Happy Hermit-a-Day May 2026! Zedaph's day! We'll see how many days I get through!
Writing also under the cut!:
When he was there, in its clutches, at its mercy—he was a mush of himself and what he wasn't. He knew its plans, because it bothered to share them with him—far before it gave the others instructions. He knew that it was only doing those awful things to get back at entities called Watchers. And he felt–
Zedaph felt so much.
It was overwhelming, just how much the Being—Echo—had shoved into his heart.
He suddenly felt like he'd failed the ones who raised him; but his family was a caring herd, even if they weren't the most progressive.
He suddenly felt like maybe he wasn't doing something right– he felt like he should be doing worse– he felt like the Hermits deserved everything they got. He wanted to pull them apart, he wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he needed to prove himself—
But it wasn't Zed.
Zed was controlled, he loved his fellow Hermits. They didn't deserve any of what it did to them. He didn't want to hurt any of them, and he knows he did, because he couldn't help but move his body when it commanded him.
He hurt Ren. He hurt Doc. He hurt everyone.
But it wasn't Zed.
It was Echo. The Being, the Entity. It got into his head. And yet...
He can't help but still blame himself. He went up to Echo, he made those deals.
Zedaph hurt his friends. Not any kind of possession, Zed did.
And he's so, so afraid right now.
So much has happened—it's a new season, Season 10. But it followed them. It came back, and they're all hurting again.
He doesn't want to believe it, but it's all in his face. There's so much proof, but it almost doesn't feel real. He wants to shove the Being into a box and shove that into a corner of his mind. He wants to stop being hurt by it, he wants to stop being so pathetic about every reminder he gets of it. He wants to forget.
But Wels and Beef came back without Jevin. Skizz left Impulse dying, and didn't turn back. Impulse died in Zed's arms, in the dead of night, and how can they be fully sure he's okay? And now– xB returned from the Nether, without his excursion group—False, Doc, Cub, Mumbo, Keralis.
What is he supposed to think?
And now Joel?
He wants to do something. He used to know Echo. Zedaph used to be able to brave explosions and dragons and evil counterparts with smiles. Now he just feels scared.
All because of a stupid, green entity.
He is so done.
He isn't under Echo's influence, but it feels like it sometimes. Sometimes he still feels them, whatever they left in him, in the back of his mind.
He wants to be done with it all. And he wants his friends back. He wants to be safe again.
He wants to make up with Ren.
He wants to trust people, to not feel like a ticking time bomb of anxiety.
He wants to help the server, he wants to let Joel help everyone.
He wants to feel like himself again.
Not Echo, not whatever Zed he was in Season 9 and he did so much damage. Not a broken hybrid. Not a friend Tango needs to hold together when they're all hurting so badly.
He's ready to move on, he thinks. And he wants to have a fun season. With everyone. With Skizz and Impulse, with Ren and Doc, with Joel and Xisuma. And Etho, and Bdubs, and Grian and— everyone.
He wants to laugh and smile, and he wants...
Zedaph feels tears build up behind his eyes, but he's so sick of crying, because it hasn't taken him anywhere so far. So he swallows them back and turns to the blazeborn beside him, the man that never left, that has held strong beside him even when Zed has seen him shaking with fear and anger.
"Tango," he says. And some of his resolve must bleed through, because Tango turns so quickly, and something bright is in his red eyes again.
He knows, Zed thinks. He doesn't even have to say it out loud.
But he does smile, though it's wobbly, and his friend looks so relieved that Zedaph almost thinks he'll cry those magma tears of his.
Tango's been so strong for the both of them these past weeks—as Skizz was whisked away, when Impulse died. While Zed kept on breaking and breaking, fracturing into smaller pieces, the blazeborn made sure there was something for each piece to fall into, so that when the sheep hybrid was ready, he could piece himself back together again.
And he thinks he's ready now. Tango knows, because he's Zedaph's best friend, and nothing more needs to be said.
Zedaph won't hold the remaining Hermits back. He'll go with these new ideas, he'll pick himself back up and help.
Because he used to know that bad, green entity so, so well. And...
He wants to play games this season, with his friends. He wants to be happy.
And– goddamnit, he's sick of Echo holding him back.
Tango hugs Zedaph tight, and the first piece of Zed fixes itself.
He's ready.
They're going to take Hermitcraft back, with everything they have up their sleeve.
Keralis has been possessed. He's brought back to Echo's new residence, Cub's base. He thinks it's a bit funny, because Cub was possessed too, and now the alien gets to come home. The Being separates from their possessed, perching up high; Jevin at their feet.
Echo is proud of themself, and Keralis thinks that's fair. He can tell that they are only a tiny bit disappointed by the loss of his Princess.
