Chapter Text
Entry, 44 of Spring, 29th Year
My Father likes to tell this history as though it were a bed-time story told to a child, or a fable to repeat for some moral purpose. He has never been one to find comfort in such things, very much a cynicist when it comes to the joys one finds in the world, or lack thereof. Or perhaps a realist. I know of what he’s seen.
But in any case, when he recites the history of the Haunting, I swear I see a glimmer in his eyes, as much as he would never admit it. And so when he asks me if I remember the story for the hundredth time, I tell him to remind me, so that I might hear it a hundred more just to see that glimmer again.
And so he tells it.
The endermen, he says, were not always social creatures. There was a time when they were nothing more than ships passing in the night, never interacting. It was considered good luck to see a pair, a rare sight, one that meant good fortune.
They had no reason to flock to each other. Their hearts were tied to the void, to the End, not to one another the way our human hearts are tied to one another.
But when the end was sealed off, when their pearls shattered and that connection was cut so swiftly it was like a great tree felled in one swing, they were left with nothing to hold them down to this place. They were empty, alone, isolated, so agonizingly abandoned that it hurt, that they wailed into the night, that their calls carried out across the world and in that moment, the world sang with them, a song of despair.
Then, my father says, after they mourned, after their song rang and echoed and faded, then they found each other.
If the void could not hold them any longer, they would hold each other. They gathered, slowly, traveling and finding those like them, drawn together by some unknown instinct. They sought comfort. They sought home.
My father says this is why the haunting finds itself so precious, holding its community above all else. They are connected to each other, now, just as they were once connected to the End. When one sings, all sing. When one feels pain, all feel pain. When one dies, all mourn as though they have died themselves.
They are inseparable. They will never stop looking for that sense of home. For each other. To be one. You see?
***
“It’s a little nostalgic, don’t you think?” Phil asked. He fluffed his wings out behind him, dusting the snowy trail with his flight feathers.
“Oh, yeah, so nostalgic,” Techno drawled, “So many good memories from last time.”
Phil swept the end of his feathers through the snow, flicking a spray of snow up into Techno’s face. Techno tried to leap out of the way, but the snow scattered across his cloak and into his hood, and he swiped vigorously at the back of his neck trying to keep it from falling down his back.
“Okay, okay, sorry,” he muttered, wiping his hand across his pants. “I was just sayin’.”
Ranboo found it hard to concentrate on their conversation, though. He looked around him at the forest, taking in every detail as though he was seeing it for the first time. It seemed greener, crisper, like the lines were sharper at the edges of the leaves and the trees stretched just a little taller. He reached out, brushing his hand against a stray pine branch that hung over the path. Little flecks of ice and snow bounced off of the needles, making the skin on the back of his hand tingle.
“It was a lot snowier last time,” Ranboo noted quietly. Phil tilted his head back to look at him briefly before glancing around him at the woods.
“It’s gotten warmer,” he nodded. “It’s nice.” Phil stretched his wings out wide until they almost touched the trees on either side of the path. The black and grey feathers were shiny, tucked neatly against each other. Even though the pattern had been interrupted by the new growth, they were still stunning. Ranboo watched with curiosity as he folded them against his back again. Even after all this time, he still wondered what it felt like to fly.
“I didn’t think we’d ever go back,” Ranboo said. “Or… I didn’t think I’d go back,” he added quietly. Phil chuckled.
“You should have seen Ilya when I got there,” he said. “All he wanted to know was that you were okay.” Ranboo ducked his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “What are you nervous about?” Phil asked.
“What?” Ranboo replied, startled.
“I can practically hear you worrying,” Phil sighed, offering Ranboo a sympathetic smile. “They invited us back, mate. It’s not like we’re showing up out of the blue.”
“Yeah, Phil already did that part,” Techno said. Phil shot him a look. “Literally,” Techno muttered quietly.
“Techno–” Phil warned, and Techno raised his hands in surrender. Phil sighed deeply.
“I know,” Ranboo said. “I’m just… how do I look them in the eye after everything that happened last time?”
“You weren’t yourself then,” Phil replied, as though it would suddenly fix everything.
“I’m still me, ” Ranboo muttered. “I know what they said, that… that it’s okay, but… I’m still me. What if they see me and they take it back, or they don’t trust me anymore, or–”
“Then we go home,” Techno said bluntly. Ranboo blinked at him. “Sometimes you can’t fix everything. But you’ve got us.”
“Nothing to lose, right?” Phil asked, and Ranboo took a slow breath, letting it out with a nod.
“I guess,” he sighed. “Just– I know a lot has changed, but it doesn’t look like it, you know?”
“Ranboo, you literally bleed gold now,” Techno said with a smirk.
“Oh, yeah, sure, I’ll just bleed on them. That’ll do it,” Ranboo mumbled, rolling his eyes.
“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Techno shrugged, and Phil whacked him on the side of his arm. Ranboo held back a smile. He shook his head, looking back to the path in front of them.
