Archive of Our Own

Hands shaking, hairs standing, legs shivering- an arm reaching down towards the river-

The trees aren’t swaying. The water’s not flowing. The gravel isn’t twirling atop the shore, the frozen water forming no waves. No echoing shouts with smiles, no chattering of birds, and no quiet hiss of the wind racing through red and yellow leaves. Dipping a finger into the cold cold cold water, there’s no ripple. The gleam of the fish in the hermitsippi glassy, bright reflection still as a lamp on the nightstand instead of a fireflies glitter.

Breath catches in Mumbo’s throat. Shooting up, the shadow of the tree above him stays still. Actually- he stumbles forward. The Entity and Scar’s tree stand proudly in the sky, Scar’s reaching up to the skyline, covering the oranges and yellows. Atop the tree, there’s formless, senseless bubbles. Circles of white that are frozen, a gleam coming off one select part, firing it towards the earth and the circle, hard shape screaming out. Colors screaming into eyes, cutting through the deep blue to scream into the atoms inside. Each one catches fire, flares and shoots off an electrical shock, running backwards. Running deeper. An virtual hand reaching forward and grabbing-

Mumbo spins away, heaving for breath, hands reaching up to rub the wet away.

Those are not clouds.

It was odd enough having to break his vault door because his lever wouldn’t switch and the blocks didn’t float in the air to replace later. Just.. vanishing from existence. As if the world is lagging. Really bad lag. Lag that’s freezing the world for minutes on end. That… That simply doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t happen.

He swallows, adjusting his tie, “some bad lag, yeah?” One nervous chuckle later, his eyes peek to the sky again. The clouds still held a half circle shape, looming and shadowing over the world at their highest points. Yellow, warm sun reflections shining into the damp shadows and cutting them open. All the while sitting still in the sky, completely unmoving.

There’s an odd itch. Curling and pouding at the back of his head, crying out, banging on the side the itch reeks. Aching, Mumbo looks down to the neon grass, a hand reaching up to scratch at his neck. Fingers landing, he rubs once and- it's gone? That’s not right. He shudders, it never vanishes that quickly, it takes time! At least more than 3 seconds, it’s never on and off like that.

Shivering, his eyes peek to the sky again.

It's a tick, a quick beep. The sensation sparks, firing up, ropes wrapping and dragging across the back of his neck, itching and scratching. He spins away. The moment his eyes leave the sickly clouds it, this tick, the burning fire at the back of his head, that- that disgusting, burning ache, drifts into dust.

Don’t look at the clouds, got it.

“Okay,” he shudders, “okay. Something is very weird,” looking to the side, the trees atop The Entity are coated in purple from the glowing lanterns hanging from them. Wincing, his eyes narrow, looking back to the shadowed outline of the rock. Staring at the outer edges of the rock and his eyes still stinge. How are little purple lanterns so bright?

Lungs pause in mid-breath, before letting out a set of laughter, “very weird. Very, very weird. Please don’t be a moon big situation again.” Whispering with hands fumbling together, Mumbo stumbles backwards with sweat rolling down his expression.

Wait- “Boatem,” muscles tense, his gait slows, “Pearl, Grian, Scar-!” the sound of shoes hitting the ground and quick breaths vanish completely, “Grian- Scar!” Spinning on his heel, he looks to the towering tree. Scar’s tree! Grian and him are having a tea party, to taste test Scar’s cookies! With a large shaky breath and an anvil atop his chest, Mumbo bursts forward.

“Grian!” He shouts moments before passing a root, “Scar!” It’s a loud heave, going towards the left, “there’s something- uh- quite weird going on! Scar!”

Calling their names again, Mumbo jumps over a root, slowing to a jog. “Guys! Guys this is really serious!” He cries, gasping for air and stumbling over a fallen fence post, “please, please the world is frozen! Scar! Grian! There’s something odd going on with hermitcraft!” Reaching the shoe-strained soil, Mumbo calls out again, racing down to the entrance of the tree to the temporary oak door.

Grabbing the handle and yanking, it- what? Mumbo pulls again. Nothing happens. It doesn’t move. Stepping back, Mumbo grunts, and raises a leg to kick at the door.

It doesn’t move.

Mumbo quakes, “Please open,” he whimpers, swallowing, and kicks again. There’s no budge. No low creak, no door scraping across the worn dirt or pulling splinters from the wood. The actual doors aren't opening either. His breath shakes. Is anything able to move? Are the others in this situation as well?

Shaking his head, an iron axe settles in his hands, “Sorry, mate. The world is frozen and there’s really weird clouds that make me sick!” Raising it to the sky and swinging, the door breaks with ease. He reaches an arm forward and- Mumbo pauses. There was no pop. No poof of dust as blocks do when shattered and form into a smaller state. And there is no floating oak door lying right inside the two block entrance. Instead it's an empty floor giving full light into the bright room, and, straining his neck up, the bucket of water left in the middle of the floor has no ripple, it's stuck uneven, some water crawling up one side now unmoving.

Mumbo retreats to himself, breaking a swallow. He’s able to move. He is able to move, other players must be able to as well. Grian especially! “Grian?” Calling, he doesn’t poke his head in, “Scar! Hey guys uh- there’s something really seriously bad going on and I hate to interrupt your taste testing but I think we need to go see X or someone. Someone who can do something!” Hands grasp each other again, flexing from being squeezed together to swinging apart, waiting a moment longer to rock on his feet with a raised ear.

There’s no response.

