Chapter Text
It’s been two years since Pearl last saw Grian, and ten months since she last heard from him.
Pearl wouldn’t exactly consider it out of character for him to go MIA without warning—she of all people would understand getting wrapped up in a project when suddenly it’s been three and a half weeks since you were last seen in public and no one’s quite sure if you’re still alive. It’s the plight of your average builder, really. What is strange to her, however, is being left in the dust when their last conversation was about getting her added to a new server. When their last one together was EVO. She means, that’s just cold, you know?
That’s how she felt for a while there, at least: a vague annoyance at being ghosted, and a much more deeply-rooted kind at the apparent non-issue that was getting to see each other again.
It was around when weeks started ticking into months started ticking into the first year that she really considered that something else might be going on.
It’s also around then that she remembers she wasn’t the only one expected to join Hermitcraft Season 8.
She spends a long moment hovering over GeminiTay’s username in her chat logs, but ultimately the desire for answers wins out over any lingering self-consciousness.
PearlescentMoon: Hi you don’t know me, I’m Pearl, the other new hermit. Did you ever get added?
Pearl would say she’s persistent, not eloquent.
This GeminiTay person can’t mind all that much, though, because they shoot a message back within ten minutes.
GeminiTay: Well hello to you too stranger!
GeminTay: Can’t say I did… I was actually thinking about that recently
GeminiTay: It’s weird isn’t it?
PearlescentMoon: Yes it totally is!
PearlescentMoon: Gosh I’m so glad someone else is in the same boat I’ve been starting to feel crazy
GeminiTay: Like wondering if you even got invited at all crazy right?
PearlescentMoon: Right!! ;-;
Pearl honestly kicks her feet a bit in relief, because oh does it feel so good to be vindicated after all these months of radio static. Less good that this is apparently a grander issue, and that it seems GeminiTay isn’t an option for eyes on the inside either, but, still.
She just feels silly now she didn’t think of reaching out sooner, honestly.
GeminiTay: Did Xisuma invite you too?
PearlescentMoon: Nope. Someone else on the server… probably wouldn’t know him
PearlescentMoon: Wait Xisumavoid’s the admin isn’t he?
GeminiTay: I think so!
GeminiTay: Wouldn’t see why he’d lie at least :P
Well, that’s only mildly cause for concern, that even the admin himself wouldn’t stay on top of all of this. Pearl frowns down at her screen.
PearlescentMoon: And he hasn’t gotten back to you either?
GeminiTay: Nope!
GeminiTay: Wait yeah if your guy isn’t answering either I’m really starting to see the issue…
GeminiTay: You don’t think they changed their minds do you?
That one makes Pearl wince a little. …No, that can’t be right. Surely a server as prestigious as Hermitcraft wouldn’t behave so callously with their formal invites, right? And Grian might be a lot of things, but blindly obedient certainly isn’t one of them; he’d have let her know by now if she was turned down, regardless of what he has or hasn’t been instructed to say or do.
PearlescentMoon: No, I trust Grian. He wouldn’t have let this slide
PearlescentMoon: Either they’ve got a VERY good reason or something fishy’s going on!
GeminiTay: You think something might have happened on the server??
Pearl considers this. She can’t exactly deny it’s her current line of thought, considering what became of the last collaborative server she was a part of, and it would be just like Grian to run headfirst into another disaster, wouldn’t it? She can’t tell if she’s more concerned or just totally and utterly done at the thought.
With a low thinking noise, she taps back a reply.
PearlescentMoon: Think we might already be whitelisted?
GeminiTay: Oh maybe, why?
PearlescentMoon: Wanna test it out?
It takes a few beats longer for the next message to arrive than the last, like GeminiTay’s contemplating on the other end, but it’s only for a brief moment.
GeminiTay: It’s worth a shot, right? :)
Pearl smiles to herself.
PearlescentMoon: That’s what I like to hear!
PearlescentMoon: I think we’re gonna get along just fine, Gemini
GeminiTay: Aw jeez!
GeminiTay: Just call me Gem <3
And Pearl sets out to prepare.
*
GeminiTay: Still no luck on your end?
They are, as it turns out, most certainly not whitelisted.
Which. Yeah, Pearl supposes that makes sense, in tragic hindsight; the acceptance sets in only the twentieth or so time she’s slammed the join server button and gotten rejected. They were never officially contacted back with a time and date, so why would they already be cleared to hop on the world?
The logic doesn’t make Pearl feel any less disappointed. Part of her really was hoping that things would end up simpler than they thought—that by jumping in and making their presence known it would all just magically work itself out, and then they’d both be on their merry way to fix everything else.
Another part of her just really wanted that dramatic entrance.
PearlescentMoon: Nope. :c
PearlescentMoon: I hate to say it but… our super cool secret heist has been foiled step one
GeminiTay: Dang!
GeminiTay: We might have to contact someone in there after all
GeminiTay: But I don’t know anyone besides Xisuma
PearlescentMoon: Maybe MumboJumbo?
It’s the only name Pearl can think of. Only because Grian would mention him quite a lot in his messages after joining Hermitcraft—something about chickens, letters, and a mayoral race?—so the name remains relatively fresh in her mind. She’s never met the man, though, only knowing of his redstone finesse and the mustache Grian always loved bringing up for some reason. But she figures it’s worth a shot…?
So, at Gem’s vote of approval, Pearl bites the bullet and hits send.
The ping of a near-immediate response makes her jump.
MumboJumbo: Um sorry who is this?
If Pearl’s totally honest, she wasn’t actually expecting an answer, much less one within the minute. She feels her heartbeat pick up as she scrambles to formulate a somewhat reasonable reply.
PearlescenMoon: I’m Pearl! You guys invited me and GeminiTay to Hermitcraft?