As much as Phil had assured Ranboo that the villagers were welcoming him back (or at the very least, open to the idea of his return), somehow he still just couldn’t wrap his head around it. They had known him so briefly, and he’d done nothing but cause chaos. He couldn’t help but think it was too good to be true.
But that fear had consumed him for too long. It had boiled in his chest from the moment he saw Dream’s pyre, a feeling like this couldn’t possibly be over, not after everything. Not after it had been so much for so long. It’s done, he reminded himself. It’s over.
As Ranboo watched the trail, he began to notice something moving in the distance, a little spec at first, slowly growing larger. He wondered at first if it was a fox, or maybe a wolf, as Techno had warned them about the last time they walked this trail. It felt like years ago, and somehow also like it was yesterday.
It wasn’t a fox, or a wolf; as it drew closer, Techno and Phil noticed it as well. Ranboo could tell the moment Techno saw it by the way his hand moved deftly to rest on his axe, not drawing quite yet, just ready. Ranboo squinted, watching as the figure drew closer. It was a person, he thought, approaching too quickly to be a mob and not low to the ground enough to be an animal. It bobbed up and down slightly, like it was running.
“What is it?” Phil asked. His wings stretched out, tensing.
“I don’t know,” Techno said. “I don’t have my glasses on.”
“God, mate, the fact you haven’t died yet is a miracle,” Phil scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Guess I’m just immensely talented and strong,” Techno shrugged. He kept his hand on his axe.
“Or lucky,” Ranboo said.
“Or lucky,” Techno huffed. The figure drew closer, and for a moment, it looked familiar. Ranboo’s ears twitched back, his head tilting slightly, and then they heard it call out.
“Ranboo!”
Ranboo froze where he stood.
“Mr. Philza! Mr. Techno!” the voice called. “Ranboo!”
“Ilya,” Ranboo breathed.
“Ilya?” Phil asked, and he leaned forward, squinting his eyes. “Ilya!” Phil hollered, “That you?” Ilya drew closer, sprinting at them as fast as his legs could carry him. Slowly, his features came into view, a mop of brown hair on his head and a light cloak billowing out behind him as he ran. He just laughed in response, a clear laugh that rang out between the trees. For some reason, it made Ranboo’s breath catch in his throat.
“What’s he doin’ out here?” Techno asked, clearly not expecting an answer. Phil shrugged. Techno removed his hand from his axe, shaking his head. They could hear Ilya’s breath now, labored from his mad sprint, and when he was close enough that they could see his face clearly, he slowed, looking between the three of them with wide eyes, his chest heaving.
Ranboo blinked at him, his lips half parted. Words were suddenly lost. Everything he had wanted to say, everything he’d rehearsed, repeated a thousand times to himself just that morning, it was all gone. Ilya stood in front of him, panting, one hand across his stomach and half bent over trying to catch his breath, and the sight stole the words from right off of his tongue.
He remembered seeing blood on his hands. He remembered the scream. He remembered the look in the golem’s eyes, the look in all of their eyes, the betrayal, the moment they realized he’d lied, the moment he was no longer just himself, he was other, he was something to be fixed, to be solved–
Ilya threw himself at Ranboo. He leapt up, wrapping his arms around Ranboo’s neck, burying his head into Ranboo’s chest, his legs dangling. Ranboo froze for a moment, stumbling back a step to keep his balance, but as Ilya clung to him, he felt those memories slowly dull. He hugged him back, wrapping his long arms around the boy, holding him close like he was an old friend. Ilya laughed again, the sound muffled against Ranboo’s chest.
Ranboo looked up and found Phil’s eyes watching him, a smile on the man’s face, a silent told you so gleaming in his eyes.
Then Ilya released his hold, dropping back down to the snow with a soft grunt, and he looked up at Ranboo, beaming.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Ilya said, still out of breath. “I told Mr. Philza, I told him– I knew you’d be okay. I knew it. I told my mom, as long as he’s with Mr. Philza and Mr. Techno, he’ll be okay. They’ll figure it out together,” he panted.
“Ilya–” Ranboo started, but Ilya cut him off.
“And you don’t need to explain! Mr. Philza told me everything – or, well, probably not everything. But the important parts!”
“Ilya–” Ranboo tried again, but the kid wasn’t interested in letting him speak.
“And now you’ve got these sick gold scars,” he said, reaching for Ranboo’s hand. Ranboo let him take it, flipping it over to see where there was a thick gold line running across his palm and four fingers. “You’re all shiny and cool. I’ve got a cool scar too, though! Emmet says it makes me look tough. ”
Ilya held out his arm, and Ranboo felt his blood run cold. On his forearm, there was a mottling of scars, crescent shaped and raised and pinkish. Ones Ranboo had given him. Ranboo pulled his ears back, his tail wrapping itself around his leg. He reached out, fingers hovering just over Ilya’s arm, but he didn’t dare touch it. Ilya stared up at him with big brown eyes.
“It’s okay, see?” Ilya said quietly. “It’s all healed now.” His voice was gentle. Ranboo let his fingers graze over the raised scars. Ilya’s skin was warm. “See?”