He winces when he sits down against one of the many decorations in the sculk valley of Cub's base. Huh.
His brain is split.
Not in a pretty way, not like he could complete so much if he wanted. It feels like he is thinking one, good thing, and another force is sitting on top of that good thing and saying something else. No, that's not right.
He feels squished.
Does that make sense?
He hurts. His brain is pulling every which way. He sees Impulse and Mumbo, and they seem fine. They're perfect for Echo. Easily felled under whatever mind control magic it has.
Jevin melts—but he's fine, no? And Doc and False, they're alright. Skizz acts great.
It must just be him.
Keralis doesn't know why.
He isn't special. Is there something in his brain? Someone that was already there? He would have known.
It just hurts. Keralis can still think, he's still here. He sees—he sees them all, he does!
But he isn't. He doesn't.
There's another Keralis. He doesn't like the real Papa K.
That's why it hurts.
He's split.
Echo has one half of him—the half that lays in the sculk, the half that had no trouble chasing after his Princess, the half that Keralis fears would hurt another Hermit if Echo so much as glanced at them menacingly. And like it.
The other half is Keralis. The real Keralis. Because that's the good Keralis.
The original is the good Keralis, right?
He's a Hermit. He– he builds, he flirts. He plays around with everybody, but–
The other Keralis does that too?
He's Echo's Hermit.
He—
Keralis. He's Keralis. There are two, though, because another was chasing people. And he's still here. There's— he–
Bad and Good Keralis. Right? Black and white?
Left and right?
Right and wrong?
He hurts.
Keralis holds his head and whines, strange in a way that makes him think of an animal. Maybe a dog. Like Ren. Like–
His mind can't handle possession, he decides.
He writhes on the ground, sculk sticking to his flowery shirt. It tickles his skin. It doesn't hurt, not like the Nether did when he was still running from Echo. But he never stopped. But he— what was he doing?
Screaming.
He screams. He hurts.
Eyes are on him, they're not Shashwam's.
Xisuma is gone, silly. Well, wait–
The eyes are green. Lime green. There are so many, because Echo has caught so many in their web of possession. Do they hurt too?
What happened to X?
Oh, that doesn't matter.
Keralis is seizing on the ground, he knows it. His hands pull at his hair, pulling out tufts in desperation. That hurts too, adds to the splitting inside his head. Inside and out. He hurts.
He doesn't want to hurt.
He– he wants–
A friend. He wants xB.
Oh gods.
Keralis screams again, he doesn't think xB's name comes out, but he wants it to. His face is wet, his eyes burn, burn, burn. He feels like fire. Like Tango always is. Can Echo fix it? Can they help him?
He wants help.
Please.
His eyes wildly look around, trying to find someone. Where are his friends? Where is his controller? Keralis sees sculk, and diamonds, and worthless jewels he doesn't need right now.
Is this a code glitch? Is he glitching, tearing apart?
Does the Universe think he's broken, perma-dead? She's pulling at him, she's hurting him. Must be, must be.
But why? Why, why, why?
Xisuma could fix this. He knows code. He could save Keralis.
WHERE IS HE?
Gone.
He was gone at the beginning, and no one knows where he went.
Mother Universe, Keralis pleads. He wants it to stop.
He might be bleeding now. Why isn't anyone helping him?
His mouth opens again, ready for another scream, just in time for more head-splitting pain. But, finally– someone.
"Keralis." Slimy hands grab him from behind the shoulders and yank him up to face a speaker. His throat stops working and his eyes loll around. He meets the lime-green of False, he thinks, for just a moment.
The pain stops for a second, and there it is. His saviour. They've stopped Keralis' breaking. The original lime eye.
"What happened?" Echo asks. Not Keralis, they don't bother looking at him now that he isn't screaming and writhing. They ask the others that didn't help him.
"No idea," Skizz chirps first. Also near, apparently.
Oh, Keralis isn't sure either. But it's coming back, he feels it. The pain. The splitting.
"Echo..." he mumbles, because his Princess isn't here, Shashwammy isn't here– no one but– "I–"
The pain shoves at him again, angry this time, upset at having been silenced. Ripping at him, his very being, his code soul—everything that tethers him to Hermitcraft, that keeps him whole. His eyes roll back, his body feels like it's melting just like Jevin's. It's too much, the extra presence in his head. He doesn't know why. His brain can't handle this. He doesn't know how the others do it.
He's scared.
Oh, he thinks.
Echo's sharp eyes dart back to him, he feels their attention, and Keralis thinks, for a moment, that the entity feels alarm. Strange. He doesn't like it. If Echo doesn't know what's going on either, he might be doomed. If Echo can't fix him, what will happen?