PearlescentMoon: Haven’t heard back about it in a year
PearlescentMoon: lol
MumboJumbo: Ohhhh! oh dear
MumboJumbo: well um… I would ask xisuma about that but we aren’t on the best of terms currently
PearlescentMoon: Uhhh what? Why is that?
It takes well over a minute for the next reply to arrive.
MumboJumbo: Nevermind I’ll send someone else over to ask him actually haha!
Well, that’s not peculiar in the slightest. Pearl raises an eyebrow at open air.
Thoroughly thrown off now, she doesn’t pay as much attention as she maybe should to the rest of his messages—that it should just be a few hours, and to try relogging once he’s given her the a-okay—but it’s nothing too revolutionary, so Pearl just relays the news to Gem and mentally prepares herself to sit around until it’s time.
Which ends up being easier said than done, frankly.
Not that she hasn’t been doing plenty of sitting around since the end of EVO. She’s been busying herself with builds and personal projects of all kinds too, of course, but it just hasn’t… quite been the same. Not without other active players to talk to and ask for advice and prank and generally be a nuisance to, her only solace being in the occasional visit with Jimmy, Martyn or Netty or text conversation with Grian. Which…
It hits her not unlike a bird slamming into a window that she’ll finally be seeing him again. As well as becoming a part of another multiplayer world. And only one of the most widely revered and distinguished ones in existence, at that.
Pearl, seated safely in her cozy survival world base, reaches for a pillow, takes a deep breath, and squeals into it.
She’s not sure just yet if she’ll hug Grian or punch him.
There’s one thing she can spend these next few hours deciding.
*
The first thought Pearl has as she finally, finally enters the Hermitcraft server is, funnily enough, that Gem has an especially bright smile.
“Oh my gosh, you’re here,” Gem gasps. “I can’t believe that worked!”
“I honestly thought the day would never come,” Pearl agrees, a touch breathless. She stops dusting herself off, straightens back up, and takes a better look at Gem.
Pearl’s not sure what kind of person she imagined behind the username, but the deer features do, admittedly, come as a surprise. She’s got long, curly orange hair with flowers braided in, small spats of antlers at her temples, floppy deer ears, freckles, and green overalls covered in sewn-up patches and long-staining dirt. Everything about her style and demeanor just sings friendly. And based on the curious sparkle in her eyes and tilt to her head, Pearl can only assume she’s being judged just as much.
“You’re smaller than I expected,” is what Pearl says.
Gem sputters. “Hey! That is not how you greet someone you’ve just met.”
She’s giggling, though, so Pearl doubts she’s ruined the impression. “Right, sorry,” she laughs back. “Let me try that again. Should we, uh… shake hands?”
Gem gives her a long, disbelieving look. “I’m thinking we’re both terrible at this, Pearl.”
“Our circumstances were weird, I’d say it’s justified!”
“A simple hi, nice to meet you would do.”
“And neither of us thought of that first, apparently, so. Like I said,” Pearl says, “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
Gem rolls her eyes, but Pearl doesn’t miss the smile behind it.
Then Pearl’s communicator pings.
After sifting through a sea of profoundly confused messages from several people she’s never heard of, she spots another private message.
MumboJumbo: By the way I’ve sent someone to meet you guys and bring you over so don’t be alarmed!
MumboJumbo: though I’d say the base is pretty hard to miss
All his talk of sending people here or there feels odd, but. Pearl supposes she appreciates the hospitality. It’s only when she actually processes the second message that she finally turns away from Gem to take a look out at their surroundings, and…
They’ve spawned on one of the tiniest islands Pearl’s ever seen, for one thing. There’s some grass underfoot, but the sand from the shoreline creeps up fast, and there isn’t a tree in sight. A handful of scattered chests and barrels lie about as well as an unmarked nether portal. Gem must have already picked up on all that, because she’s moved to the opposite side of the island by now, eyes wide and facing the ocean. Pearl follows her gaze and suddenly understands her stunned silence.
The silhouette of a massive tower lies far in the distance but just close enough to feel looming, the edges of it sharp and dipping into much smaller shapes all sandwiched together in one mass. Some of them are connected by rows of what she can only guess are beams. Parts of it almost feel like a city—a strangely segmented skyline, the details of it too distant to make out. But there are clearly buildings out there, and lots of them.
“How did they build so much so fast?” Gem whispers.
Pearl doesn’t have an answer to that. Her eyes remain glued to the tallest spire. It sticks out like a sore thumb.
The only thing about to rouse her from her awestruck stupor would be a man appearing over the crest of the water in a small oak boat with one hand waving high and excited in the air.
What immediately stands out to Pearl is that he bothered boating all the way out here when he surely has elytra by now. And this she firmly believes, because instead of filmy wings he sports a shiny purple chestplate; the man’s decked out in full enchanted netherite. Which again raises the question of how they managed to pull off so much progress so quickly… or if they perhaps started season 8 sooner than Pearl originally thought.
Or maybe he just thought flying in without warning would have intimidated them, but Pearl would personally argue the armor is scarier, objectively.
“Hi there! Welcome, newbies!” the man greets. His voice is a bit muted, drowned out by the sound of the waves, but what Pearl can hear feels cordial, if slightly teasing. Two-for-two on overtly sunshine-y hermits, she thinks.
“Hello there!” Gem calls back.
“Sorry for the wait,” he shouts. “Spawn’s at a bit of an awkward spot.”
“I can see that,” Pearl says. “Cute little island you got here.” She spreads out her arms and spins around for emphasis. The man laughs.
