Chapter Text
[I I]
Burning iron, treacherous ambiance, hard battle.
The enemy stares, morbidly, raising his arm, he plummets cutting through the hot, thick, dry air with the blade, ending the battle and the lives of the creatures that dared to challenge him.
He had dealt with similar ones previously, however, in relatively smaller numbers. They increasingly seemed to take over that uninhabitable realm from any normal being.
Becoming more hostile, aggressive.
Annoyingly territorial.
Dangerous.
Whines, supplications, squeals, screams and cries of despair: all in vain. There was no pity, even mercy, on the souls reaped by the man. He wipes his face, back of the hand soiled by splashes, an unfortunate death on those creatures.
Bloodbath.
"Alright, men, " arches wearily, almost whispering. The powerful blade thunders on the ground, finally catching his breath, voice resonating like drum by attentive troop.
"We're done here, let's regroup and retreat!" ordered the colonel, exit marked by the noises of the sword scratching the ground, the audible relief of his soldiers, the armor tinkling, beating and scraping on the bricks.
Conversations and camaraderie are exchanged through the corridor of bodies, mutilated, shattered, pierced, charred. Insensitive to the atmosphere of death, some have excitement at the thought of seeing that loved one once back.
In an extreme situation, many reveal their true face in the face of death, others for a mere chance of revenge; a vile being, just a block of height, who will say age, bumps and knocks down one of the knights on the edge of the corridor, rapidly entering the narrowly dangerous fortress.
The cries of fall, pain and terror are muffled and mortally silenced as the knightsinks into the magma, leaving nothing but the memory of what was once a man hoping to return home and review his family.
"Barney!" one of them screams, bordering on the edge by his late brother; fatal.
The little being takes advantage: he pulls out a golden dagger, cuts his leg, takes advantage of his imbalance and pushes him from the handrail to the same hot tourist destination.
"Ianley!" More screaming.
Mechanical breaths, dragged, scorched floating heads surrounded by blazing rods float attracted by the turmoil.
Envisaged by the rest -also avoiding enraged attacks -he dodges through the invaders, uses one as a shield from the Blazes’ horde, takes advantage of the distraction created by chaos, andpierces the sharp, black thorns of a dark rose in the man's exposed calf by the previous battle.
Inevitable fall, immediate suffering. Chills followed by screaming.
An immeasurable agony.
“ARRGGHH!”
His hooves press further as far as they can. Due to the depth and terminal effect already actingon the flesh, his leg had fulfilled its role.
"Infamous demon!" -he spits in the midst of pain -"Kill it!"
More hatred and fear take over the troublemaker, just as the battle does; his senses are agile, giving the knights a certain hard time. However, in the midst of the incessant flames and screaming, they soon wear out, fatigue, and let a fast-powerful onslaught pass.
The flat earshad only picked up the sound of a sheath being emptied and a strong buzz before impact. His vision, blurry; perception, impaired.
He gothit.
Thrown away by the enemy force, his body lands luckily on the hard and rough rocky surface near the building, a very well known in the dimension. Struggling, he manages to stand up and shoot his enemies a challenging glare.
Splashes of volcanic explosions emerge below, the glow of flames kiss his fur, snout, tusks, and reflect onwhite eyes a pure anger.
The sword provingblood, wielded firmly by a tall, blond-haired woman with golden eyes, glows bright sharpness as it drips wistfully onthe ground.
As well as her piercing gaze.
Something thick and red slowly pours over his eye, getting in the way. He turns to a luminous stone and stares at his reflection.
A deep cut, above the eyebrow to the cheek, presents remarkably. Not lethal to the point of taking away the sight, fortunately, but still an injury.
He covers the wound.
From a hidden corridor in the fortress, others of his kind manage to sneak away and, when the knights least expect it, he retreats a few steps behind the rocks, disappearing through the Nether's gaps and valleys.
The warrior writhes, morbid, sour and bitter, leg completely rotten, useless.
"Sir, bad news: some creatures that have been hidingmanaged to escape. Should we follow them?" the soldier asks.
It would be unwise to risk more. They've already achieved the ‘victory’ in that hellhole, would only be putting his men in the lava for a foolish rematch. "Let them go," he coughed, unbearable metallic helmet flung to the troop, sweat falling and evaporating. "I need to get rid of this before it spreads... Mayla!"
