt in his wake. I followed slowly behind, distractedly rubbing the stone. My mind had gone many places tonight, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was because of Webber's absence. He regulated my thoughts, made me think older. By myself, I didn't have that kind of discipline.

But... I was glad, honestly. It felt like this was the start of something new. Someone new.

I wanted to get away from myself, and really, going by a different name and cleaning myself up wasn't the way to go about it. It was leaving behind the things that haunted me, forgiving myself and forgetting my mistakes, and finally, finally, bringing myself some peace. Remembering the good. Forgiving the bad.

And right now, there was quite a bit of good that I could be thinking about.

Wilson's POV

"Find anything, Wilson?"

I jumped at Winona's voice behind me. I sighed, shaking my head. Popsicle kept grabbing my shirt, tugging me towards the cliff, howling and whimpering when I didn't do anything. I didn't know what he expected me to do. The hound loved his owner, and I had no doubt that he was trying to help us find him. And yet...

There was nothing. No sign of him. Just water, as far as the eye could see.

"Maybe he didn't go this way," Winona reasoned. "Scents can drift. This is clearly a dead end."

"No, I think Popsicle is right. He definitely came this way. But... why?" An answer bubbled in my chest, but I pushed it down before it could even properly surface. "It wouldn't be the first time one of us has been chased over a ledge without realizing it, but..." I looked around, frown growing deeper. "There's no evidence of a struggle or a chase."

"You don't think he-"

"No," I interrupted before she could even form the words. "I refuse to think that."

"Wilson, we have to think about it at some point." Winona ducked her head, clearly unhappy being the one to put words to it. I refused to look at her, biting down hard on my lip. I wanted to ignore her, but I knew that she spoke truth. It was a painfully real possibility. It was just a possibility that I couldn't stand.

"You think he jumped."

Winona winced back, but she didn't correct me.

"No, just... no. He wouldn't. He would never. He's stronger than that."

"It's not about who's weak and strong," Winona said gently. "Even the strongest of wills can be broken down by this world. The things that he must have seen..."

"He didn't jump, Winona!" I raised my voice as anger poured out. "We would have known that something was wrong."

"Something was wrong, Wilson! Didn't you see him? Haven't you been paying attention? We've been keeping our distance because neither of us know how to comfort someone like that, but maybe..." She sighed, rubbing her arm. "Maybe we were too late to help at all."

I opened my mouth to protest again, but a glimmer nearby caught my eye. My heart leaped into my throat as I neared the object and picked it up.

Webber's knife.

It was muddy, but thankfully clean of blood. It soothed some part of my mind seeing that. But what it confirmed was probably far worse.

Webber was here.

Webber didn't take his knife.

Webber always took his knife.

I showed the object to Winona, whose hands flew to her mouth to muffle her gasp.

I turned my eyes back to the ocean, heart pounding in my ears as I clutched the knife tightly. As I forced myself to acknowledge the one possibility hanging so heavily on my mind.

Maybe he did jump.