This might be the end, he thinks.
Keralis sinks back, slime catching his body.
He opens his lime-green eyes again, no longer hurting, to a night sky. False and Skizz are beside him. He sighs, glad. Echo saved him.
Though, something feels strange. Not like before. It doesn't hurt. He isn't two unfit halves fighting for control. He is... empty-handed. Like something was taken from him.
How strange.
He feels like he only is half. Where did the other part go?
Echo buried it, killed it, maybe, perhaps; something. He should thank them. He would have unraveled. That wouldn't have been good. Then there would be no...
Oh, he thinks.
He looks to the stars—he feels nothing; nothing familiar, anyway. And he smiles crookedly. What is he now? He has this body, he has some memory, but...
Beef blinks his eyes open after the best sleep he's had in what feels like ages, and is greeted with an unfamiliar ceiling. The only thing that keeps him from panicking is the weight laying beside him. Etho. He remembers where he is. One of the little huts in Joel's mountain, expanded on the inside to give him and his friend enough space to inhabit.
Not that Etho takes up much space right now, anyway.
Beef takes a deep, steadying breath. He pulls the blankets piled on top of him aside and stands.
He looks around the little space set up for him and steps forward to open one of the chests lined on the same wall as the furnaces. When blocks closed Beef into the shrine-like hut, he hadn't thought he would feel claustrophobic in the space Scar and Joel dug out for him. It is plenty big, his friends hadn't wanted to leave him cramped and all alone.
But Beef isn't all alone. He has Etho. Even if Etho won't open his eyes anytime soon, even if he won't respond to Beef's questions—he has Etho.
He still has Etho.
It is worrying, though, Beef thinks as he sits at the foot of the bed with an apple. Everyone else is still out there, and Joe took his and Etho's communicators so they wouldn't be tracked here. He has no connection to the outside. No way of knowing who is getting hurt, if Echo is getting closer.
How will he spend the time? As much as he has been doing it the past days, having one-sided conversations with Etho's comatose body isn't exactly stimulating.
How will he know when it's safe to break out with the pickaxe Scar left him? When Etho wakes up?
What if Etho never wakes up?
No, he can't think like that. Beef shakes his head and pulls on the lead wrapped around his bicep to snap himself out of it.
He looks around at the lights and shulkers left behind by his friends. Etho's soft tail twitches against Beef's hip and he stands again. Maybe, he thinks, Joel left him some things in a shulker he didn't check before that could occupy him.
He scratches at his beard and hopes there's a comb in there too—for both him and Etho.
Man, he should have checked better beforehand what was packed.
Luckily, inside a shulker tucked into the corner of his new main space, are a couple of books. He assumes they're apart of Joe's collection, considering they're actual books—not enchanted ones, or random book and quills, or empty spines. It makes him smile.
Beef leans against the bed frame with an open book, close enough to his friend that he can hear his breaths in the silence of the hut. His heartbeat too, if he strains his ears enough and stays still. It's comforting, because Etho's state is the only reason he's in this hut.
To keep Etho alive, to ensure he isn't in distress if– when the fox hybrid wakes up.
Etho lets out a shaky sigh in sleep after a minute, and Beef whips his head toward his friend.
Etho isn't looking back, he isn't blearily stirring, his eyes aren't even open.
But his brows are furrowed, and his hand is clenched into the blankets where he'd managed to wriggle it free. Beef removed Etho's mask the day before, after everyone had sealed him off, so that he could breathe easier. He figured the fox hybrid wouldn't mind, considering they're alone now, and he's trusted Beef before to see his face.
"Etho?" Beef worried at his lip and lowered the book.
He didn't get a response, not a proper one, but he did get another small noise. It's better than nothing.
But he doesn't know how he can soothe the other, he doesn't know what's rattling on in that head of Etho's. Is he having a bad dream? Or does he sense Echo's moves?
Is it torture?
Is he happy?
Beef wishes he knew.
"Hey, Etho," Beef says.
Etho still doesn't turn.
Beef knows he won't. But he still tries to think Etho at least heard. He sighs and looks back to his book, willing tears away. He really doesn't need to be crying right now, it doesn't do anything, it's just tiring.
"...See you soon?"
He thinks Etho whines in response—high and fox-like. But it could just be part of his sleeping state, again.
Beef takes another deep breath and tells his emotions to calm themselves. It'll be okay. Everything will be okay.
Etho will wake up, Beef tells himself.
Echo will go away, for good this time, Beef tells himself.
It'll be okay, Beef tells himself.