“Guys please! This really isn’t funny!” Butterflies swarm around his stomach, tickling and slashing into the sides- something is wrong. “I’m coming in! I swear this isn’t a funny! For once I’m not being a spoon!” He announces, the swallow making it all the way up his throat, hands shaking as they turn the knob into the fragmented interior.

Something is very wrong.

Speed walking and avoiding the bucket, a hand pulling at the cuffs of his suit. The grass within doesn’t move when his feet press down nor does a gust of wind blow to provide any movement. Walls blank and ground floor empty, looking up the entire thing fades to darkness. There’s a lot of work to do on the inside of Scar’s base, but the kitchen still stood with a closed off area. Within it, there’s a large table, enough to host at least 8 hermits, and plenty big enough for an makeship tea party of only two.

And it's all oddly small. Maybe it's the stillness of the world. Normally each step would cackle, echoing through the empty interior.

Each step he takes is deafening silence.

A bubble catches his throat, continuing his previous pace of slamming his feet against the grass and wood, arms flaring out to the sides to keep balance as he’s jumping around and inside the unfinished, holey flooring. “There is really something odd going on! I swear it, I wouldn’t interrupt your tea party for any other reason! I know Scar likes to keep his cookies a secret.” Voice shivering, Mumbo slowly leans forward, knocking again. “C’mon, guys, please,” he sighs. Reaching the door, a diamond tinted axe lands in his left.

The door shatters easily, and, just as the rest of the blocks, nothing lies on the floor. Nothing. No wooden shavings, no wooden door to scoop back into his inventory. Mumbo swallows, slowly walking forward.

In his sight is a few burning furnaces and a crafting table. Walls tainted white and a few little potted plants sitting atop the one counter unattached to the rest of the kitchen. There’s nothing more he can see. The table is further in, where Grian and Scar will be sitting, sipping on their tea and eating cookies, oblivious to the stone cold world.

Mumbo laughs shortly, axe vanishing. With unsure, shaking hands- should he enter? Grian and Scar would probably still be taste testing and Scar had already pouted over Mumbo catching a quick bite of one of his Grandmother’s cookies. Of course it was nothing personal, but Mumbo respects Scar’s wishes, and if Scar wants to wait until they’re perfect Mumbo will wait.

But- his gut churns, butterflies and moths scattering around, pounding at the sides. already felt like he’d eaten plates of food, way too many, screaming out- Scar will understand.

“Grian! Scar, hey guys, I’m here!” He calls, waiting a moment for a response.

Nothing.

Again nothing! No low giggle, no shoes hitting the wood, no low, abrupt cut off of chewing. It was as if the room was empty. But obviously they were here at least! There's a cookie tray sitting atop that furnace, almost with some cookies left and- his stomach collapses, hands reaching up to cover his loud gasp.

There is fresh smoke rising from the cookies. It's hung in the air, frozen in time.

His eyes itch.

“Oh no.” It's a small, quiet, crackling croak.

The cookies are fresh, recently scooped out of the furnace and placed atop it. They’re new, it's recent- Mumbo stumbles back, tears escaping the burning tickle of his eyes.

Tight hands muffle a sob. Does he want to enter? Something bad, very bad is going on and neither of them are responding. Maybe they aren’t actually there? Maybe Scar pulled the two elsewhere to hide, a secret area! It’s a Scar move, making sure no one walks in and sees the cookies. “They’re surprises, Mumbo! So shh, keep this on the downlow. This is between you, me, Grian, and Cub. It's a big secret!” Scar insisted, folding an arm over Mumbo’s neck to whisper quietly, hands waving and gesturing around as if he was doing a magic trick.

It’d make sense. Maybe they aren’t in there and they left them out to sit, cool off and taste those, cookies sometimes are good left out! Scar is one to go into little details like that. These cookies have to be perfectly perfected before they sit on the shelves.

Slowly, the hands release their grip, returning back down to his side. They might not even be here. They can easily be elsewhere, unknowing of the crackling world around them. Or maybe they’re with the other hermits! He hasn’t seen any of them, Mumbo could’ve missed a message on his communicator.

Taking a long, deep breath, hands clench together. “Grian, Scar, I’m coming in!” He calls, and takes a step forward.

The table is off to the left. Long and colored spruce that’s shining. It's glimmering pink-purple-blue, waving along like an ocean atop all parts of the table with little stars appearing and vanishing in seconds. Sitting at the glowing table, the chairs closest to the edge with another cookie tray, Scar’s holding one away from his mouth, chewing on a piece with a frown, with his other hand up in the air and expression of pride besides one eye open and a raised brow looking across the table to his companion.

Grian’s across the table. Grian’s- Mumbo winces, hand raising up to the back of his neck.

It’s itching. It’s burning. He looks away, lungs gasping for air. Less intense than the not clouds, but enough to leave him rubbing at the area. But- but Grian looks off at the moment's glance. A lot different than Scar. Staring didn’t hurt. Mumbo purses his lips together and looks up, pressing at the back of his neck at the fire flares.

Grian’s holding up a cup of tea in the background, his hand closest to the edge of the table flying upwards, the arm tensed, floating in the air stiff with the pink-purple-blue dust floating between the loose palm and the brown table. Glancing further up, right at Grian’s face he hisses, further fiddling to massage the back of his head. The bird looks… his mouth is half open with an obvious frown. The entire top half of his face furrowed, scrunched up together and staring directly at Scar. He could almost be shouting. He seems panicked.

The only things moving in the room are Mumbo and the glowing enchant of the table.

Grian and Scar are statues.

Somehow, even more still than they all got floating, frozen in that damned void.