The second in command goes into readiness, presenting herself in a rigid -and also hurried -posture at the general's side. She looked at the little being with intensity before being alerted, very focused.
"Yes, GeneralTerrance?" She wasready for anything.
"Amputee my leg."
Mayla would wait for anything in that infernal situation, even throw a weak soldier in the lava; that, however, surprised the warrior.
"Perdon?"
Another pang of pain. "Have you gone deaf? Cut my leg off! It's an order!"
Hands strained, the deputy general rubs the dirty sword with blood on the merely clean rags of one of the bodies before heading to the superior.
Mayla pronounces. "This is going to hurt. Hold him."
Two soldiers advance, immobilizing him completely. Mayla lifts the blade above her head and, with ferocity, descends it into the man's armor-less leg, enchanted diamond against rotting skin, defibered muscles, darkened flesh. Blood spills, the screams intensify, tune, practically confused with a Ghast.
In the end, all that's left is a rotten piece of what was once a leg, thrown into the lava sea by who wasonce a biped.
The platoon lifts the general up and helps him walk. Some time and walk later, the squad find a makeshift boulder staircase.
There is a lift platform where they come up, an agglomeration of glowstones and huge blue fungi guard the entrance of a tunnel, this illuminated by redstone lamps leading to a portal hidden in a fortified cave, all over a ravine above a sea of bubbling lava.
Behind a warped vineyard, through the flaming and nefarious abyss, its snout sniffs, sniffs by any sign of danger, but all it finds are the distant invaders climbing the gray steps.
Cowards.
Countless piglins were annihilated in that place, humiliated, frightened, eyes sad and empty as a last reaction before they had their lives stolen by those selfish and greedy barbarians.
Such detailed steps bathed in innocent blood.
All this, that frustration and anguish, further fuels the fire inside.
They would have their revenge against the invaders. It might not be soon, perhaps long after histime, but one day they would pay for the atrocities they did to the Piglins.
[I I]
Long, wide and sleek marble corridors fill the view of him as he is carried by soldiers. Pieces of tapestries attached to frames are contemplated between carved pillars before the pain intensifies and all become unfocused and blurry.
"Take him to the infirmary!" orders someone authoritative, muffled, his dizziness hinders recognition.
Some moments pass, hurried steps make noise at the crossroads of the floor with red carpet, he can feel that he is being laid down before collapsing and losing consciousness briefly.
He's a strong soldier, but with boundaries.
"We have to remove the arrows, stop the blood, cover the wounds. Bring the tracks."
If not so weak, he’d have slapped that doctor for being so obvious. Fatigue soon catches up, willpower does not prevent the fainting, especially by the cloth covering his mouth.
Darkness. Hello again, old friend.
When he wakes up, grunts loud and cough due to the sore throat.
Damn.
His head itches, his eyes spin in his skull. Hands on forehead, trying to focus on the surroundings, got a headache. Hours passed, he concludes by the lack of abundance of solar beams on the arrival, now the room presents itself in shades speckled with orange-caramel, completely empty. Lit torches illuminate the walls, the stretchers heglimpsed occupied by downed soldiers are unoccupied, no mere living soul...
Except his.
"How do you feel?"
The man bent in the chair questions, without authority, there is genuine concern in his emerald eyes, low and solemn voice, it seems that he stayed long in that position. The red cape detailed with golden buttons and fur collar is folded on the chair where hesits, disengaged from the body, the golden crown with rubies and diamonds reflects the light of the flames, crooked to the side, held over the notch and silk.
"M-my..."
He's stopped from standing up by a gesture. "Spare your efforts, Hendall. You've suffered a serious injury, will need help walking, you shouldn't try so hard."
Blasphemy. "Your Majesty, we were in the Soul Valley, we found an ancient building when those demons attacked... We would have explored and conquered more if–!"
Another impartial gesture. "You must have invaded enemy territory. It doesn't matter now, what matters is that you're here. I've heard of the casualties from the others, the families have already been notified. I'm afraid your fighting time is over, old friend."
He's known to be a joker, but Hendall did not find it amusing. "I can still fight! Give me a sword and I'll take out with those big-flat-eared demons alone!"
The king sighs sorrowful. "Leave it to the younger ones, I can see in your eyes that age has come to you, just as for me. It's time we pass the torch on, Hendall. You have a son to raise. Would it be worth riskingmaking him orphan just for glory?"
