Chapter Text
The silence in the Bastion was deafening.
Kneeling over the double chest, your fingers hovered just above the latch, breath slow and measured. Gold embedded in blackstone caught the flicker of lava light, casting eerie, dancing glimmers across the walls.
Below, lava hissed and bubbled, its dim glow stretching long, twitching shadows over the cracked floor. The air hung thick—saturated with fire, decay, and the faint stench of rotting flesh.
You knew better than to get comfortable. The piglins had been neutral so far, appeased by your golden adornments. But the brutes? A different story entirely.
They hadn’t noticed you yet. You’d slipped past them—careful, quiet. If you were quick enough, you could snag the loot and—
The air shifted.
You froze. Slowly, warily, you looked over your shoulder.
But it wasn’t a brute. It wasn’t even close.
A baby piglin stood behind you, draped in tattered brown rags.
You exhaled quietly. Just a baby.
It stared up at you, its expression unreadable, clearly eyeing your gold with interest.
“Hey, little guy. I, uh... don’t have anything for you, I’m afraid.”
Turning your back to it again, you fumbled with the clasp of the chest. Behind you, the baby let out a soft noise and toddled closer, tiny hand grasping at your shirt and giving it a gentle tug.
You winced internally. Ignore it too long, and it might call out to a brute.
Sighing, you dug into your pocket and offered a gold bar. The child took it, eyes lighting up—for a second. Then it dropped the bar and tugged at your shirt again.
“Huh—?”
You glanced back, and on closer inspection, noticed a scrape on its arm. Shallow, nothing serious, but for a child, still enough to sting. Probably caught itself on the jagged blackstone.
You sighed again, heavier this time.
“Just this once, alright? Hold still.”
You gently took the baby’s arm. Doubtful it understood your words, but you spoke them anyway. As long as no brutes came snooping, you’d be fine
Your fingers closed around the scrape, and you felt it—not just the wound, but the child’s pain, like a spark threading into your nerves. It throbbed through your bones as you drew the injury into yourself, stitching it closed with quiet magic.
You took a deep breath. Healing always demands a price. It's never much—at first. A scrape here, a bruise there—it only steals a flicker of your strength, leaves you with a dull headache like a warning knock at the door. But the deeper the wound, the higher the toll. Your body pays in full: exhaustion, nausea, black spots blooming at the edge of your vision. Magic doesn’t come free. Not really.
When you let go, the piglin’s arm was smooth—untouched. Not even a scar. Like the scrape had never existed.
The baby looked up at you.
You chuckled. “I know, right? Feels a lot better, doesn’t it?” You patted the child's head.
For a moment, he seemed content. Then—his expression twisted. Not curiosity. Not confusion.
Fear.
Before you could even move, he let out a piercing shriek and bolted, vanishing into the shadows of the Bastion halls.
Strange. Usually, it’s the opposite—
The air shifted.
Oh no…
Something massive slammed into the back of your skull. Your vision whited out as you were launched forward—hard.
CRACK!!!
White-hot pain detonated behind your eyes. Your nose shattered on the blackstone, the impact echoing through your skull like a bell tolling the end.
For a moment, everything blinked out—The world stuttered, and flashed.
Then—warmth. Blood gushed from your nose, pulsing in time with your frantic heartbeat.
A guttural snarl rattled in your ears as a massive hand seized the back of your head and wrenched it back.
Instinct kicked in. You slammed your elbow into the brute’s arm—crack—and slipped free. You staggered upright, breath ragged, blood trickling hot down your lip. You wiped it away with the back of your hand—just in time to see the brute recovering.
A BRUTE—A FUCKING BRUTE—!!
Its eyes burned with blind fury. And then it swung.
You barely raised your shield in time. The huge golden axe hit with a shriek of metal and wood, embedding itself deep. The shock ran down your arm like lightning.
You weren’t trained for this. Sure, you could handle the usual—a skeleton here, a zombie there. But a brute? They were monsters. Living warhammers. Pure, terrifying muscle bred to guard what no one dared steal. The piglins precious gold bank.