He reaches up and grabs onto Etho's hand, squeezing tight. And if he dreams just a bit himself, he can feel his friend squeezing back. He probably just is feeling the tension in the fox hybrid release. Either way, it's relieving.
Beef goes back to his book and, after a moment, he restarts and reads it from the beginning. Out loud, this time. He hopes it can keep Etho calm while he rests.
Outside, somewhere, Echo could be hurting his friends. They are—Beef knows it. But right now, he has one that needs him. And he'll be here. Waiting. Waiting, for as long as it takes. He just desperately hopes he doesn't need to wait forever.
Beef glances at Etho, faltering for a moment, wondering—
His arm is seized, and Etho is dragged up from where he'd collapsed earlier, limbs aching. Pearl's sharp smile greets him when he lifts his head. She's wearing a beautiful, long dress, the fabric dark and glittering like a night sky, a slit up the side for easier movement. Etho's wearing part of a suit, the blazer gone, but his trousers a mossy green that reminds him of Bdubs. His shirt is just as dark as Pearl's, his collar popped and a button undone.
Pearl would look beautiful herself—though her hair is shorter and white head wings glitter in a chandelier's light. But Etho can't ignore one thing that is so distinctly not her. The one thing that makes him wary—every other little difference could be brushed aside, if he wanted; but not this.
Her lime green eyes.
Everyone in his worlds have transformed since he tried to run toward Beef's voice. Their eyes are green, the changes to every one of them bigger. Species different, hair colours shifted. Some of them are rougher with him. Harsher. Depending on the world.
"Cat got your tongue?" Pearl chuckles when he doesn't respond, dropping his arm to grip her mace with both hands. Etho has one too, limp in his grip, dragging on the ground in the misty, empty ballroom they fight in.
"I think an entity sounds more right."
Pearl's barks out a twisted laugh, like she knows something he doesn't. Backing up a step, her heeled boots tap on the floor. She shakes her head and lifts her mace high above her head, grin turning wicked. Her eyes glow.
Etho, despite being done with this scene, flinches back and begins to raise his too. Even though he knows no real harm can come to him, fear rushes through his blood and his magic desperately flares under his skin when his arms move too slow.
Nothing happens, because it never seems like he's a Listener in these worlds.
Pearl's mace comes down hard, hitting his skull roughly—and instead of respawning in the bed in the corner of the ballroom, the world ripples.
"Geez, Eefo. What's wrong with you?"
Joel wrinkles his nose at the fox hybrid, leaning forward in a plush chair. He's dressed in a loose flannel opposed to his usual vest, and dog ears like the ones he adopts in some Life Series twitch atop his head. His hair is pulled out of his face with pins.
Etho blinks and takes in the change this time, fighting off the disorientation that came with his sudden departure of the last world. He appears to be in a log cabin, the living room, if the blazing fireplace is any indicator. He's wearing a loose green shirt, and his own flannel is draped over his chair.
"Just dizzy. Hi Joel," Etho greets, letting his shoulders relax. Joel is, surprisingly, usually one of the nicer people in his dreams.
"Sup," Joel leans back again, eyes lazily taking in the way Etho slumps into the soft chair. "So, how's it going?"
His green eyes fit his face well—despite normally being brown, Etho's always thought so, when Joel appears.
He hates it. How could the Being's mark of control fit his old soulmate? How could Etho even think it?
"Awful."
"Ah... shame."
They're silent, and Etho takes in the cabin again. He can't look behind him, so he assumes there isn't anything there but Nothing. On the mantel above the fireplace is a model ship, and the table separating him and Joel is carved with three hearts. So, this is Life Series inspired.
He wonders how the Enity even knows of the Life Series. Did it see all of the memories of it in Etho's head? Do they sift through everything he knows just to make these tailored worlds, do they know everything he does? More? The thought makes Etho curl up on himself a bit.
"How's Beef?" Joel says, breaking the oddly comfortable silence.
He confirms what Etho subconsciously knows. Beef is with him—with his actual body—in the real world where the Being is rampant. It was blurry when he first started traversing these... dreams. They felt so real, so surely they must have been, right? Now, he remembers.
The Being found him in the Nether, checking over the mail system. They told him he was clever, told him they didn't like that. They'd pulled on his ear and said–
Stay out of my way this time.
He shivers and Joel raises an eyebrow at him.
Etho wishes he could open his eyes and see his friend's face and ask about what Echo has done, how many they've lost, whether communication with hub worlds or the Watchers or Listeners is possible, and use his power to help. He wishes Beef wasn't so far away right now, that he could crawl to the outer reachings of a dream, somehow, without someone finding him, and wake up.
But he can't.
"I don't know." Etho shrugs painfully, forcing himself to keep eye contact.