“Ilya, I–” Ranboo began, and again, Ilya cut him off.
“It’s okay,” he said firmly. “You’re gonna apologize, right?” Ranboo closed his mouth with a click. “You don’t need to. It wasn’t you.” He said it with more certainty than Ranboo had ever said it himself; it wasn’t me. It wasn’t. It’s me now. Ranboo nodded, effectively silenced. Even if he tried to apologize, Ilya would just cut him off again. Maybe it was better.
“What’re you doin’ out here, kid?” Techno asked. Immediately, Ilya’s face lit up again with new energy.
“Oh!” He said, practically jumping up on his toes. “Oh. Okay– you see– okay–” He caught himself, shaking his head. “Wait, no. Okay.”
“Uh huh,” Techno nodded sagely. “I see.”
“No, no,” Ilya laughed. “It’s a surprise. ”
“Not a fan of surprises,” Techno said lightheartedly, but Ilya shook his head.
“You’ll like this one,” he assured them. “I promise. Come on!” Without warning, he grabbed Ranboo’s hand, dragging him forward from where he’d frozen in the snow. Ranboo stumbled forward to keep up. He had to keep his back hunched so Ilya could keep a hold of his hand. He looked to Phil for any sign of an answer, but Phil just shrugged.
“I don’t know what he’s on about,” Phil said. “Don’t look at me.”
“It happened after you left!” Ilya said to Phil. It? “This is new. Come on!”
“We’re right behind you, bud,” Phil laughed, shaking his head.
Ilya dragged the three of them down the path back toward the village, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Slowly, the woods thinned out. There was the same axe they saw last time lodged into an old tree stump, slowly rusting away. They could see chimney smoke. With each step that passed, Ranboo felt his chest grow tighter.
There would be so many eyes on him, boring into him, examining him, scrutinizing, judging, wondering, distrusting. He didn’t know if he could do this. He didn’t know if he could look Rose or Maria in the eye, if he could see the little kids clinging to their parents legs when they saw him. He held tight to Ilya, and Ilya squeezed his hand as though he knew exactly what Ranboo was thinking. He could probably take a solid guess if he tried. From the looks Techno and Phil gave Ranboo, he figured they knew what he was thinking, too.
They saw the remnants of an old shed, firewood stacked in little bundles, a sign nailed to a tree, the letters now impossible to read. They could see roofs peaking between the trees. They could see the fence that bordered the village. But even if Ranboo wanted to dig in his heels or freeze up or overthink, Ilya pulled him onward, ever onward, toward the sounds of talking and plumes of smoke and life, a grin plastered onto his face.
There was a sound, then.
A sound that felt like cracking a knuckle.
It was startling. Ranboo let go of Ilya’s hand, straightening his back. His ears twitched, and his tail flicked from side to side behind him, sweeping through the snow. Something in his chest was suddenly heavy, a pull. His steps slowed to a stop. Techno and Phil looked to each other, but Ranboo could only stare ahead.
“Come on,” Ilya whispered excitedly. He took Ranboo’s hand again. Ranboo felt like his legs were suddenly numb. “Ranboo, come on ,” the boy repeated.
He heard the sound again. A soft sound, crackly and musical, a hum, a warble. It floated up over the trees and sunk deep into the ground and rang in Ranboo’s ears. He felt his heart beat hard, pulling him forward. He felt numb, felt frozen but not cold, felt something telling him to wait, telling him to listen. Look, it said . Look.
Ranboo took one step, then another, strange half steps like a calf being led forward on unfamiliar terrain, forward. There were sounds coming from the village, familiar sounds, voices and laughter and life, and sounds that were more than familiar, warbles and chirps and trills that stuck in the back of Ranboo’s skull like honey, look .
“Look,” Ilya said as they drew closer. “See?” Ranboo saw. He saw the village, the fences, the cobblestone and wood column houses, the pathways that ran between them. He saw the villagers, their faces familiar like he’d seen them in a dream before. He saw them turn when they heard them coming.
He saw the charcoal black creatures standing among them, tall and thin, gangly arms and long fingers hanging loosely at their sides, cloaked in woollen hoods. They turned as well, their eyes suddenly boring into him, look. Look. See?
“They showed up the day after Mr. Philza came,” Ilya said, though his voice sounded to Ranboo like it was a thousand miles away. “We didn’t know what they were, but they seemed familiar, and…” A soft, curious warble rang out from the village. “They knew your name.”
Look.
See?
Do you see now?
Ranboo felt the air leave his lungs like someone else was breathing for him. They turned and they saw and their eyes were bright, bright like the End was dark, familiar like he had never forgotten.
We never stopped looking.
See?
Ranboo opened his mouth, but all that escaped was a low warble, a melody contained within him, a song of longing and memory and guilt.
They sang it back to him.
He knew them. He could name them. Eve, Noctia, Saesha, Edward. They stretched their open palms toward him.
See? We never stopped looking.
Phil rested a hand on Ranboo’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth gently.
“Go,” Phil said softly. “Go to them.”
Why do you cry?
You look just like how we remember.
Has so little changed?