Mumbo recoils, hands leaving the back of his head and stumbling forward with a loud sob. “Guys?” His voice cracks with the question, “are you able to hear me?” Stepping forward, there’s a small bend to meet Scar’s green eyes. They’re confused and staring- staring! Looking forward without a single blink, without a single change in the black dilated pupils. They are only staring across the table, staring directly at the others' blue eyes. Left exactly that way as right before the world froze over.

He’s stuck! He’s stuck and unmoving and as frozen as the rest of Hermitcraft! He heaves, reaching an arm out to wave itself in front of the locked eyes. Frantically it goes up and down quickly, Mumbo’s own eyes staring through blurry tears at Scar’s.

Something- something has to happen! They aren’t statues, they won’t be statues forever! He shatters the air further, leaning forward and resting his free arm atop the table for balance, body swaying with each movement and more tears falling.

Slowly, Mumbo’s arm retreats, then roars down atop the table with an bang.

And it moves. There’s a sound. There’s a crack.

Tears falling off his face, Mumbo looks down and moves his pained hand away. Beneath, there’s a bruised table, and the blue-purple-pink dust follows his hands, gently gliding along and up, before falling back to the table like a feather and rejoining the glowing aurora. Oh very similar to an enchantment in colors now that Mumbo thinks about it.

He waves, hands scooping up the magical dust and tossing it up. It bursts into the air, spreading out and breaking up the further it goes. Stars forming along as it floats up and spreads out, the stars giving it the feel of the night sky. Very briefly, the dust reaches above Mumbo’s height, briefly skimming Mumbo’s nose as it returns back to its original state.

Enchantments aren’t like that. Aren’t even similar to that, you can’t interact with them. The only thing it touches is the weapon it's been placed upon. Whatever it is, it's affecting the table, it's able to move.

His eyes lock onto Grian.

What happened here?

A moment later he winces. Hissing lowly and looking away. That isn’t normal either.

Would- Mumbo swallows, hands pulling away from the table. “Are the other hermits frozen too?” It echoes from this mouth as a quiet, strained whisper.

No! He shakes his head, slapping the sides of it with open hands. “They’re okay! I’m unfrozen, there has to be someone else,” he fights back the bubble of air, “there has to be another. There’s- there’s 26 of us!” Mumbo exclaims, taking steps away from the table, “X-Xisuma is out there. He’s probably unfrozen and- and some of the others.”

But what if there’s no one else? What if it's just him?

The sob is loud and disgusting, a tinge of pain rolling at his vocal chords.

There might be another hermit out there just as confused as himself, wondering what the crap is going on with bright lights in their vision and avoiding the not-clouds. Who is wandering around the main village, calling out for another hermit, keeping an eye out for literally anything else that’s able to move with caution and hairs slowly rising up atop their arms.

Mumbo needs to find them. Whenever they are, he needs another hermit, not standing in here crying over his frozen friends.

He coughs, hitting his chest and shoulders rolling back, “I’ll be ba-ck,” there’s a loud voice crack, “just- spending time in here won’t- won’t be helping anything. If there’s another moving hermit I need them and they’re uh- they’re quite lonely too I’d guess.”

Begrudgingly shuffling towards the door with eyes on Scar, he forces a laugh, “I promise I’ll be back.” Staring for a moment longer, he turns with a loud sigh. Hand reaching out to grip the frame, pulling himself forward and dragging one foot atop the broken floor. There’s an odd sensation on his back, the heavy, churning weight of something still very wrong. Mumbo double takes, quickly turning his head back to look at the two, “promise, with uh- with Scar’s cookies on top, about to fall off a ledge into mud. I’ll be back.”

He pushes, leaping forward and racing out of the tree. If there’s another hermit out here they need to know he’s here. In order for them to know that he cannot be hidden away. There’s not many bridges built over the river yet, just temporary, probably not terribly sturdy ones. Then there’s the starter area where Joe built the community farm.

Is that where another hermit would go? Possibly. It's one of the first places he thought of. But what if another hermit has already woken and wandered off, looking for more answers and he’s too late!

Well- if time is frozen, then there’s time to go to the hermit's bases and check for them. Plenty really! Even with 26 - he can subtract 3 from that, - of them, they’re all closer than ever. Especially the past few seasons. He’s just- Mumbo stops his sprint, cupping his hands around his mouth, “anyone there!?” He shouts, ears listening out for a response.

Shivers race up his spine. Complete silence. “Any other hermit?!” He tries again, feet starting to walk down the shore again, passing by The Entity without a glance. Next to it, there’s a tedious, quickly made bridge, leading to Pearl’s place atop the island within the river. “PEARL! PEARL ARE YOU THERE?” Letting his hands fall, he runs across the small bridge, hopping to the ground and rushing to Pearl’s door with an axe.

One shattered door later, and there’s a Pearl sitting atop an acacia chair. Half of her hair falling off her back, suspended in air, sat in a chair and pencil held tightly. Stepping closer, she’s in the middle of drawing a thick line, led and pencil frozen near the end of the building's line with her tongue stuck out and one eye shut. Her skin is more.. Gray. The one eye open is dead. It’s glossed over, a blurry cloud hovering atop it with only the pupils breaking through the sheen. And that darker color of the black of her eyes consuming nearly the entirety of what’s there. Pearl’s entire focus would’ve been on the sketch. Planning, thinking into the future on what will happen later today, then which materials, name ideas, all with a happy, bleeding smile.

She looks like a dead fish.

Mumbo leaves, swallowing bile down his throat.

Continuing past another bridge, the next up are Impulse, Tango, and Gem. Tango and Impulse in the midst of trading and Gem sitting back on a bench, watching the trade from under her tree. They look the same as Pearl, Tango and Impulse even more gray and torn. Even more than Pearl- their skin is dry, almost stone but not really? More similar to dead coral. He swallows.