One thing they both discovered growing up together is that the king can be very convincing. "I don't want you to have the same fate as your father. Terrence indeed fought until the last of his days."
Convulsively. "My father was an excellent knight, always ready for the fight! He's the one who inspired me to be who I am!"
Indeed. "Yes, being a warrior is in the Pridestones’ bloodline, I know well. But where did that get him? Just one mistake in that purgatory and it's goodbye to everything we know. Friends, kingdom, acquaintances... family."
It would be too cruel to Sunflower.
Terrance Pridestone, one of the best knights Arsyacraft has ever had, winning numerous victories, his name is cited in songs and schools till nowadays. No human fought and braved as much as he did.
Until the day he was ambushed on an expedition tothe Nether, entire platoon annihilated, crushed skulls, extinct dreams. Hisprosthesis, broken. Only onesoldier survived.
Nevermore returned to his little knight.
He was great at combat, incredible in war tactics and swords. He loved conflicts, fights and bloodshed.
More than his own family.
Hendall has a son, who has befriended the successor to the throne from a young age, just as he did in his childhood with the king. For natural causes, his wife died in motherhood, last moments were embraced with her son, making the general the only living relative of the boy in the whole kingdom.
The crown sighs.
"I know you don't want to leave your position, but I also know that you don't want him to have the same childhood deceptions you had. Yes, we know I'd be a great father figure, but I would never compare to the real one. You're all he's got and loves the most, Hendall."
There's a brief pause.
Thoughts.
Memories.
Reflection.
"I'm afraid so, Your Majesty."
Please stop with such formality . "You know you can just call me Fred."
It would be an insult to the crown! "With all due respect, Your Excellency Frederick, a king must be revered, no matter the circ*mstances."
He'd be revering it now under different conditions.
"Uh, Hendall, " he rejoices. "You've always been so restricted to the rules," he said, it was his nature, after all. Knew him well. There was no way to change it. "Therefore, as king, I order you to stay here and rest. When the doctor discharges you, you can go home."
With much protest and weaves, the general accepts the condition of staying as long as he could help in the future with the troops in some way.
"We'll see."
At the king's request, a guard stands at the nurse's entrance. "Guard, watch out, this one loved to run away as a child." Hendall rolls his eyes; the cape runs through the long, carved corridor of the castle with luxurious decorations.
On the right in the marble ranges and pillars, more guards greet his arrival. Through the windows, subjects bargain and move the local trade, talk and toast mugs, some notice and wave to the Majesty passing at the top of the bridge.
They're greeted by an old,simple, calm, receptive palm. A friendly gesture towards his people, the true treasure of the kingdom.
On the left, green fields and plains rise and surround the boundaries of the kingdom as far as the eye can see. Several variables of flowers and vegetation create a colorful, vivid horizon.
Rows of flags decorate the gravel road mixed with concrete in front of the steel gate guarded by large statues, walls lined with obsidians, protected from the Sun by the long canvases embroidered with the kingdom’s symbol and adorned by luminous stones, marking one of the entrances of Arsyacraft, one of the greatest kingdoms of Minecraft.
"Please don't."
It's the fifth time Henry, the trumpet man, has tried to play that deafening instrument every time he enters or leaves somewhere. Like the kingdom.
Being king isn't easy.
Two silhouettes capture the attention, close to the local pines and oaks: his son, and successor to the crown, Ione, running, playing and dueling with wooden swords in an amiable dispute against Hendall's son.
Ash Pridestone.
[I I]
(Ash)
Right. Left. Jump, get down. Deflect. Scroll and retreat. Parse. Duck. Repeat.
These are the most obvious moves you can have during a fight. Based on this, it's easy to dodge the opponent, deduce your next move, avoid your attacks, anticipate the advance.
That's when they don't pretend to be predictable and strikes you back with a surprise blow, investing in a direction and skidding to the opposite. Immobilizing your arm and hello sword handleagainst your face.
Ouch.
"Come on, Dandelion , you're better than that. It's hardly funny to beat you anymore," says the aggressor.
I let huffs and sighs out by the effort, tired. "Don't brag so much, prince . We both know I wasn't meant to fight," I clarify, pushing his sword away from my face, finally being able to get up.