They watch and wait politely as he boats up to the edge of the water and slows to a stop. Once he’s stepped onto the sand, Pearl starts to make out the details of him more clearly: short-cropped brown hair just barely poking out beneath the helmet. Hints of a black t-shirt. The shine to his eyes matches his voice… as well as the armor Pearl would describe as, for lack of better words, totally extra. Was he really that afraid of mobs?
As soon as the man steps within range, Pearl throws out an emphatic hand.
“Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Pearl,” she says all at once.
Gem snorts a laugh beside her. The man blinks for a moment, perhaps taken aback by the firmness, but smiles back unflinchingly in turn.
“Nice to meet you, too, Pearl,” he says, easily taking her hand. His grip is certainly as strong as he looks. “The name’s Impulse.”
“Impulse! I’m Gem,” Gem says, sizing him up, eyes catching bemusedly on the glint of his helmet. “Thank goodness—our very own knight in shining armor.”
”Yours, maybe,” Pearl says. “I could’ve swam.”
“All the way across the ocean?” Impulse asks.
“I’m stubborn. I could make it,” says Pearl.
“Well, good thing I only brought one boat, then,” Impulse says.
Pearl stares at him, waiting for him to take it back, but his cheery smile doesn’t waver, almost scarily steady. Offended, Pearl scoffs, “Impulse! I was joking!”
“Okay, okay, me too,” Impulse finally laughs. He summons another boat from his inventory and plops it down. The waves lap at it gently. “Sorry! Couldn’t help myself.”
They end up agreeing to have Pearl and Gem share a boat, with Pearl steering and Impulse in the lead. It’s not as though it’s difficult to navigate there—they don’t run into any Drowned or magma block whirlpools threatening to suck them down, and it’s practically just a beeline over—but Impulse insists on them sticking close. And with his near-constant looks backward to make sure they’re still following, Pearl gets the feeling it’d be best just to comply and try and keep up.
“Pearl, your hair’s getting in my face,” Gem groans.
“Sorry, can’t hear your complaining over the wind,” Pearl says back.
“How about you braid it back all nice, like mine?” Gem suggests anyway.
Trusting Impulse won’t suddenly slow down and make her cause an untimely boat crash, Pearl strains around to look back at her. Gem only wears an innocent smile, said braid whipping behind her like a banner.
“You know what,” Pearl says, “if we ever find free time again in all this mess, be my guest.”
Gem gasps. “Really?”
“Are you two saying something?” Impulse calls back at them.
“Nothing!” they say at once.
The district buildings slowly but surely come into view. Pearl starts to make out more of the details built into the straight roads and sloped rooftops. A lot of the builds toward the outer edges are vivid and occasionally nonsensical; but there’s a notable shift into slick and industrial farther back. Those maroons and grays feel especially dark and artificial compared to the more fantastical structures dotted about like giant pistons and statues of bees.
There’s something else to the island, though, that’s rather hard to ignore.
Stretching, grisly masses of mycelium, swallowing up the ground and even curling up the sides of buildings, tendrils threatening to breach through doorways and windows. Charred strings of craters Pearl can only assume would have come from TNT that were never patched up. Ghost town shops looking as though they haven’t been visited, much less maintained, in months or maybe more. There’s a ghastly taint to the air, almost, to the hints of what might have stood here in the past, only to be overrun by rot, neglect, and the beginnings of structural ruin.
The familiarity brings a bit of an aching twinge to Pearl’s heart. She quickly pushes it down.
“So… uh… this is where all the shops go?” Gem’s calling at Impulse.
“Yup! This is the spot we all agreed on this season. You just gotta pay for your own plots. Though, I can’t exactly say we’ve made many additions as of late,” Impulse admits. His tone is sheepish as he scans the island. Pearl feels like he should be feeling a little more about that than sheepish. “Yeah, it’s not a very pretty sight right now. Sorry your introduction couldn’t be more… grand.”
“That’s alright,” Gem says slowly.
“I promise we do a whole lot better than this! …Usually,” Impulse says. There’s the first hint of a waver in what follows, but it’s so subtle Pearl can imagine missing it: “I’m sure things’ll be back to normal soon.”
Pearl has to wonder what his definition of soon must be if the shopping district’s been left to sit so long it’s this far into being picked away by fungus and disuse. She doesn’t press, though; Impulse has proven too friendly of a guy so far for her to start needling him.
Not yet, at the very least.
“You know, Mumbo’s been all over the place waiting for you guys to arrive,” Impulse continues, just as they reach the shore. He rises to his feet and stretches his arms above his head. “I think he really wanted to get a hold of you before the Resistance did.”
Pearl, parked right beside him, snaps to look at him. Impulse doesn’t elaborate, though, eyes firmly on the boat he’s stashing away, even humming some plucky tune Pearl doesn’t recognize. Gem, on the other hand, appears just as alarmed as her.
“Pardon,” Gem says for her. “Did I hear that right? The Resistance?”
Impulse nods. “Yeah, yeah. Long story. I’m sure Mumbo will explain everything once we get there.” He claps his hands together. “For now, let’s just get away from any prying eyes, yeah?”
It feels like it should be a ominous statement, but there’s no weight or threat behind the words, only the casual brightness that Pearl is quickly beginning to associate with this man. Even so, she can safely say that none of this is making her feel the slightest bit reassured. Gem shoots her a baffled look that she feels roughly translates to what on earth have we walked in on, and Pearl can really only shrug cluelessly in turn.
So they carry on their trek up the island.
Pearl makes sure to check over her shoulder the rest of the way.
*
It shouldn’t be surprising that they head straight for that gigantic spire Pearl spotted back at spawn, but the sight of it still manages to catch her off guard.
Industrial,as it turns out, had been an apt way of putting it. The extensive network of support beams propping the thing up makes Pearl wonder if it’s been blasted apart in the past and hastily put back together again; certainly better treatment than the rest of the shopping district’s been getting, if the air of rot is anything to go off, and yet another sign that this villain headquarters of a building is probably going to prove pretty important. Mumbo’s place in all this, however, remains beyond her.