It's like if you picked up an overcooked cake. Grabbing it would result in it crumbling and topping within your hands. They would topple like that. It's like literal life has been sucked out of them! Mumbo sobs, stepping away from the path to get closer. These two have glossy, blurred eyes looking at each other. Eyes that shade over them give off the impression of a sick, dead man whose eye was stabbed. They look at each other with inhumane smiles, these eyes clogging theri vision despite having been exchanging jokes mere moments before.

Then there was Gem. Gem sitting alone on the bench, looking back at the two with a bright smile and-

He threw up at that one. Heaving and shaking with sobs before quickly heading on.

6 out of 26.

All the rest are similar.

A frozen Stress, Iskall, and Ren, all gray and glassy eyes, walking along the worn soil path Mumbo’s following. Cub standing outside his glowing shed, hands held forward and looking through them, staring intently at the small build through the one open cloudy eye, no light hitting him whatsoever. All with gray skin and, moving in front of Cub, looking into his eyes.

There is nothing there. Nothing in his lifeless eyes. Same as Pearl’s. Same as Tango and Impulse and Ge-

He yells, vocal chords ripping, trembling, reaching out and calling for any other hermits as he rushes down the shore parallel to his vault with no small, yellow rock particles shifting with his slamming feet. Carefully navigating his head to not meet the colorful skyline with each shout and scouting eyes. Was anything pleasant to look at here anymore? It’s all gone dull, only with purple, orange, and yellow lights bringing life to the world and the nefarious sun above.

…Did it look like that earlier?

Slowing to a stop, he thinks.

No. No, he could’ve sworn the world was brighter. His breathing picks up. It was brighter! It was so bright the grass was neon and now his feet stand atop the dull stuck savannah green. The rocks had reflected off the lights with a sharp glare, and the lights were yellow and orange! Their normal fire-lit colors are not purple. Why are there some purple?!

“What-what is happening?” Voice shaking at a low whisper, Mumbo pauses, keeping his eyes down, “what- what is going on anymore?” Shivering, standing there shoulders slumped and shoes just out of the way of the blue, frozen, and sightless water. The world grows darker, curling and circling, a loud, echoing hum fighting off the deafening silence. The man hums in return, bottom lip curling as tears drip past it.

Is he alone?

Mumbo sobs, arms curling tight around himself and squeezing. He hasn’t checked all the hermit's bases yet. There could still be someone out there. Creeping up into Mumbo’s eyes, the darkness floats there, changing the sand to a light gray and curling.

Gasping, the man jumps up, waving his arms forward to knock the darkness away. Stumbling backwards, his eyes lock back to right where he was standing and- its gone?

What is going on? His shaking hands clasp each other, squeezing tightly. The darkness was just there, just starting to- to make everything darker. “...What.” Mumbo breaths out, heaving for breath and stumbling up the hill leading away from the shoreline and those black rocks. Those nasty rocks that reminded him that he’s alone!

Oh.

Tears get blinked away. Glancing around with a slow spin, looking for any form of movement. A low hope in his heart, trying to reach out with lit eyes for something- there has to be something out there. Someone else you can move and be touched and affected.

Same as the 9 times before, there is not a single bit of movement.

He is alone.

And what is a man to do when he is alone? Yes he could keep looking but- he needs a break. A second to sit down and just breathe. Run fingers through his hair, take long, counted breaths, and exhale after 6. If he is alone and no one can help, what is he supposed to do to bring everyone back? He doesn’t have admin perms, and there’s not even a remote understanding of what’s going on, why all this happened! And why is he still moving? Why is Mumbo the one who has been left to call out and see his friends with dead eyes?

“Mum…bo?”

He sits down, curling up into a ball, taking long, deep breaths. Something is wrong. Something bad is going on, but he needs a moment to think clearly. He needs this, he needs-

“Mumbo?”

That’s a voice.

His eyes shoot open.

That’s a real, player voice. One with a British accent, middle in tone, curving down with the question, as if the person talking was tilting their head. Tilting their head like a certain bird and speaking with the tone of a certain blonde haired hermit.

Form twisting around, Mumbo shoots to his feet. Tripping and arms flaring out to look- it’s Grian. His gut churns and the itch at the back of his head returns, and he stomachs the flinch, keeping his eyes on the tan skin.

Grian stands there looking out of place. There’s nothing wrong with him. Eyes normal, wings settled against his back, a tilted head and raised brow. Grian looks perfectly normal. Normal colors, normal eyes, normal skin, normal wings. It's Grian.

Mumbo throws himself forward, grabbing the bird and squeezing. Squeezing so tight, he wasn’t losing another, and digging his face into his friend's shoulder to let the tears fall and sob loudly. “Hey,” the voice is quiet and accompanied by slow arms reaching up to hug back, “hey, Mumbo, what- what’s wrong?”

He freezes, what-? “Why are you asking that?” Mumbo seethes, grabbing Grian’s arms and lifting himself from the red sweater to stare into blue eyes, “have- have you not seen anything? The sky? Purple torches? Our friends? Literally the fact that nothing is moving at all?!”

Eyes wide like an owl, Grian’s mouth seals shut.

Mumbo purses his lips, back straightening up.

The bird man swallows, giving an awkward smile, “I just appeared here. Mumbo, seriously, what’s going on? I don’t have a clue.” The fire pokes at the back of Mumbo’s head again, leaving a terrible ache to scratch, “just take a moment mate, you seem uh… really bad, off. Whatever explanation there is can wait a moment.”