Joel blinks lazily at him. "Man, you're an awful conversationalist, Eefo. Do you want more practice? I betcha you can get a school dream if you think hard enough—"
"I can't control it," Etho cuts in harshly, startled by the other's acknowledgement of this being a dream. Joel's grin turns sharp, like Pearl's did. The fox hybrid leans back.
There's always one thing about Life Series inspired dreams...
"Poor thing. Stuck in dreams because of Their magic. Sucks, huh? They can't possess you, and you're too smart to hide like Xisuma, so you're. Stuck in these dreams where you see false versions of your friends. Do you feel bad?" He clicks his tongue. "Poor, poor Eefo."
Etho hates the words coming out of Joel's mouth. It lights a surprising anger in him, because this is a Life Series dream.
He's reminded of the feeling of turning red in a Game.
"Shut up, Joel."
"Make me."
There's always one thing about Life Series dreams...
A knife shines in the firelight on the table between them suddenly, and Etho is barely shocked the dream has taken such a turn. It's a pretty knife at least, with a shine to it that shows it's enchanted, and the both of them eye it—Joel more predatory than him.
They take violent turns.
Etho lunges for the knife before his old soulmate can, not fond of the idea of ending two dreams in a row with a death. Joel's dog self comes crashing down on top of him, sharp fangs meeting his shoulder in an attempt to get him to drop the weapon.
But he's experienced this before—the bites, the frantic fighting, Joel's unique style of attacking. It's a Life Series dream, after all. And, you know, his dream.
He almost wants to make a joke about neck kisses.
Etho thinks better of it and shoves himself back into his chair, forcing the dog hybrid's head to collide with the wooden leg of it. Joel whines like a puppy and the guilt flashes through him immediately.
He doesn't want to hurt his friend—impersonation or not, the theme of the dream aside. This is all orchestrated by the Being, and he hates complying every time. He hates that he needs to do these things, that it's even an option.
But as awful as he feels doing it, Etho's also so tired.
He just wants the dream to end. Then he can forget it, and tell himself that he's never had to do any of these violent acts in any of his dreams, remind himself that Joel is still okay outside, safe from the Entity.
He hopes so, at least.
So, Etho stabs Joel in between his shoulder blades, the man's dog features falling limp as he slumps. Dead in one hit. He almost wants to lean over and vomit, or cry, just to prove to himself he still has a conscience, that he isn't unfeeling—that he still cares.
But he's falling backward at a dizzying speed, and the weight of Joel's death disappears from his lap.
He wakes up in a dirty yellow room, lying on the ground and looking up at flickering fluorescents. Etho tilts his head and sees dirty yellow wallpaper and hallways—many, many hallways; all connecting to rooms that look identical. It looks nearly infinite, just from his spot on the floor. He wants to scream.
He's so tired.
Etho forces himself up and walks, because if he doesn't then he can't get past this scene—and as much as he just wants to rest, this awful world doesn't seem like the right place.
There's nothing remarkable in the rooms, not even a Hermit that fits the ugly theme and will walk with him just to tease and laugh at him. No lime green eyes in sight.
He isn't sure whether to be glad or upset.
He decides on the latter, once the rooms finally change. They become concrete, with debris and homely furniture sparsely scattered about, covered in grime. It's awful. He hates it. Etho wonders where the idea for this world even came from.
The dirtiness is awful, and he runs to get away from it. He's sick of this. But he wants to get OUT.
Etho feels his throat constrict and his eyes burn as he runs, but he doesn't grow tired from the strain. It's all fake, this world. It's a dream.
GET HIM OUT.
The rooms flicker dark, shadows lurking in the corners in the shapes of bears and ominously large, green arches over his head.
Rooms full of windows that could show him in his reflection that he's back in the apple orchard outfit, as if this dream couldn't manifest a new one for him. All of the effort was wasting on the stupid, endless rooms, he supposes.
He sees metal doors lining walls. Shiny, tiled floors that reflect the lights above. Colourful toy rooms, full of rounded edges.
He feels like he's driving himself crazy—he wants it all to end. Every single dream, every fake world, every friend that isn't his. He just wants to go back to Beef. He wants...
Wake up
It's awful. It feels endless and endless and endless. Etho stops running at some point, listlessly wandering through hall after hall, door after door. He finally cries—over himself instead of the others.
And it makes him feel so selfish, but he can't help it.
Wake Up
When he stops, he knows he hasn't left the dream. There's always a shift, a ripple in the entire world itself; and then he's gone to the next. Etho doesn't know when this one will end. No one has appeared before him, not a single Hermit. He hasn't even heard a voice.