The build style itself, though… yeah, that about adds up, with the mental image she has of him. Grian used to paint a pretty vivid picture, all the way back in EVO.
“Pearl, you’re not gonna believe it.”
“You fixed your sheep farm?”
“No, not that,” Grian had scowled. He thwacked her shoulder with a hand. She merely wiggled away and stuck out her tongue. “That Mumbo guy. Do you remember him?”
They were seated, admittedly somewhat precariously, on an archway at the Grian Empire, which. One punch and either one of them could have sent the other splatting onto the quartz below and running back shouting about their items while the other laughed like a maniac. …Not that Pearl had done it to Grian before. Definitely. Other than that, it was rather peaceful out here, and one of their favorite hangout spots when Pearl could find time away from Downtown EVO, so far out from the rest of the server. One had to get pretty used to that sort of distance to hang out with Grian.
“Hmm,” Pearl said, not actually having to think much about it at all. Grian only talked about him constantly. “Mustache man?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“What about him?”
“He’s, like—a total genius, Pearl.”
Pearl raised an eyebrow. “Really now?”
“I’m serious. I’ve never met someone so good at redstone,” Grian said. “He showed me around one of his testing worlds—that’s where I’ve been this week, by the way—”
“You really did make a friend! I’m so proud,” Pearl said.
“—And he’s put together so many weirdo contraptions—plus, he can build, too,” Grian finished, ignoring her. “Big geometric industrial stuff… yeah, total opposite of me, now that I think about it.”
“Opposites attract?” Pearl suggested. At Grian’s unamused look, she laughed. “Not like that.”
“Anyways,” Grian said. “We’re probably gonna collab on a project sometime soon, just so you know. So the Empire will be in your hands again.”
“Where he’ll finally teach you a lick of redstone?” Pearl asked.
Finally losing steam, Grian scoffed. “I’m finally open about my life and you’re nothing but mean to me, Pearl.”
“You know you bring it on yourself.”
“I was thinking of inviting him to EVO.”
Now that wasn’t something Pearl was expecting to hear. She stopped. “Wait. Really?”
“…Actually, that’s not entirely true. I already brought up the idea to him,” Grian admitted. He looked out at their view of the sunset instead of her. “He told me he’s probably too busy, though, with Hermitcraft.”
“Oh,” Pearl said. “I suppose that makes sense.”
Grian didn’t elaborate further, but something about his expression suggested he had more to say. It was one of hesitance; certainly not something Pearl was used to seeing on him. It made her pull a face in turn.
“Well?” she said. “Is something wrong with that?”
“…No, no, nothing like that,” Grian said, in a rush. “It’s just…” He paused. “He suggested the offer right back. About Hermitcraft.”
Pearl stared at him. It took longer than a few moments to process that she hadn’t actually responded yet, simply boggling at him open-mouthed like a fish out of water, and in that time Grian dared to turn back to her with a cheeky, I know what I’m in for type of smile.
“…Are you kidding me?” Pearl blurted. She grabbed Grian by the shoulder and shook him around so suddenly that he visibly startled. “That’s amazing! When was this? Why didn’t you tell me!?”
“Like I said, I’ve been busy!” Grian squawked helplessly.
“You could’ve spared a second for a text, Gri! What’s the real reason?” Pearl pressed.
She evidently nailed it on the head, because Grian averted his eyes again, inhaling through his teeth. Pearl, ever impatient, leaned in closer, silently egging him on.
Finally, Grian sighed.
“I don’t know if I’d be able to juggle both at the same time either,” he confessed.
Pearl froze, gaping. “You’re not turning him down, are you?”
“Other way around, Pearl.”
“Oh.”
Pearl considered this for a long moment. Grian was looking at her in a way she had only seen maybe a handful of times before, like the time he’d arrived at her door bemoaning a build of hers he’d gotten caught in the crossfire of a TNT trap, or the time part of the railway got destroyed and he came straight to her asking for help fixing it—except far more earnest, which wasn’t always something she could attribute to him. She floundered for a moment to put a word to it.
She thought it might be guilt.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Pearl finally said.
“What?” Grian eyed her.
“Did you think I was about to be anything but happy for you?” Pearl asked. She playfully elbowed him in the side, which shifted Grian’s expression into a glare. Pearl decided it looked better on him than worry. “I mean, c’mon, this is Hermitcraft we’re talking about! That’s one of the coolest opportunities a builder could get! And, besides—no server was meant to last forever.”
“It’s not official yet,” Grian said quickly. “It’s not like I’m leaving now.”
“Okay, well. When you do,” Pearl said.
“If I do,” Grian corrected.
“Do you want to?”
“Well…”
“I’m not hearing a no, so. When you do.”
“Ugh,” said Grian.
He was still clearly flustered, face a shade of pink Pearl would normally keep teasing him for. But he was back to grinning again, and that was good enough for her.
She joked around, but… she did get it. She knew this was a lot to take on, and that he’d be leaving a lot behind, and that it was going to be weird, making such a big change after settling here for so long, and so suddenly. …For Grian. Obviously. Pearl chose to ignore the faintest of blooming melancholy in her own chest, because then she’d be the ridiculous one here, ironically enough, for mourning over a perfectly good thing.
No Empire was built to last forever.
“Just promise you’ll write me,” Pearl said then. “Okay?”
Pearl’s goaded back to reality by the sound of rustling in the bushes behind her.
“…Uh. Impulse,” she says slowly. “What were those prying eyes you were talking about, again?”