The taller weeps, lip puffing outwards. It’s Grian. It’s Grian- he’s woke up! He’s here and moving and okay! He isn’t dead! And if he can move, then so can Scar and Impulse and Tango and every single hermit frozen. Bending back down to Grian’s shoulder another wet sob is muffled. Hands squeezing Grian’s arms tightly as he chokes on his own huffs of air, pushing more into the man and wrapping his arms across the lower part of his body.

“You’re-” Mumbo sniffles, “you’re alive.”

Smaller arms hug back, lightly resting over the other form. “Why would I be dead, Mumbo?”

In the time it takes Mumbo to explain the situation from Grian’s shoulder, then, after sometime, Grian guides them to the dirt ground, and absolutely not a single thing about the world has changed. Mumbo shed’s tears looking around. Everything is the same. The water still doesn’t ripple when moving his fingers around, the occasionally purple lantern, the world being frozen, everyone Mumbo has meant besides Grian still second time has been frozen, and those- those not clouds that send shivers down his spine.

“I..” Grian looks away from the sky with a flinch, voice creaking like a floorboard, “I think I know what caused this and it's all my fault.”

Mumbo leans back, hand coming up to wipe at his eyes one last time before looking towards Grian who- gosh, a bit of a mess. His face stiffens, moments before Mumbo shifts closer, offering a hand to Grian, “what do you mean?”

He bites a lip, “uh, a few days ago I went exploring and felt some magic. Odd magic, supposedly a consequence of not scouting out the world first I thought. So I dug down to it and figured it's a weak point in the world itself-” Grian pauses, looking down and grabbing a clump of soil, “a few minutes ago I felt that go off, open up.”

“Oh.” Mumbo says.

The bird’s lips curl, taking in a baited breath, “..I think we need to go to it.”

A hand reaches up to itch at the back of his head, mouth falling open with his back straight, “what?”

“Mumbo, it's what caused this, I think I could shut it,” Grian lifts a hand, waving it around in a pattern, “I think it's them who caused this, Mumbo.” You would have had to move closer to hear it, the words earthly silent under his breath. With only combating the sound of silence, like a mouse off squeaking in the distance.

The taller freezes, body tensing. “Where do you get that idea from?”

“Mumbo, the clouds are eyeballs.” Grian exasperates, turning towards Mumbo and waving at the skyline. The clouds which Mumbo's own eyes glare and keep away from, stumbling forward with a wince at any smallest glance.

Looking away from Grian the itch ticks, eyes barely peek to the skyline and the white, round circles, burning a fire in the back of his head. Digging a knife in, pushing it further and twisting- he looks away with a low hiss, "they are?" Choosing to question instead of looking further, Mumbo chuckles, itching at the back of his neck as Grian's wings fluff, "Sorry! I haven’t been able to look at them.”

“That’s.. Alright. Not good, but-” stopping, his arms curl around his sides, focusing on the dirt below, “it was their magic too, Mumbo. They activated the rift.” It’s as quiet as the last mention, Mumbo moving closer to hear Grian’s inaudible, dragging words.

Chuckling nervously, Grian continues the whisper with a shivering smile, “they shouldn’t be there. They can’t really- interact further than what they’ve already done. We can just pop in, and close it, it shouldn't be much harder than that.”

Mumbo raises a brow. The bird waves hands around, head flying side to side, “I know it sounds too easy! That's how they are!” Grian whisper shouts with a fallen face, hands touching his jeans, “They cannot interact with this world, with you or I. Although what they’ve done here is..” his mouth hangs open, head twirling around, gesturing to the dead world, “Mumbo, I’ve never seen or heard of them doing.. anything like this.”

The world still stands. And everything is exactly the same as it was hours ago. Could hours even pass? Time is frozen- everything is frozen. The mustached man hums. “Are you absolutely sure, Grian?”

“Yes!” Its instant, the bird's body leaning forward, “I can’t think of anything else, and uh-” Grian stands up, pointing an arm behind them towards the north with narrowed eyes, “that’s the direction to the weak spot I found, that doesn’t uh- does that pass by anyone whose a- uh- statue?”

Standing up, Mumbo nods, “not that I’ve seen.”

Grian's grin is forced, “then what are we waiting on?" He stomps forward towards the forest and Mumbo fumbles, following behind with an furrowed brow, staring at Grian and the ground behind him.

Behind Grian, bits of sand slip from closed fists.

It wasn’t a long trip, only a few hundred blocks oddly enough, a good two-ish biomes? Neither of them were keeping count, but hey, the leaves blocked out the sky enough to look up. Along the way, Grian kept lightly muttering what Mumbo believed to be numbers. Questioning him about it, the bird only became silent, counting with his fingers instead. Mumbo gumbles, trudging right behind Grian’s footsteps. Surely Xisuma would’ve noticed something like this so close to spawn? This was a rushed server, but this? Something that has allowed Watcher’s to affect their world?

“Are you super sure about this? As in, “this the only thing that will fix Hermitcraft,” confident?” Mumbo had questioned, breaking the forest line right besides Grian. Walking away from spawn, from everything that was locked in shackles and stone statues.

Grian only hummed, breaking into a faster pace, shoulders held high and feet walking over each other.

The itch returned- but he wasn’t looking up at the sky. Mumbo’s eyes were directly locked onto Grian’s back, Grian’s arms, and his friend's hair. He swallowed, “am I supposed to be getting that itchy feeling when I look at you?”

Mumbo stumbled back at the body before him, barely avoiding running right into Grian’s back, “..what?”