He can't hear Beef, and he wonders if he isn't there anymore. If the Being got him. If Etho's only a lost Hermit now, someone who won't be more than a second thought anymore.
When he stops, he's at a staircase. At the bottom, there's a pool of water that he had to swim through. All the wandering is catching up to him, and his body aches and... he's tired.
Isn't it ironic? He thinks he's been asleep, for so long, but he's tired. His friends are in danger, and he's tired. He doesn't know what Grian or Bdubs or Xisuma are doing, because surely they'd have fixed this already if they were okay. Grian would have contacted the Watchers, Bdubs would have called on the Head Listener. Something, anything.
And he would be awake, if things were okay.
WAKE UP
But he doesn't know. He has no idea. He's just stuck.
Etho stares down at the lake at the bottom of the tiled stairs for a long while. They go further, and water drips down from somewhere above, so he knows he hasn't reached the end. He still hasn't. He still hasn't.
For a moment, he thinks that he'll stay here until he wakes up. What's the point in going through anymore worlds, meeting more fakes?
What's the point, if he never wakes up at all?
Then, his ears twitch at a familiar sound. Of course. Of course, he's still there. It's been so long. But he wouldn't leave.
"See you soon," Beef says, and Etho whines. High, in the back of his throat. A keen.
"Of course," he whispers to the empty dream, wishing Beef could hear. "Soon. When I get out."
When I get out?
He stands up, a new amount of determination flooding his veins. He starts up the stairs again, each step echoing in the damp stairwell. When he's out, Etho needs to thank his old friend.
He'll hug Beef and give him as much access to any of his farms as the man could want. Tears bloom in the corners of his eyes again, but Beef's voice echoes through the watery rooms he finds himself in. He can't tell what he's saying anymore, but it's there.
It's there it's there it's there.
He's still there.
Beef hasn't given up on him yet, so Etho continues walking through pools and slides and wet hallways.
If Beef is still there, then that means the Being doesn't have everyone; there are still people, friends, Hermits, that he needs to be there for.
He dreams. He's lost among the weavings of his own mind. Etho sees apple orchards, Etho sees multi-coloured suns, Etho sees tiny houses, Etho sees tall trees reaching for the stars, Etho sees waters clearer than glass. Wonders, colours.
He sees his friends in different scenes, dramatic changes or soft, changed outfits.
Gem with her hair standing up underwater, Gem surrounded by leaves and apples.
BDubs as small as his hand, BDubs dancing around the sun.
Tango walking on air, Tango running through the mail system, searching and hiding.
Beef, Doc, Xisuma, Impulse, Hypno, Wels—everyone. Even if he only catches a glimpse of dyed hair or bright eyes or patched clothes. Etho sees them all.
But—there are sounds and feelings, things that interrupt it all. Things that make Etho wonder about what he sees and feels and hears—that make him question and wonder.
Etho feels uncomfortable heat making apples go rotten. Then he feels weights on his body. Then he feels ice touching him.
Etho hears scattered noises, sounding familiar but detached. His ears flick to catch them, but they run away.
He feels hands on his own, but when he looks down in the scene he's in there is nothing.
Etho hears mumbles of his name, but when he turns none of the Hermits with him are the cause.
Etho's mind tickles, and his starry sky will take on a green tint, and he'll see Joel. But then he's kicked out and shoved underground.
He sees blurred faces and lines and objects that he thinks should be familiar, but they're gone before he can tell. Replaced by another wonderful picture, by another Hermit's smiling face to fit the new scene.
He'll hear Beef's voice, maybe Doc's echoing, talking to him. Interrupting his scene—dream?—with a reminder, with a comment, with a cry, with a whisper. Sounding from the sky, his face unseen most times. Sometimes muffled, sometimes—
"... stay with Etho."
Clear as day.
And sometimes Etho breaks away from the Hermits' hold on him, runs through the scene. The dream. Trying to find it.
Blood, drip, drip, dripping onto his hands, down his arms. Heavy, wet, slick and sticky.
A heavy weight crushing his lungs. Another searching for support in his arms.
Eyes—brown and foggy. Familiar. He watches the life fade out of them, and then one of the weights disappear. But not the one he wants to disappear, not the way he wants. Of course, it's never that kind.
Red red red, staining his hands, his shirt, the bedspread. Clouding his head.
A banshee screech, grating into his head and hurting his ears. The buzz of a thousand comms going off at once. Another scream like a blazing wildfire, whooshing into his soft ears and burning his insides.
Impulse is gone. Dead. Disappeared while he did nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He couldn't save him. It's all his fault. Isn't it? It's his fault again. He brought downfall to them again, despite wanting to save them. But he still hurt them. It's his fault again. Because—
Echo is back. Why? Why why why why why?