It seems she isn’t the only one to pick up on the source of the noise, because Gem spins on her heel, eyes wide, as does Impulse, who brandishes a netherite axe so quickly it suggests to Pearl he’s been waiting for this moment all day. Pearl, too, instinctively reaches into her inventory for a sword, only to grasp at empty air.
It’s then that she remembers that she and Gem both haven’t collected any gear or materials at all since they got here, so she instead does the next smartest thing: refuse to hide behind the man in armor and shake a threatening fist at the air.
“I pack a mean punch,” she declares, ”whoever you are!”
“Pearl,” Impulse hisses in warning, voice pitched, “we should be quiet, there could be others around!”
“What do you mean others?” Gem whisper-shouts back.
“I said we’d get to that later!”
“If we get murdered in the streets without even knowing why, I promise you won’t hear the end of it!”
“Quite rude to sneak up on someone,” Pearl continues over their arguing. She thinks she hears Impulse sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but face us head on, at the very least—I’ll throw hands fair and square!”
Pearl waits at rapt attention for any sign of a response. She doesn’t catch anything at first—probably a good thing, considering if it just turned out to be, like, a skeleton she’s been yelling at, she might have just combusted from embarrassment—but then the smallest exhale of a breath meets her ears, and then another. And it finally registers that what she’s hearing is probably laughter.
Impulse must realize it at that moment, too, along with a few other things, because he drops his axe at his side and groans.
“Etho!” he says.
“Etho?” Gem echoes.
“Etho,” confirms—well. Etho, presumably.
A tall and gangly man steps out of the shadows, adorning a black headband, a big puff of white hair, and a mask covering his nose and mouth. Pearl can’t see his expression, but she thinks he must be grinning ear to ear, with the way his eyes are creased and shoulders still shaking with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Pearl demands. “Was that not intimidating?”
“Oh, no. I was definitely intimidated,” Etho says. “I’m sure you’d have beaten me to a pulp, with that confidence.”
Pearl chooses to ignore his playful tone. “Okay. Good.”
Based on the fact that Impulse hadn’t immediately started swinging, Pearl can only assume him and Etho are on the same side. What these sides even are, exactly, she still doesn’t have the slightest clue, but with Impulse keeping tight-lipped, she doesn’t have much hope for any worthwhile hints before they get there.
“Uh… ignoring all that,” Gem says, eyes on Pearl, then turning toward Etho, “excuse me, sir, why exactly were you stalking us?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it stalking,” Etho says, like snooping after strangers through the streets was a perfectly normal daytime activity. “The mayor got worried and wanted me to check in on you, that’s all. Wouldn’t want the new guys getting lost, y’know?”
“Would’ve been nice of him to let me know,” Impulse says under his breath. Then, more loudly, he goes, “And of course you had to make things strange. First impressions, right?”
“Hey, man,” Etho says, “you know how it is. Just following orders.”
The words are impartial, but Pearl can most definitely still hear the smile behind his voice, one of someone who’s garnered exactly the reaction they wanted and are entirely too pleased with themselves about it. Pearl can’t help but wonder if the mask is just there for the mystery of it. When she looks Etho in the eye, raising a brow and debating asking just that, he simply looks away again, whistling innocently.
The look on Impulse’s face is flabbergasted, but his sigh, in warm contrast, is fond.
“Okay, okay,” he says, “let’s get back on track.” He points a thumb at the road some ways ahead leading up to the spire. “We should really get a move on before poor Mumbo gives himself a heart attack.”
“So you’re tagging along now, too?” Gem asks Etho, crossing her arms. “Anyone else snooping around out here that wants in?”
“Nope! Just me. Don’t worry. I’ll help keep watch for you guys,” Etho says. He straightens up to his full height, lifts a hand to his forehead like a salute, and squints out at the surrounding buildings on a pivot. “See? I can be useful.”
Gem watches him. “You kind of remind me of a pointer dog.”
Etho blinks. “Eh?”
The rest of their conversation on the way up remains at about that level of productive, which is to say not at all. Pearl ends up tuning out their bickering some ways in. It’s not that she isn’t interested—far from it, truthfully. These are already some of the most fascinating people she’s met in a long while (not that she’s met many new people in general as of late, but she digresses), and she gets the feeling she’s barely scratched the surface of the types of players on this server. But the monstrous entrance of the tower is coming up fast, and it’s kind of making her heart go. Because if there’s any chance of finding out what’s been going on, it’s probably here. And she’s never felt both more and less prepared all at once before quite like this.
She’s still deep in the throes of her nerves when Gem slows to walk beside her, leaving Impulse and Etho to debate amongst themselves up ahead.
“Geez, those two,” Gem says, with a small sigh. Pearl thinks there’s only so much disdain that can come out of her voice, though, especially when she’s still smiling. “Think this is how meeting every hermit’s gonna go?”
“It’s not that I mind,” Pearl says. “But right now, I really just want answers.” She trails off into a mutter. “Still no sign of Grian…”
She doesn’t have a very good feeling. She thinks of not seeing Grian’s name in the chat at all when they first arrived. Best case scenario, he’s simply off on another server—but where could he possibly be so preoccupied he spent nearly a year not answering her?
It can’t really just be that he was busy, can it?
Her confliction must be palpable, because Gem bumps her shoulder with hers.
“We’ll get to the bottom of all this,” Gem tells her, her nod surprisingly firm. Pearl finds her very first instinct is to believe her. She takes it as a good sign. “Together. Promise.”
Pearl smiles. “Pinkie promise?”
To Gem’s credit, she only looks confused for a moment. “Sure,” she says.
True to her word, she holds out a pinkie, and Pearl brightly returns the gesture. Then, before Gem can draw away, Pearl transitions into clasping her hand, and delivers the most vigorous handshake she can muster. Gem watches her hand get jerked up and down with a wince, then bursts into baffled giggles.