“The itch uh- that painful fiery feeling I got looking at the sky- eyeballs! The… eyeballs.” Hands fumbling together, he looked to the side, lips curled up. Once his gaze returned back to the red sweater, Grian's face held tight, stuck forwards- looking, seeing, unmovi- Mumbo nervously laughed, “that’s uh- that’s only because you’re one of them, right? It’s how this world seems to be working!”

The bird's chest lifted and fell.

“Okay.”

And Grian said no more.

Mumbo had only laughed it off once more with slow moving hands that fiddled with each other. One question of many had been answered. One of why this was happening, why Grian’s steps had little cracks, noises quiet as a mouse as little bits of grass got smashed between the ground and his shoes. Then, with some sand lay out on the path behind him, right where Mumbo stepped after to follow. Why the clouds of all things turned into eyeballs.

It’s all so confusing, Mumbo had grumbled, shoulders curled in.

Mumbo follows Grian, letting his own shoes drag, unaffecting the ground around. And with trumbles and branches catching him, matching the bird's erratic speed ups and downs, hopping through the trees, over bushes, and trying to not face plants on each high growing root that all refused to move any for him.

Grian breaks into a sprint, “hurry!” He calls, starting with a high jump and vanishing, leaving a torrent of dirt behind to lash out, landing atop the fresh new suit, bouncing outwards then floating in the air.

He purses his lips. Another question to add to the list.

Following Grian into a sprint, it's only a few trees - 1, 2, 3, 4? - eyes bursting out into the open, the red sweater in the center of the open, wide valley. Exiting the treeline, the valley only stretches further, trees completely void from the enclosed area. The white logs only returned up the hill, nearby the stop, casting no shadow over the valley.

There’s little flowers scattered around, grass covering every part except the few points where stone rocks peeked out, all round and dull. From those rocks ant hills are littered about, and, along the mountain, little patches of brown and so lived in. Obviously the wildlife here blossoms, blowing leaves all around the valley and bees leaving pollen throughout.

But the grass doesn’t break around his shoes, the wind doesn’t gust through his hair, and the grass does not get plucked when he reaches down, grasping it tightly and pulling. Holding it tightly, wrapping it around a finger with a loud hmm, arms tense and he moves back. Then falls into a tumble.

Shouting, his back presses against the pointed grass, blades glazing over his arms, barely tickling his face and pressed against an ear. Looking up- eyes eyes eyes EYE- rolling onto his arm, his left hand is held forward, hands rubbing against a texture. In between his fingers, there’s a hint of green.

“What?” He whispers.

A hand grips his shoulder, “Mumbo, what are you doing?” Grian hisses, reaching to grab his cuff and pull him upwards. Both pairs of feet stumble, twisting around each other to balance out, and Grian letting go with a shove. Arms flaring out, Mumbo gets a hold of gravity, falling to a sudden stillness. With a loud gasp, he looks to Grian.

“I-I really don’t want to be here any longer,” the bird stutters quickly, “I don’t want to see our friends in whatever state you saw them.” His arms wave back and forth atop each other as he takes a large step backwards, the grass breaking beneath the brown shoes, “please, Mumbo, it shouldn’t be that hard and will reset all of this, a few minutes at most.”

Mumbo grits his fingers together and brings into his vision. Opening his palm, there’s no blade of green.

He didn’t drop it. He knows he didn’t.

Swallowing, Mumbo faces Grian, “why are you able to affect the world?”

Grain stops, looking down at his shoes, “..what do you mean?”

“At the hermitsippi you were able to move the sand, you grabbed a handful of it. The entire walk here-” his voice rises in pitch, “the entire walk here you moved branches out of your way and- and even now the grass is moving beneath your feet!” Pointing down to his own shoes, Mumbo takes a step back. Not a single blade of grass moves. “Grian, there’s no part of me that’s touched this world- its- its frozen! It's all frozen! I haven't been able to move anything at all!"

Headlights beam down atop the bird. He stomps and stumbles, barely catching himself, a mere two foot steps before crashing into the man. “Mumbo-” hissing, Grian steps back, keeping a quick pace towards the staircase into the ground, “Mumbo, I’m-” biting his lip, Grian’s waves at the sky, then looking in Mumbo’s direction, “I’m- one of them. If… if they are causing this, then- then I’m able to touch the world.”

It's stammery and quick, silent and hissed with quickness, growing with each step back. “That- that shouldn’t matter, Mumbo. Please don’t doubt me, I- we want to get our friends back!” Grian throws his arms about, gesturing with force and more vividly with each word. “I swear, Mumbo, that’s all I’m trying to do. I don’t- I wish- I…” The bird meets his eyes.

And Mumbo steps back.

Grian had been affected by the tree! Both Scar and himself were frozen to the bone, eyes stuck half open. Grian was a watcher and, back in that tree, he had been touched by the frozen world. Yet clearly, he now stands here, grass bending between his feet and branches moving out from his face

Mumbo swallows, taking another large step back and holding his arms ahead, both crossed over each other, standing defensively.

This isn’t Grian.

Gasping, feet glue to the ground, the bird's feathers flattening, “Mumbo.” Grian croaks.

“Who-” tears trickle down Grian’s face, head swinging side to side, “who was the Grian I saw with Scar in the tree?” Mumbo pushes the words out, staring down the bird's distraught face.

Staring forward, Grian cries. Not so secretly hiding a sob, Mumbo takes a step further away, searching through his inventory for a sword. An axe can work offensively, right?

His fists clench, “I’m heading down!” Grian shouts, turning on his heel and descending the stairs, “you can follow me or stay up here and do nothing! I’m doing this with or without you!”