He doesn't want this pain again. He doesn't want to be used. He doesn't want naivety to take control. He doesn't want favouritism. He doesn't want a demanding voice in his head, a hand controlling his own.
Zedaph wakes up with a gasp, jolting and shoving himself up at a dizzyingly quick speed, pushing on the body beside him. His short tail is twitching and his ears are pressed to the side of his head so hard the muscles hurt. Heart jumping, body shaking, mind racing. Fear driving. The body also jolts awake, bright, warm fire flaring brighter in startled panic.
Zed meets blood-red eyes, he shudders and flinches away from the colour, squeezing his own eyes shut. He doesn't want to see. He doesn't want the reminder. He doesn't want to see his blood imprinted on everything again. Tango jerks up and grabs his shoulders, sitting both of them up and letting their blankets fall and pool around them. "Hey? Zed, what's wrong? What happened?"
Zedaph takes deep breaths, urging his mind to settle and for his heart to stop racing and slow. Tango's fingers dig into his shoulders, it's painful but grounding. He isn't sure if the blazeborne is aware of the action. Zed leans into the warmth he feels, grasping at Tango's sides and burying his face into the blaze's shoulder. Clinging tightly, desperately—because it's all he can do. Cling and try. Try—
Zed tries pushing it away—the fear, the ghost of reality weighing him down. The memory of everything that happened before, on season nine, when Echo first came. Of what he did; The mistakes he made. Hurting Ren, pushing Doc, and endangering all his friends because he naively thought he was helping. He wasn't. He was causing more harm and twisting all of the knives Echo stabbed in harsher.
Tango hugs him, running one of his clawed hands through Zed's curly hair while the other remains firmly grasping his shoulder. He's silent while Zed muffles his sobs in the blaze's warmth, Tango simply remains a warm presence for Zed to cry on. Something shakily trying to stabilise Zedaph and keep his pieces together.
"Zed..." the blazeborn whispers. Tango's hands tremble, Zed can feel, as they cling and soothe. Zedaph knows why—it's the same reason for his nightmare.
Impulse and Skizz.
Echo took both of them, in different surely cruel, void-awful ways. Skizz left unfound by them, despite the frantic search, simply an imprint of feathers around Impulse. They both saw the aftermath—a crime scene they found together, with Joel. Wet floorboards, blood stained stones, dirty and broken feathers and—of course, the worst find—Impulse himself, nearly dead. They only lost Impulse a day later, after they tried so hard to save him. Tore up Joel's base searching for a remedy, argued over a solution. They failed. It was awful—it happened right in Zed's arms.
Echo took away their S and their I. Two opposite fourths of their square that always firmly stood its ground. It left them alone. Two out of four remaining, desperately clinging to each other, afraid of losing more. Afraid of being reduced to one out of four.
Zedaph knows Tango is afraid—though for slightly different reasons than he is.
Zedaph fears Echo. He fears a repeat, he fears what could happen, he fears losing more precious bonds—void knows his friendship with Ren remains only connected by a simple frayed string. He fears that Echo could break into his own mind and spirit again, force upon him these extra feelings that he still vividly remembers knowing so well. Zed fears for what Echo could make him do.
Tango fears for Zed himself. He fears losing another, he fears all of his friends being taken, possessed, hurt. Tango doesn't want to lose more than has already been taken from him—Zed knows all too well just how much it can hurt to have people ripped away by Echo.
Truly, Zedaph simply fears. And he wishes for a time machine to bring himself back to before, to the start of the season. Then he will warn Xisuma of Echo's attack on him, and he will warn Joe and X and anyone capable to watch the code and. And he will warm Etho of the target to placed on his back. And he will warn Grian and BDubs of their own. And he will warn Impulse and Skizz. And he will apologise to everyone again. And he would fix it.
Couldn't things have stayed better?
Zedaph lifts his head, shakily pulling away from Tango to look out the window. The sun is peeking through the cracks between the buildings in the skyline, teasing the streets with its almost-arrived warmth.
Couldn't Echo have stayed away?
Zed turns again to look at Tango, and it breaks his heart to see the concern and fear and barely-there-anger in his red eyes. Concern for Zedaph's health, fear for the server and Zedaph's being, anger towards Echo's actions—Zed can name Tango's feelings like he can his own.
Couldn't we have stayed healing, moving towards being okay?
Zedaph mehs and buts Tango's chest, trying to shove all of the reassurance and thanks and support and love and care into the single gesture he's done millions of times to every ZITS member. A show of affection special to his hybrid status that he uses for them.
Why can't their wounds stay as healing scabs, not open injuries?