We started another duel, this time I'm more attentive. The prince throws his sword up, I follow it and get confused by his movement, and when I see it, I've been knocked down again.
The wood is at my throat.
“I said almost, and keep your eyes on the enemy, by the way," he teases, I roll my eyes in revolt. "You know, our parents fought in the war, they were formidable. This puts us on a pedestal for the people." Ione kneels next to me, serious. "They're counting on me, on us . Their war will soon be ours."
So much for fresh air. "I know, Iknow. But why are we always fighting? Brawling over something? Can't we all be allies? Friends, perhaps?"
I get a whine and a look of pity from him; Ione being Ione. "Oh, Ash... There is a fine line between hopeful and dreamy. And you, my dear naive friend, often fail to see the deadly subtlety between them."
That doesn't answer my question.
Laughs. "Well, luckily we're friends, you sure as hell wouldn't want me as an enemy. I'm too cute AND skilled to lose to a baby like you."
You’re one year younger! "Ha-hah," I mock, "I'm not completely helpless either."
I was so focused on my monologue about self-defense and defending my honor that I didn't even notice the sound of footsteps and a cape.
"Your grip was weak, Ash, andknees too dislocated, must align them in addition to the guard fortifying. You need to improve your posture beforeeven think about wielding a real sword."
"That's what I was telling him."
Of course you were.
And certainly King Frederick is there to teach me and criticize me. It's not that I detest him, sometimes his advices help, but who really should be doingthis is always out doing some patrol or in danger in shining armor 'for the safety of the kingdom'.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, but all I want now is to lie on this grass and enjoy the horizon," I confess, dropping the weapon on the ground just like myself.
Calm and refreshing breezes pass through me, through the trees, through the slight dew-like grass around me, on my fingers caressing the green, the food of many animals, giving me a sense of peace, stroking my black skin with its freshness and pollen from nearby orchids and tulips.
Until it takes meby surprise. "So you certainly won't be interested in who came back to us after so long."
In a matter of seconds, I'm standing in front of Frederick, my brief vertigo overcome by adrenaline and anticipation.
I mpossible.
"Daddy's back?" I'm anxious, shocked, eleven months ago he left, our only form of communication was for mere pieces of paper, dead ink of dead squid. "Where is he?"
"In the infirmary," he says. "But I would give a time before, your father went through a long journey." The king joins hands, omen of an offer. " Instead , how about joining Ione in his royal duties this afternoon?"
I think running is a pretty convincing answer. "No, but I appreciate the invitation, Your Highness!"
I love royal duties, but that could wait.
Father...
[I I]
Starry sky, horizon scrawled by clouds dragging along its edge. I feel my heart beating faster, stronger, distressed, happy, suffered for so long away. I walk through known halls and corridors under the light of chandeliers as fast as I can, the fire shining my way.
I smell sweat -probably mine -mixed with a subtle and tempting fragrance of pie outside the castle kitchen.
The door opens.
"Slow down, Sir. Ash!" someone yells behind me, I don't know who, can only hope theydidn't drop anything, I'm running so fast on the carpets that I barely have time to swerve. Holy block, my breath has never been as euphoric as it is now.
"Stop right there."
Prevented ambefore I can get into the infirmary, held by a strong scary hand. Blocking the door in front of me is Hirayama Toshiki, one of the crown's closest friends and also a very, very strict person of stoic voice.
"Yama, let me through." It probably wasn't a good idea to use the nickname Ione and I gave him, the frown on his forehead agrees with me. "Sorry, Hirayama . But it's very important."
Denied. "You know I can't, he rests now, orders from the king. The nurses said he'll be fine. Elizabeth is there."
Surprised is written on my face. "I thought she was out looking for that underground stronghold? Did the sources lie? "
He grunts. "Don't even try, little one. You need more than that to get me out of here. After two months, her search bore fruit, then she spent a time in a recovering hut and was requisitioned for the Nether expedition."
Suspicious. "Why is that? Did anything happen there besides hurting my father?"
Sometimes I feel like I'm staring at a very monotonous statue when I talk to Hirayama. "Confidential information. You'd know more if you focused on conferences and less on yourwatering can andherbs."
Son of a...
"First, they're dandelions, roses and daisies, not herbs. Second, do yourself a favor and let me through. You don't want trouble with the king."
Defiant, I know. But it's the only way to get through his thick skin.
