Chapter Text
The coming weeks were full of sleepless nights, and not just for the Server's admin. The moon just kept getting bigger — closer — and different Hermits were trying to find different ways to make it stop. For most, it was all in good fun. They fully believed that Xisuma had it under control.
He did not have it under control.
He didn't have the faintest idea of how to stop the moon from crashing down on them. It was stressing him out beyond words. He was fairly certain that the only things keeping him sane at that point were the occasional visits from other Hermits, his time spent in prayer, and the times when Grian would drag him to bed with the promise of cuddles.
"I think we have to jump ship," Xisuma said to Grian during one such evening of cuddles. "I don't know what'll happen if the moon crashes, but it'll likely leave us with no place to respawn and stick us in a death loop. And I don't think I can stop it, but I should be able to create a season nine world — or at least a season eight-and-a-half world — in time."
"And this is why you're the admin," Grian said with a smile. "I do have a sort of last resort idea to save the season eight world, though, if you can't fix it. I mean, I still think you should go through with making season nine in case my idea falls through, but..."
"What were you thinking?"
"I'm still under the belief that this whole issue is my doing in a best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario being that it's another Watcher trying to smite me, but that's not the point. If I started this, then I could solve it, right? A demigod ought to be able to put a satellite back in orbit."
It was a ridiculous idea if they were being honest with themselves, but it was no more ridiculous than the situation they currently found themselves in. "It's worth a shot if you're up for it."
That night was the last time Xisuma saw Grian for a couple of weeks. They were both busy preparing their plans. X wasn't sure what that entailed on Grian's end, but it meant a lot of all-nighters for him. Under normal circumstances, it would've left him delirious from sleep deprivation, but almost every time he prayed to Xelqua for the energy to keep working or the focus to stay on task, he found himself awake and attentive, able to continue working for otherwise unhealthy periods of time. Perhaps the Wanderer was in support of him making an escape route for the group of wanderers and runaways that he called Hermits.
He was nearly done with the world for season nine when his communicator went off.
<Grian whispers to you> we're out of time
Xisuma teleports to him in an instant. All of Boatem is outside, all staring at the moon that takes up most of the view of the sky.
"Please tell me you have good news," Mumbo said as soon as he saw him.
"I have a viable escape plan," Xisuma reassured, "but right now it's plan B because it's still unstable." He exchanged a look with Grian, who then turned to the rest of the Boatem crew.
"Plan A," Grian said, "is getting all of you inside somewhere safe."
Pearl's eyes widened. "Are you going to—"
Grian nodded. "We all have to face the music eventually. Now go, keep them safe."
Pearl gave Grian a quick hug before running towards one of the more secure bases, dragging Scar and Impulse behind her while Mumbo followed.
"Do you trust me? Because I know what I'm about to say is going to sound ridiculous."
Xisuma nodded. He trusted Grian with his life. "What do you need from me?"
"Close your eyes and pray."
He would give Grian the credit that it did sound ridiculous at first, but Xelqua had been helping him for days now. What's to say they wouldn't help now?
And so Xisuma closed his eyes and took a deep breath as Grian rested a hand on his shoulder. He became distinctly aware that Grian was now a Watcher and not a player, less by the sound of the alarm that was gone as quickly as it appeared, and more by the cold feeling of his hand that left the impression of void-kissed skin.
"Be calm," he said, and it was the same honey-sweet tone of galactic in which Grian said his name. It was love itself. "You are safe."
Despite the danger he knew he was in, Grian's words soaked Xisuma to his core. He was at peace, and he prayed. He prayed for the Server's protection. He prayed that the moon would return to where it belonged. He prayed that the band of wanderers in his care, his family, the people he loved, would live to see the sunrise.
His ears rang. The earth shook around him. There was a light so bright that it was blinding even through his visor with his eyes closed.
And Xisuma felt safe.
There was silence. Everything went still. The world was dark again. Xisuma opened his eyes. The moon was back where it belonged, and Grian—
Grian was no longer Grian. He had too many eyes, all purple and all shining like stars. He had wings that stretched to twice his size and then some. And every piece snapped together at once.
Grian wasn't just a Watcher. Grian was his Watcher.
"Xelqua."
"Xisuma," they said, their hand grasping his, "my devout." Their voice sounded like peace, rest, and calm. And then the eyes were closing, and the wings were folding away into nothingness, and before him stood Grian. "My love." His voice sounded like safety, trust, and a promise.
Xisuma hugged him tight, and he never wanted to let go. "I love you," he whispered, and he never meant anything more.
(Scar will joke in the coming weeks about how "true love saved the Server," and no one will correct him. Nor will any of the Hermits comment with more than a silent smile when Grian and Xisuma become nigh inseparable. Even if the complicated nature of their relationship remained the Server's most well-kept secret, the relationship itself would be the most well-known.)