Tango hugs him tight again and purrs in response, his soft tail resting over Zed's back. Another soft gesture that Zedaph is used to, something that sometimes he feels he doesn't deserve. After all, with all he's done, how could he deserve Tango's warmth? But then he still clings to it, is grateful for it, and never wants to lose it.
Will their wounds ever be able to scar?
The sun continues to rise. The city's lights become less bright. Zed remains in Tango's arms—clinging to the man, to the warmth, to the reminder that he is indeed worth love, to the memory of sometime better. Tango remains with Zedaph. They are together, in this moment, on this early morning, in this dire time. And Zed wishes for it to last, and he wonders and he wishes. And he—
"And today, I burned my hands on Barrier! ... Yes, I know—not the smartest of me. But I couldn't let another little turtle through. They aren't the tastiest... Well, I know! All food is good in my situation, but can't I at least keep some picky-ness, Keralis?"
Xisuma glances at the cod head representing his friend, the smaller head propped up against the glow squid representing xB. X huffs in response to something that wasn't said—something only he hears. He responds, his voice echoing loudly, "I know! I'm figuring out treatment now..."
X looks back to his hands, carefully prodding at the burns on his fingertips. The skin is peeling near his nails, which are bitten and bleeding in some places—not just from the newly acquired burns. He hums a familiar tune to himself, from a past season, though every time he tries to recall the words his brain cannot recall. Xisuma's muscles are sore and stiff and his are eyes droopy from fitful sleeping on cobblestones and smooth stones, his vision blurs for a moment.
He stops humming and drops his hands into his lap. Theres a crack, right near his cobblestone bed-table-cutting-slab. Xisuma's gaze drifts. And another, closer to the wall. Then around the pool of water. X looks up, curiously studying the ceiling. The are cracks everywhere up there. Some X made, some were there when the Entity put him in here. Above the multitude of animal heads Xisuma knows there are cracks and scratches in the wall, labelling that side as "Hermits' Home". Actually, all over the stone, X realises with mild shock, there are words and scribbles and scratches. Made with other stones.
" Barrier doesn't like be touch " is scribbled into the edge around the pool of water. Xisuma drags his knees across the rock, reopening a scab on them and smearing blood, turning to see more. One on wall there are lines of code, a mish mosh of bits that X remembers of Hermitcraft's code written down to study—for something to do. Some parts aren't even code, just frowny faces or random letters.
Drawings of fish, a try at drawing a person in the corner that is scratched over brutally, words. Xisuma finds himself bemused and a bit worried at the words he finds—but he wrote them, didn't he? Oh yeah, he knows he did. X drags himself closer to a few, so he can trace over them.
Loud , regarding the way sounds reverberate in the cave. Hello? repeated in a line all across the floor. Then a different response right under each one, ranging from "go away" to "hi!". Conversations written down. His own name written over and over and over around his table-bed slab; "X", "Shashwam", "Suma", "Xisuma". Xisuma? Yeah, yes. Xisuma.
"Oh!" X exclaims, looking up from the scratches and turning to stare at his Hermits—at the aquatic animal heads. "Sorry, I got distracted. You aren't mad! No, no. You just wanna..."
X drags himself in front of the fish and other creatures, mindlessly avoiding crawling in dried blood. He hasn't stood up in a while, even though the cave is tall enough for him to—though just barely. It's more comfortable to sit ( is it? ). Standing hurts eventually, anyway. X gently lifts up the cod that he knows is—representing—Keralis, cradling it close to his face. "You just care about me."
Suma slumps, his arms lowering. He looks over every Hermit—all of the heads of fish and shellfish and squid. His voice wobbles with his next words. "You all care, right?"
X's eyes dart over every pair of blank fish eyes and squid head. Hermit voices echo in his head, some saying what he wants to hear, some the opposite. The voices aren't heard by the stone walls trapping Xisuma. Only X hears the tones, the familiar speech patterns. They're stuttered, and X can't tell. He fears forgetting entirely how his friends sound and speak. Forgetting recognition.
How long has he been here, in this cave?
Xisuma strokes the fish head absently, lowering onto his side. He's tired. X curls up beside xB and Hypno—a glow squid and a cod head—his hands and knees bleeding and his muscles aching. He holds Keralis—the old, beginning to rot due to him not having the means to preserve it, cod head—close to his chest. Just past Hypno is Grian and Scar, Doc, Etho, Cleo, Zed...
All are decapitated sea creature heads. X doesn't always remember that.
How long has he been trapped, all alone, in this cave—among the fish he chooses to call his Hermits? X isn't sure, but he thinks he'll go crazy if he stays longer. Xisuma hums—a cracking, painful sound, rather than musical—and closes his eyes.