"You are not king," he refutes, almost angrily.
Indeed.
"Neither are you, but I'm very close with the prince, and he won't like anything to know that you’re preventing a son from seeing his own father, especially in the current context."
That look, the typical electric shooting when two extremes meet, is suffocating; I'm pushing my luck, and I need to persist if I want any results. I face his cold, dead eyes even more until he is forced to act. "Yare yare. Go ahead, little one. Don't blame me for what you're going to see.
My head nods and I’m through him.
I raise my hand and push.
"Sunflower? "
I hardly hear the creak close behind me, the sound of the metal parts is practically inaudible by the faint voice and vision before my eyes: my father, partially bandaged, leaning against a chair.
'Hello, Ash.'
I look to the side, the brave woman in armor gestures to me. 'It isn't serious, but will take some time to heal.'
If it wasn't for the candlelight and your coming to me for a hug, I would hardly have paid attention to Elizabeth's hand signals.
"I think that's what happens when you go on a dangerous journey: you get hurt. Or worse."
I catch a glimpseof guilt in her eyes reflecting the fire, my cheek is stroked by her glove, I realize that her curly brown hair has been cut.
Before I can reach it, she stops me in a reflection. 'My mistake, I'm sorry. I'll leave you two alone.'
With this, the paladin recovers her spear and angelic smile, kisses my forehead and disappears behind the doorknob.
Then my attention turns to him.
"You've grown up, my son. Getting bigger and stronger. How long has it been?"
It takes a while to face him. I do speak, but can't really feel my mouth. "Almost a year... Why did you stop answering my letters?"
This time, he hesitates and looks away. "Son, I... I wanted to, but... There was so much going on. I didn't know how to tell you."
Or you just didn't want to.
I shake my head. "And you thought it would be better to show when you came back? If you evercame back? "
So many jokes that I was forced to listen to, so many scarry nights, so many uncertainties, so many fears of something bad happening.
"Because I knew you'd react that way."
The audacity. "Oh, I'm sorry to worry about my father who lost his entire arm in a dimension to which I am not authorized at all. I'm sorry I thought you were dead. I'm sorry for trying to be your son."
And I know why.
"Because you're not ready to fight yet! You're still too young! You don't even have the will of a fighter!"
"I'm already thirteen! When are you going to stop treating me like a child and accept me for who I am?!"
"WHEN YOU FINALLY TAKE THE COURAGE TO WIELD A DAMN SWORD AND KILL!"
Silence.
Muffled air.
Flames.
I slowly recognize the crackling sound of the flames as my eyes bulge, burn, tear to unsuccessfully moisten the shock in my gaze.
"Killing... it's wrong. You know I don't like that."
There was a pause, he rubs his face to relax. "Ash... Sorry for shouting, and sorry I made you worry, but I can't promise you that what we do isn't dangerous, we don't have a choice. The enemy is ruthless, there is no chance of gardening in a fight."
I face my shoes, the light that touches them distracts me from the feeling that I am a disappointment to many for not being able to fight. It's something I've always feared, I've never been a violent one.
I like flowers, and I like liking it, because that's who I am. But at the same time, not the one who prides his father defending this kingdom: a knight.
Elizabeth was once badly wounded in battle by a horde of Pillagers, the entire troop defended the citizens as she eliminated several one by one. All I could do was observe how amazing she danced on the battlefield.
Until one of them hit her right in the chest, piercing thearmor and almost impaling her heart.
I've been afraid to fight ever since.
There is only death and suffering on all sides, so why go on?
"I'm going to get better," but sometimes we can't go on with our dreams without disappointing someone. "You'll be proud of me, Dad."
That's when what I've been waiting for most happens: a smile, followed by an unexpected tug and a fatherly hug. It's warm, comfortable, safe, even if by just one arm, I can feel your affection and love for me in just one gesture. All the wait and angst for not holding me is expressed in this hug.
I'm glad he's not dead.
"I know you will, son. It may take time, you can still plant flowers as a hobby, it is normal. But I know you will become the best knight this kingdom has ever seen."
Except it's not a hobby.
"The Nether is a dangerous place, and I thought of you every single day. I love you, Ash."
Just by closing my eyes, I can feel that she's watching us from somewhere, and she knows a lot more than I'm saying.
"I love you too, Dad."
[I I]