Within seconds, Grian vanished from the world's eyes into the staircase.

Grian’s gone. Poof. Mumbo’s slumps. He just dropped Grian- notGrian because, whoever that was, wasn’t Grian. They shouldn’t have been able to interact with the world. It made no sense!

The colors vibrate. Becoming sharper, brighter greens and browns, more precise and- blurry. Mumbo reaches up to wipe at his tears. That wasn’t Grian. They’re putting up an act, a facade for- for whichever reason. Grian had obviously casted a spell that failed, but it meant the table is unaffected. The table was able to be touched and moved. The spell didn’t reach himself in enough time, Mumbo can assume. Why would Grian suddenly be free from the grasp of whichever- whatever this world is? It wouldn’t make any sense.

He is not going down there. There has to be another way to figure out what’s going on. And, if this wasn’t actually Grian, then if this portal in the world actually exists. Is the Grian at Scar’s table still there? What if, whoever that was, was actually Grian? He said himself he didn’t remember what happened, Mumbo explained everything!

What if- who just ran down those stairs, was actually Grian?

No! He hisses, stepping back and shaking his head. It's not actually Grian! Mumbo clenches his fists, stomach churning, and there’s- snap! He stops, breath catching, and one clenched fist slowly raises to his face. With caution, the fist loses tension, shaking out, before opening.

There’s a blade of green. It’s still there, wrapped tightly around his pointer finger.

Why… why was it back?

Quickly, slamming a foot down grass splatters everywhere. The grass moves to his steps as it always does. Lifting his foot away, a little cluster of growing white and pink begonia’s reveals itself. Petals cracked, stems left smashed from his foot.

Mumbo can touch the world. He’s able to affect it- change it- pull out a blade of grass from the ground! And he’s real, living, moving and breathing!

It's- holding a shaking fist forward, the green grass still sits in the center.

He gasps, “GRIAN!” Bolting forward, he lets the grass fall from his hand. Feet hitting the stone, Mumbo skips each and every step, gasping for breath as he runs down the staircase, “GRIAN!”

The world was touched by his hands. He was able to tank the grass up from the ground then smash it and flowers into cracked pieces. Mumbo didn’t know how or why, but he could and he left Grian crying, feeling betrayed. Mumbo just accused him of being a watcher, the same thing that’s caused the man to cry into his shirt, sobbing in the middle of the night after waking up at moon high. The same thing Grian so fervently hissed at, said, “I’m not one of those and would never be one!” All the while with tears rushing down his face, fist held tightly and face in despair.

All because Grian was hurt by the watchers. He’d never be like them. Never. And Mumbo just accused him of being the very thing he hates.

Oh. He really messed up badly, didn’t he?

“GRIAN!” Mumbo shouts, stumbling to the end of the staircase, “Grian! I’m so sorry!” He calls before looking around. It's a large cave and to the right there’s a purple glow. Hiking over the rocks with a huff, the cave opens up even further. And, in the middle of it all, the mossy vines and overhanging stone cliffs, there’s one massive portal.

Right in front of it sits Grian on his knees, sitting up straight and looking back at Mumbo. Even from this distance Mumbo sees the tear marks and puffy, red eyes. “I’m so sorry! My apologies, Grian!” Calling out, he continues his sprint, running straight towards the circle Grian has created.

Coming to a slow stop outside of the circle and one of Grian’s items, the bird’s face kept a frown, staring forward with glassy eyes and a face covered in dust. “Mumbo?” The small voice cracks.

Gasping for air, Mumbo nods at Grian, forging a smile, “I’m- I’m so sorry, Grian. I- I- I’ve said some very bad things to you. I didn’t believe you since you affected the world and I should’ve used more evidence!” The mustached man pulls at his hair, “I should have considered more, but you were being quite suspicious! I- that doesn’t help. That doesn’t help at all uh-” Mumbo sighs, pushing his shoulders back, “I’m sorry, Grian.”

Looking down, the bird’s face is still fallen, more tears falling out. “You-you don’t have to accept my apology!” Mumbo nervously laughs, “I don’t expect you to, but I- I don’t want to leave you alone during this. You’re saving our friends and-”

Grian chuckles. A wet, light chuckle with a small smile. “You spoon,” he opens his arms, croaking a sob, and Grian doesn’t need to say further. Mumbo bends down, sliding forward with a stutter to wrap the sobbing man into a hug. For a moment they sit there, tears racing down Grian’s face and holding each other tightly, the cave deadly silent around them.

“You absolute spoon,” the bird breaks the silence, words muffled by the others shoulder, “w-what you said hurt, but- but you came back and- and I didn’t think you would,” Grian sobs, “I thought I’d have to do this alone.”

Pulling back, Mumbo places his hands atop Grian’s shoulders, “I promised you years ago I’d be there for you. I’m so sorry I almost wasn’t, I am such a spoon! Getting caught up on small details-”

“No, no!” Grian shoots in, shaking his head, “you had your reasons, Mumbo, I know- I figured me being able to affect the world would make me suspicious.” He coughs, a smile coming to his face, “but it lead us here! In front of the rift and going to free our friends! That’s what matters, Mumbo!”

Mumbo frowns, “you got hurt-”

“And we can talk about this on the other side, I don’t-” he swallows a croak, “I don’t want to sit here and dwell on the past, we cannot change it after all!” By the end it's curving up, a bigger smile on Grian’s face.

There’s a caught sigh, “on the other side, Grian?”

Nodding, the bird fully pulls away from Mumbo’s grip to stand. “I was about to cast the spell to hopefully counteract the watchers. X set it up a while back, I just need to activate it for it to do its magic.” He spreads his arms out, gesturing down, “hence, this circle!”

