Chapter Text
There is this thing in Grian’s chest—nothing physical, but a feeling a weight. It purrs in delight, when he is with his friends, and is overly possessive of those closest to him. It is a constant battle to appease this thing and maintain healthy relations with his—the hermits.
But sometimes, as he lies awake at night, he can hear the voices calling to this part of him.
Xelqua they wail Please, have mercy, please make the other Watchers leave us in peace.
Xelqua they chant, Great One, Exalted, I ask that you grant me riches beyond my wildest imagination.
Xelqua he whispers—and this one is new, but eerily familiar, All I ask is for the strength to protect my people.
And this last one is quiet, but not in the same ways the others are. The others are loud, they are born of desperation, of a booming voice commanding respect, but that last one. It was barely a whisper on the breeze, and yet it was the clearest of all.
There is nothing he can do for the people under the watcher’s thumb, there is nothing he will do for someone who commands him, but—strength? While he is not exactly rich in it, neither is he in short supply. And he could spare some strength to the one who is true enough in faith that his message is carried straight to Xelqua’s ear.
***
When Grian lands in Xisuma’s Wasteland area, he shakes his wings out, and then skips over to the group that’s loosely gathered together. He is quickly dwarfed by an arm slung over his shoulders by Mumbo and he wiggles just a little, but gives up quickly enough and burrows into Mumbo’s side.
It’s only a few more minutes before the last of the stragglers come trickling in, and a hush falls over the group as Xisuma stands on a table.
“Alright my friends,” He starts, voice kind but bold and that little thing in Grian’s chest lights up in a fiery little fit of possession and Grian bites his lip, pain lighting up the nerves there.
Xisuma is continuing his speech— something about his family’s tradition. Grian’s got his arm wound around Mumbo’s waist and he finds himself pressing closer as the tide of Xisuma’s steady tone washes over him. As a group, they are herded into the newly constructed temple. The building—fitting with Xisuma’s starter base— is mostly the pale yellow of sandstone accented with teals, and has five distinct wings, branching out like a snowflake. Four are empty, while one appears to be relatively finished.
It is not the grandiose image Grian had held in his mind when picturing the religion of Xisuma—the same man who has created nine worlds now dedicated to building grandiose structures. There are no pews, as Grian had been anticipating from the few times Grian accompanied his childhood friends to their temple services, just a few cushions to the sides, where one could choose to face the inside or the window. There is an altar, with a brocaded depiction of a hooded figure with numerous pairs of wings and a wide-open eye behind the figure’s head akin to a halo.
Grian tilts his head as he takes it in—it’s familiar, in an uncomfortable way.
“My main patron of the Watcher pantheon,” Xisuma is saying, and Grian’s attention slams into place—shit shit shit, that’s why, that’s, he can’t, he can’t be found by them again— “Is Xelqua, who is represented as a trickster, protector, and wanderer. He’s not as popular these days due to—”
His fragile mind floats away from his body, and he blinks when Mumbo gently shakes him.
“Grian?” Mumbo’s lips are twisted into a frown, “You okay?”
Grian blinks slowly once more, “What, yeah I’m fine,” He gives a shaky smile and turns his head to return his attention to Xisuma’s speech.
But—the temple is empty save Xisuma, Mumbo and himself—Xisuma is regarding Grian with a curiously tilted head and Grian can imagine he’s frowning under his helmet.
“Right um,” He takes a step back and the world around him seems to wriggle around him—like, like worms in a tin. Ha, weird. Mumbo grabs ahold of him once more, and Xisuma steps forward to put a hand to his neck and check his pulse.
“Grian your heart is racing—you’re not okay, do you know what’s going on?”
He blinks again—goddamnit can he actually form a thought instead of just blinking all the time?
“Um.”
“Let’s lay him down,”
“Right,”
Grian lets the world go fuzzy as they maneuver him onto one of the cushions on the floor. He stares at the vaulted ceilings and ignores Xisuma and Mumbo’s fretting in favor of the floaty haze over his senses. He closes his eyes, soon his hearing peters off as well. And for a long while, it is just him and the void.
***
“They will be safe if I accept?” He asks once more, and the robed woman nods to him. Atop her veiled head, seven bone white horns protrude from her head.
“Worry not trickster, your friends will be safe from your mistake should you choose to right your wrongs in this way.” She says, holding out a thin and spindly hand, lavender in tone with long talons in place of nails.
“And how do I know I can trust you?”
He cannot see beyond the shadow of her hood, but there is a part of him that just knows she is grinning, and it sends a shiver down his spine. And it doesn’t make sense because he can’t even see her, but the smile gives him the impression of a yawning crack in the surface of the earth, something hungry, “Oh young one,” She says young one like it is a threat, “My curse is that I must always tell the truth—though I will always evoke the truth in return.”
He takes her hand.
He stands on the island in the End, sword in hand. All that is left; survive the dragon.
***
“I just don’t understand,” Mumbo is lamenting as Grian returns to his senses, “I have no idea what could have happened to make him just—” A frustrated groan crawls itself out of his throat.
Grian slowly pries his eyes open, and in his waving vision, he sees Xisuma rubbing a comforting hand over Mumbo’s shoulder. That little piece of him, neatly curled into a corner of his chest rears its head and a wave of jealousy and possessiveness washes over him. He banishes it not even a second later, because yes that is his partner, who y’know, has friends and really should have friends to lead a healthy life.
They’re sat on the floor cushions across the narrow temple hall, Mumbo sitting with his knees up and arms loosely crossed over them, Xisuma sits halfway in a criss-cross, with one leg bent, and the other extended.
“Mm’bo” Grian mumbles, and both Mumbo and Xisuma perk up.
“Grian!” He exclaims and scrambles upright and over to his side.
Grian hums, and Mumbo gently grasps his hand, interlacing their fingers, “How’re you doing? You gave us quite the fright.”
“Hm, what happened,” His muscles feel all jello-y and his tongue is awkward and fumbling in his mouth.
“I was hoping you would be able to tell us my friend,” Xisuma chimes, weary tone hiding in an attempt at light-heartedness.
“I don’t know I just remember—” His stomach churns at the scene that flashes before his eyes, her, of course he cannot escape her, not even after years of world hopping and firewalls armed to the teeth, she doesn’t even need to find him. All it takes is a silly tapestry depiction of a Watcher and Grian come crumbling down like a house of cards, she doesn’t have to be there with him, she’s already inside his mind.
He squeezes his eyes shut and flinches away from a hand that brushes against his throat, the touch does not return and Xisuma murmurs a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
Gr—Xelqua curls in on himself, shuddering violently, “M sorry, ‘M sorry, please I didn’t—please don’t— please, it,”
He breaks off into a choked sob, and he can distantly hear Mumbo murmuring reassurances, but it is like a tide of an unseen ocean laps the words away before they reach his ears. Suddenly, a feeling of calm plants itself into the middle of his chest, and he immediately goes quiet, limbs stuttering and falling numb at the sudden change. It is gone, whatever panic, hysteria, overreaction had overcame him had just as quickly disintegrated.
“Huh,” Grian says, able to sit up on his own. Mumbo and Xisuma watch him with wide eyes as he clambers to his feet, wings flapping a bit as he overbalances.
“Anyways,” He says, looking at them, frozen as they are on the ground, “I think I’m going to head home now.”
He ignores their protests and calmly exits the temple, and immediately throws himself into the air, wings beating powerfully. He has pierced the blanket of clouds before Mumbo or Xisuma can even strap on their elytra.