“Goodness, Pearl,” she says. “You’re stronger than you look!”
“I could’ve broken Etho’s nose,” Pearl agrees.
And just like that, the deal’s been made; it’s time to get serious, no matter what this bizarre, maybe-battleground of a server has to throw at them. Pearl and Gem, against the world, on the hunt for a pesky builder.
Which is good, because Pearl’s very unprepared for what greets them inside Mumbo’s fortress.
It feels far larger on the inside, somehow, which speaks to the expert use of interior space from top to bottom. There are countless barrels stacked along the entrance, some with items spilling over the top, and pipes running along the walls, held sturdily in place and wrapped around the corners. Intense redstone lamps give the air an artificial warmth and an almost steampunk feel. It’s just missing smoke for atmosphere, Pearl thinks, and more over-the-top factory machinery.
So much for focusing. She might get just a bit lost in all the details. At some point Gem has to hook her arm through hers and guide her away from where she’s squinting at railing detailings and back to where Impulse is leading them.
They round a corner, and step into a chamber even grander than the first.
“Oh my word,” Pearl breathes. She runs a hand along a pillar, taking in the bumps and divots of blackstone texturing. She can only imagine how much time this would have taken. “This is incredible.”
“Me and Jevin got put on redoing the interior!” Impulse explains. “I’m used to mechanical mega structures anyway. It just kind of worked out.”
“Are the pipes for items?” Gem asks, still attached to Pearl. “Like a storage system?”
“Yup. Weapons, armor, potions, all that stuff,” Etho confirms. He pats the hilt of the netherite sword at his side, rather dorkily. “And delivered straight here. It’s real convenient.”
Pearl stops admiring the artistry of a stained glass window and tilts her head. “…Delivered from where?”
“My goodness, there you are!”
Pearl’s attention is abruptly dragged away by a voice down the hall. She stops. There, at the end of a trailing embroidered carpet and at the foot of a sparkling throne, stands a towering man with a mustache.
She regrets calling Etho tall and gangly now. Not because it isn’t true—but because Mumbo dethroned him the very second Pearl laid eyes on him. The king of tall and gangly. A fitting title, she supposes, for the supposed ruler of the shopping district. The thought still feels rather jarring. She guesses she’s heard all about mayors and elections and Mumbo, even all the way back when she and Grian still talked, but just hadn’t stopped long enough to really connect the dots.
It feels like he should be carrying himself more authoritatively, considering the red mayoral ribbon around his front and what looks to be a literal diamond throne at his back. Instead, he stands there with eyes darting between his visitors and wringing his hands in front of him like he isn’t sure what to do with them. Maybe Impulse wasn’t so far off, about needing to make it back before he suffered a conniption. The poor guy honestly looks like a stray breeze could bowl him over.
Something about it makes all of Grian’s praising of him infinitely more hilarious.
“Why are you wearing your suit like that?” Pearl asks, once they’ve gathered at the throne.
Mumbo stops fidgeting and stares. “Erm. What? Like, the over the shoulders bit?”
“It just seems impractical,” Pearl says. “What if you’re in a fight and it flies off? Or it gets caught on a tree branch?”
Mumbo gapes at her, dumbfounded. He looks to Impulse and Etho, but they aren’t of much help either, both trying very hard to muffle their laughter, with varying degrees of success. Mumbo turns back to Pearl.
“You don’t think it looks cool?” he asks earnestly. “Ren said he thought it looked cool…”
“Pearl, I thought we had other questions,” Gem whispers.
“Just warming him up,” Pearl says back. Mumbo does not, in fact, look very warmed up. He’s prodding at the edges of his suit jacket more like someone who’s just had their entire sense of self-perception turned on its head, or perhaps a very affronted cat. Pearl still figures it’s now or never.
“Mr. Mayor,” she begins, “I believe you’re familiar with my friend Grian. Have you seen him?”
Mumbo goes perfectly statue-still. He’s not the only one; Impulse beside her winces like she’s just said something very wrong. Pearl, feeling herself tense, still doesn’t waver, even before the sudden spike of intensity.
Eventually, Mumbo cracks a nervous smile.
“You know! This is exactly why I directed you here,” he says, “believe or not. He, ah—he told us all about you, Pearl.”
“Grian did?” Pearl says, taken aback.
“When I realized who you were, I figured you’d probably like to know where he’s gone, too.” Mumbo gives a short hop of a laugh. “But. Well. I’m sorry to disappoint—I don’t know where he is. I haven’t in months, really.”
Pearl’s heart sinks like a stone. She tries not to let it show. “Okay. Well… when did you last see him? Was he up to anything strange?”
Mumbo makes a strangled noise. “Um…”
He waves his hands around each other for a moment, searching for words. Impulse ends up clearing his throat.
“He was Mumbo’s lead advisor, for one,” he says. Something more solemn colors his voice. “Supposed to be, anyway. Then he disappeared right when the Resistance started getting serious.”
Pearl, suddenly very lost for words, can really only stare. “You… can’t be serious.”
“…Yeah,” Mumbo says, quietly. “Yeah. It’s true.”
Silence. Pearl bristles. “That’s…”
“I’m sorry,” Gem cuts in, “are you implying someone in that position would just—up and leave like that?”
Impulse sighs. “It’s certainly what it looks like, isn’t it?”
Mumbo turns his eyes away, back to fiddling with his hands. Pearl looks to him then Impulse then back again, completely and utterly bewildered.
“Grian wouldn’t—I don’t understand,” Pearl says. “Have you even tried looking for him?”
“Got a party together and searched everywhere.” Impulse shakes his head. “His mega base, starter house, his shops, the district—nothing.”
