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Sherbert’s always been alone. They have distant memories of people that they’ve met, but that was so long ago. For all intents and purposes, they’ve never had anyone. And they don’t mind it that way. It’s just them, the things, and that infernal chicken. They don’t have to worry about anyone, they can just take care of themself, and their biggest problem was that whole mess with the bleeding eye and that Icarus character twenty-odd years ago.
And that was caused by another person, so it just reinforces their belief. Being alone is great, actually. They don’t know why the things keep asking about a brother, and they don’t really care. The past twenty years have been the best they’ve had in decades, and so their love of the quiet just grows.
And then their eye starts bleeding again. And then they meet Icarus for real. (Apparently, they never got Sherbert’s book, which is only mildly disappointing.) And then, they learn what Quixis actually does. And then, they’re alone again.
It’s fine. They’ve always been alone. They like being alone. They prefer it, in fact, to being with other people. Sherbert sighs and gets to work.
They realize, now, why the things kept asking if they had a brother.
They watch Krit, the crab, live on an island with people they never thought they’d see again. They watch Ashril carry around a feather and Reo and Graeme banter constantly. Cedar keeps asking a wizard that might as well be a wall for news, and while the robot’s alone, they talk of a friend that once solved puzzles with them in a factory long ago.
And it would be ok, if the brother was the only person that the others had. Sherbert could deal with the phantom loss of one person. But there was always a family.
Even Ajax, who goes from event to event with no notice, has people that they know and see. Ripley, who’s dead, had a captain and an engineer and has two new friends that they hang out with as a ghost. Helix betrays their friends at every available opportunity, but Sherbert can tell that it hurts every time.
They watch Icarus eat dinner with their family, laughing and making potions again. Of course, Sherbert thinks, they would kill all the other worlds if they thought they could preserve that. Of course, Icarus didn’t care about the other worlds when they had one so vibrant and alive right in front of them.
Sherbert watches them all, in the empty, endless Worldport. They pace the hall, listening to the sound of laughter from the different worlds, watching their own empty one grow ever more silent and still.
Sherbert's always been alone. But this is the first time they’ve ever truly felt lonely.
They want to bounce potion ideas off Rae, and to banter with Centross. They want to build with Heyraen and sail the seas with Captain Aeiln. They want it so much that it hurts, sometimes, and they find themself lingering by those worlds long after it’s time for them to move on and check somewhere else.
Sherbert hates being alone, they decide. They want someone to care about, for someone to care about them, to laugh and learn and live and love so much deeper than they think they ever have before. When they go back, they’ll find someone, they think. They’ll travel enough that they’ll find a friend, and then they won’t be lonely anymore.
Years later, Sherbert wakes up in their bed. It’s quiet, as always, the only living things being themself and the mobs below. It’s a completely normal day, the things are saying good morning, and their house is how they left it.
But there’s an ache in their chest and tears in their eyes, and for the life of them, they do not remember why.