Standing, Mumbo looks at the circle. Its- its stuff he’d never understand, like those languages in magic movies with weird symbols purely made up for the movie alone. Just to be mysterious and different. In this case, it seems Grian still had some sand sitting in his inventory, the symbols being crafted out of sand.

“What do these uh- symbols do?” He points down to the sandy barrier.

Grian brings his arms back to wipe at his eyes and steps to the otherside of the symbols, bending down to point more closely. “It’s to help concentrate my uh- abilities. Mumbo, uh- you know I haven’t used them in a long time.”

The man’s jaw falls open, eyes jumping between each sandy drawing, “I can’t read them, are they meant to be read? Are these two symbols supposed to be the same or are similar in appearance? Oh! Oh- I should ask you all about these when it's over with- oh I shouldn’t be asking at all-!”

Oncemore, Grian laughs. Mumbo spins, looking directly towards his friend and raising his chin. “Hey! I’m uh- uh-'' The giggle echoes around the cavern, a hand rising to cover his mouth with sealed eyes.

Staring forward, Mumbo’s face fell. That laugh- it echoed- why did it echo?

Waving a hand, Grian’s eyes open- and they’re glowing purple. “That won’t matter, dearie!” He mocks and tap-taps his foot. Reaching forward- Mumbo pauses. He can’t grit his teeth, his arm isn’t moving, legs stuck half tensed, and head locked forward. Breathing- he doesn’t. Trying to lift his foot- nothing, absolutely nothing responds. Chills race his form, and still- Mumbo yanks and pulls, shouting words and rhymes.

But nothing happens. Nothing ever moves.

Grian- the bird- the thing cackles a thousand voices, “you have been frozen, honey! Get it through your head.”

He can’t breath-

The thing covers Grian’s mouth, form jittering, pieces jumping about, “I’m so happy that’s done! You put up a fight, it was more annoying than anything. You could’ve jumped into the river at any point! But no! Mister “I-Love-Redstone” pulled a player's red riding hood and just kept walking to the big old bad wolf!” It mocks, putting on a fancy stance and stepping out of Mumbo’s vision, “couldn’t have just made it easier for all of us. Sorry I had to use an illusion of Xelqua, actually not really, like not at all! You should see your face!”

Floating back into vision, it’s a clattering of feathers. White, gold lined feathers sprouting out, a circle, golden crown hanging lines upon lines of gold from its head and gold oblong earrings with rubies at the ends. Each step left a shingle throughout the air, and the things white, purple, and blue robe dragged along the dirtied stone. But- Mumbo would gape, over its face was a white mask with a rectangle cut in four different places. The symbol Grian wrote into the sand with tears gushing from his face.

The watcher giggles, floating right in front of Mumbo with hundreds of eyes, “what’s happening right now is not something you should be worried about, young one! No-no! You’ll just-” its arms spread out, gold-red bracelets gingling as they shove Mumbo over, “be going to a very good friend!”

Above Mumbo, a glowing sword appears. The watcher waves, smirk visible to Mumbo’s eyes, “this will only hurt a little bit!” He gapes, lifting his arms-

Tap-tap.

Frozen, Mumbo watches the sword come down, the pain stabbing and flaring out through his stomach. He shouts, movement returning to his flaring arms, curling upwards with burning eyes. Coughing out a loud sob, the sword twists- and everything goes white.

When the world comes back, his feet are floating above the floor, and the watcher clicks a chain around his wrist. It grins, “welcome back! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Reaching forward, its long claws pat Mumbo’s cheek, “it's almost all over!” It sings out, the grin growing atop its face.

The mask and purple are blinding, Mumbo winces, and the entire world is light. Floating- hovering- it's a weightless feeling. Hands shifting, they flow, pressing against- nothing. It floats, lifts and keeps going up. Biting his tongue, his legs shift. It's like moving through water just- touching nothing- nothing graves his skin. No air, no soaking water and the purple light peels into vision- his stomach churns. Oh god what happened. What happened.

The watcher strokes Mumbo’s cheek more, - cold, cold, cold, Mumbo swallows, - another hand grabbing at his chained wrist, bringing it back down and rubbing circles into his wrist. “Awe, it's taking a minute for the young one to recover. No worries, this isn’t a pleasant experience! It’ll all be over soon though, don’t you worry your pretty face off!”

Mumbo spins his head to the side, throwing the watcher’s jeweled hand off of his goosebump riddled cheek. Looking down, he meets one of the purple glowing eyes below with a glare. “Screw you,” he spits at it, watching it widen and vanish, a gasp deafening the entire area, Mumbo’s own hands tugging on the chains trying to reach up to his ears.

“You! You brat!” The watcher growls, taking the chains and yanking Mumbo forward, “how dare you do something like that to me! You should be grateful you have to stay together before you go inside that rift! My- hmm,” it grins, pulling Mumbo right ahead of it and grabbing his throat, pushing them both closer to the rift, “they’ll be having a lot of fun with you!”

The chains clatter down, hitting the floor as Mumbo flies from the watcher's grip. He shouts as the rift pulls him back, eyes staring wide at the bejeweled watcher who was waving bye.

And- just barely, Mumbo’s eyes looked to the side, to the area, the floor where there was supposed to be a fallen form, where his dead body was supposed to be.

It's not fallen over in a puddle red slowly reaching outwards. Not frozen in its place like the rest of the world, unable to move or breath, destined to be there forever.

When Mumbo looks for his own black locks, there’s his form sitting up.

The world goes black.