Gem’s look is incredulous. “And you guys just… decided that was enough?”
Impulse winces. “All we’ve really got left to assume is that he logged out. And, I mean, under current circumstances…”
“The Turf War won’t stop for anyone,” Mumbo says quietly.
The Turf War. Pearl rattles the term around in her brain for a moment like it’ll give her answers, but predictably, it provides none. Even more predictably, no one else does, either. She’s no closer to knowing much of anything. The following silence speaks volumes.
Pearl can’t believe what she’s witnessing. It’s… crazy, to her, that they would have ever come to this conclusion about Grian, much less so quickly. It feels like she must be missing something, surely. Something that would snap the last of this ridiculous jigsaw puzzle into place and make all of it make sense in her brain. But for now, she’s just lost. Lost and dreadfully confused.
She makes a vague mental note of how dead quiet Etho’s been in all this.
“And you’ve just… accepted this?” Pearl finally asks. “Just assume he’d abandon ship and not, I dunno, been compromised? Had something happen?”
Impulse turns to Mumbo instead of answering. Mumbo hesitates, then sucks in a deep, rattling breath.
“We had a… disagreement, before he left,” he says hollowly, like he’s been in this exact position before, and recited these exact words. Pearl wonders, distantly, which of Grian’s friends he explained this to last. “I don’t know where he went after that. I haven’t seen him since. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Pearl.”
He doesn’t go into any more detail. And neither does Impulse, no matter how intensely Pearl stares at him. She even tries shooting a look at Etho, but he remains steadfast in his silence, looking down with his hands in his pockets like this couldn’t possibly have any less to do with him.
Pearl doesn’t like this… this stance they’ve taken up, on Grian. It doesn’t line up with how she pictured Mumbo. It doesn’t line up with anything she’s heard or believed for years. She doesn’t understand how they’re so deep in some crazy server war that a missing hermit’s simply been put on the backburner, and she doesn’t understand how so many people can look at Grian disappearing and only assume the worst of him.
Two’s a pattern, Pearl supposes.
It occurs to her this is probably going to prove far more complicated than she ever expected.
“Grian—Grian’s fine,” Mumbo tells her. “I’m… sure he’s fine.”
The way he says it sounds more like he isn’t sure about anything at all. Pearl keeps her mouth shut.
She feels Gem lay a hand on her shoulder, and she puts on a small, appreciative smile, just for her.
“I—I can at least explain everything else.” Mumbo seems regretful, at the very least, as he scrambles for a subject change, starting for the steps. “It’s getting fairly late… we can head to the guest rooms, have a proper chat on the way—”
“We’ll be staying here for the night, then?” Gem asks.
“It’d, ah. Be preferable, at least until you settle a base out on the mainland.” Mumbo clears his throat. “Plus, if the Resistance is around… they might not be happy to see you with us, yeah?”
“…Right,” Gem says blankly. “No, I suppose not.”
That seems to be good enough for Mumbo, because he gives a small dip of his head, shakes out his hands, and heads toward a different exit. While he steps down the last of the stairs, Pearl turns to Impulse.
He shoots her a smile. It’s likely supposed to be comforting, but—like most of what she’s encountered today—it’s nice enough, but not much else. Gem’s presence beside her, on the other hand, is at least something solid. Pearl hears her sigh, and feels it in her very soul.
Well. They don’t have much of a choice, do they?
“I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Impulse says. He gestures toward his communicator. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”
“Will do,” says Gem. “Thanks, Impulse.”
At some point Etho must have slithered away as well, because it’s only Mumbo who accompanies them as they journey along yet another stairwell. The fancy architecture and ornate decorations certainly don’t stop even back here. Just about every square inch of this place screams wealth and extravagance, and Pearl can only imagine how many materials it must have taken to construct. She’s definitely lost track of where they are by now.
“You, uh… gonna start on that explanation, or?” Gem prompts, only when they’re what looks to be halfway up the steps.
Pearl’s not the only one dragged back to attention at that. Mumbo visibly sweats. “Oh! Sorry, I was just waiting to see if you, uh, had any questions in particular. Just to start with.”
He’d totally been zoning out, too. Pearl snorts. “Alright. Sure. What the heck is a Turf War?”
Mumbo looks at her. “Well! Starting off strong. How do I put this simply…”
“Simple would be much appreciated right now,” Gem notes, “on a server that’s clearly anything but.”
“Oh, trust me, I hear you.” Mumbo shakes his head with a hint of a high laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I… suppose it started with the mayoral race. When I got elected. Obviously.”
“Figured out that much,” Pearl agrees.
“From there, I suppose… certain people… weren’t happy,” Mumbo says. His eyes dart away. “Which. You know. Makes sense, when there were votes against me. So. Hermits started rallying around one of my political rivals.”
“And who might that be?” Gem asks.
“Probably wouldn’t know him, to be fair, but—Scar,” Mumbo replies. He says it with a look of discomfort, like just saying his name would make him appear right behind them. “He ran his whole campaign on replacing the shopping district mycelium with grass. And he still intended to make it happen.”
Gem tilts her head. “And that’s… a bad thing?”
“Er,” Mumbo says. He’s back to wringing his hands. “Well! Well, we… had a vote, didn’t we? And people voted to keep the mycelium. And that should have been that.”
Pearl eyes him oddly. “I feel like this is something you could have compromised on.”
“You’d think!” Mumbo barks a laugh. “Yes, you would think. But demands just kept escalating. And before you knew it there were two sides, with half the server plotting to overthrow me, and fighting and espionage of all sorts left and right, and—hah, I’ll let you in on a secret—I don’t think it’s about the mycelium. I doubt it ever was, really.”
His voice descends into a quickening ramble toward the end there. Pearl can no longer see his expression, with him now facing strictly ahead, but she can only imagine it as something slightly crazed.
She’s… tempted to take his word for it. The sudden intensity to his voice feels very real. But then the state of the shopping district flashes in her head, and suddenly things are right back to making no sense again. She gets defending his position, but if the mycelium is clearly so actively harmful to the land he supposedly resides over, why is staying mayor the priority here? How is that anywhere near worth it?
“Oh,” Gem says, slowly. Pearl can imagine she’s picturing the same thing. “I… see.”
“And that’s why we’ve been so, well. Busy, these past few months.” They finally, thankfully reach the end of the staircase. Mumbo sighs as Pearl and Gem catch up on the top step. “Scar won’t be backing down anytime soon, and I can’t… I don’t intend to either.”
That settles over their shoulders like an eerie fog. Pearl sees Gem shuffle her feet. Mumbo glances between them. Perhaps realizing just how tense the air has gotten all at once, he claps his hands together and puts on a weak smile.
“...Well!” he exclaims. “Any more questions?”
Pearl exchanges a look with Gem. When it’s clear she doesn’t intend on asking anything else, Pearl turns back to Mumbo.
“Just one,” she says. Quickly, she clarifies, “For now! I’ve got a lot of stuff to process, frankly.”
“That’s fair,” Mumbo says.
“What season is this?” Pearl asks.
Mumbo pauses.
“Season 7,” he says.
“Okay,” Pearl says. …Yeah. She shares a long look with Gem. She had been starting to suspect, but hearing it aloud makes it feel all the more surreal. “Okay. Yeah, that… explains a lot.”
“It’ll be done soon,” Mumbo mumbles. “We’ll be done with it soon.”
It’s said with the same false confidence of Impulse earlier. Except with far more emphasis on the false. It’s no more comforting now than it was then.
Pearl hears a ping, then looks down at her communicator, and it takes all of the composure left in her body to keep a neutral face.
GoodTimeWithScar: Hey newbie! Interested in some real answers?
GoodTimeWithScar: The barge, down main street, tomorrow at noon
GoodTimeWithScar: Youll know it when you see it ;)
…Yeah. Yeah, okay. She must stare at the text for longer than intended, because Mumbo asks, eyeing her nervously, “Is—something up?”
“None ya,” Pearl blurts automatically. At Mumbo’s surprised blink, she amends, “I mean, uh… nothing… important.”
Maybe not the smoothest. Gem’s slightly pained expression says it all. Mumbo must not find it worth it to press, though, as he merely shrugs. “Oh. Erm. Fair enough, I guess.”
Mumbo stops a minute to check his own communicator with a furrowed brow before proceeding on their (mildly awkward) walk to the guest rooms.
The rooms are… relatively normal, actually, compared to what you’d find in what Pearl considers a reasonable starter house, yet somehow humble compared to the rest of the tower. She pokes her head into the rooms to take a glance around. Both her and Gem’s appear about the same, just with minor tweaks like the color of the curtains hanging on the windows and the types of trapdoors. There are even complimentary bookshelves built into the walls. The beds, most importantly of all, look cozy enough, and the air is warm with candlelight.
“I know it’s a brutal walk up and down the tower,” Mumbo’s saying. If Pearl’s not mistaken, he sounds a bit absent. “That’s why we have plenty of spots to land on elytra and open windows. I know you’ve just started, but we can most certainly prepare a few pairs of wings for you, if you’d like.”
Pearl’s first instinct is to decline. She’s never liked survival world handouts—not much ever, but especially not early-game. It’s never the same as working your way up yourself; that’s vital to the thrill of joining a new world. But these circumstances are proving far less than normal, and if Pearl’s to get serious about finding Grian, she’ll have to do all she can to catch up with everyone else, and fast.
There’s probably something to be said about this being her first Hermitcraft experience. She decides for herself that this season doesn’t count on her personal record. She’s joined at the end of it, after all.
“We can figure that out in the morning,” Pearl decides. “If that’s alright with you, Gem?”
“At this point, I’ll agree to whatever,” Gem says, visibly wilting. “I just need some sleep.”
“Splendid,” Mumbo gives a small chuckle.
Then, with a short exchange of farewells, the click of a door locking shut, and a blink, Pearl suddenly finds herself without company. Stood in an empty room, inventory still abysmally bare, and alone with her thoughts for the first time since she made it onto the server.
With an immense wave of dejá vù, Pearl stumbles toward the bed and collapses face-down on the covers.
She… has a lot to think about. That much is putting it nicely. A troubled mayor, a war, a crumbling shopping district, a rebellion—and, most pressingly of all, a decision to make, about where exactly she stands between them.
It wouldn’t be smart to rush to one side or the other without more information. She knows her picture of what’s going on is shaky at best, and she knows Mumbo might not even share the full of what he knows until he deems her trustworthy. Which leads her to…
Everything she’s heard so far has surmounted to don’t trust the Resistance. Mumbo had claimed they’d started the conflict, but who’s to say that was the whole story? Or if it’s even the truth at all? How can she trust anyone at all when she feels so in the dark, running in blind, and they’re the ones with all the information?
Well. That’s not totally accurate. She gets the feeling a certain antlered woman has her back. Just intuition—or maybe a pinkie promise.
Pearl flips on her back, eyes on the ceiling, and huffs a deep, steadying breath.
It’s true that throwing herself into the Resistance’s hands could prove risky. But there’s no way she’ll be able to piece a proper investigation together without both perspectives, and really, she doesn’t fear them, or anything they might pull. They’re still just players, after all. So if Mumbo isn’t about to budge, and everyone else in his inner circle is more of the same, then… yeah, Pearl’s next move feels quite obvious.
First thing’s first…
What on earth is the barge?
*