And you were caught looting it. After being seen messing with one of their young.
You idiot.
Now? Now a quick death would be mercy.
The brute roared and swung again. You rolled just as its axe buried itself in the blackstone—THUNK—narrowly missing your skull.
It squealed in fury, mouth foaming, charging for another strike.
You raised your sword to block— CLANG—SNAP! It shattered like glass against the brute’s axe, the dainty blade no match for raw muscle and gold-forged weight.
You stared down at the broken hilt in your hand.
Then back up.
Then— ran.
The brute howled, that deep, guttural squeal echoing off the blackstone as it swung wildly. Each strike left cracks in the floor, the axe cleaving into stone like butter.
You were slick with sweat—half from the Nether’s heat, half from sheer, bone-deep panic. How the hell do you fight something twice your size and ten times your strength?
You could feel it—this wasn’t just about punishment. The brute hated you. You’d touched its gold. Touched its kid. It wanted your death to be a warning. A nightmare so brutal no human would dare set foot in a Bastion again.
Maybe you could shove it. Knock it off balance, off the edge—
But you were slowing. The heat. The sprinting. The fear.
Then it caught you.
Its massive hand clamped around your forearm, skin to skin. Your entire arm disappeared in its grasp. You choked on its breath—hot, rotten, stinking of meat and molten metal—as it pulled you close. Your heart pounded. Your knees buckled.
It raised its axe.
A final swing.
You clenched your eyes shut.
I’m gonna die. Lose all my stuff—
Then—
Nothing.
Wait, nothing?
Silence.
Stillness.
It just... Stopped?
You braced for the worst—But instead, you fell.
The brute's dead weight collapsed against you, shoving you backward before you even realized.
Too late. Your heel hit open air. Pebbles of blackstone skittered into the lava below.
And then you were falling.
The Bastion vanished behind you—until, Snap.
A hand caught your wrist.
You jolted to a stop, the jarring pull shooting fire through your shoulder. Panting, you dangled over the endless bright-orange void, heart slamming against your ribs. Your hand burned in someone else's grip.
Warm.
Firm.
Unshaking.
You looked up.
A face. Not quite man. Not quite mob either.
Half-piglin. Half-human. Gold glinted from the crown perched atop tousled pink hair, drawn back in a loose ponytail. White eyes—sharp, unreadable—watched you in the flickering glow of firelight and gold.
With a single, effortless pull, he lifted you up like you weighed nothing. Your boots scraped against the stone as you scrambled over the ledge. Both hands clutched his for a heartbeat longer—then he let go.
You dropped to the floor, chest heaving.
He turned without a word and walked away.
Now on your hands and knees, coughing and blinking against the haze of heat exhaustion, you crawled back onto the Bastion treasure room floor.
Your fingers rubbed at your eyes as you gasped for breath, lungs burning, brain still buffering.
When you looked up, he was standing there.
He resembled the other piglins, sure—but he was different . Human-esque. Tall. Broad. Draped in a red cloak trimmed in white fur, golden accessories glinting against the Nether’s molten glow.
Clothes you’d never seen on any piglin before.
His face was calm. Unreadable. Regal in a way that made your skin crawl.
He didn’t even look at you as he dug into the double chest, rummaging through loot like it was just another Tuesday.
Then, a glance over the shoulder. Dry voice. Barely interested. Not to mention the irritating nonchalance.
“I’m not gonna lie... that was kinda embarrassing.”
You blinked, still catching your breath, still trying to grasp the fact that you were not, in fact, dead.
You pushed yourself up from the cracked blackstone floor, boots scraping.
“Uh—thanks?”
What was the proper response when some gold-draped bastard saved your life and then insulted you?
He hummed, disinterested, crouched lower to rifle through the loot. Like maulings and mortal peril were just background noise.
Elbow-deep in the double chest, he picked up a golden apple, turning it over like it was the rarest gem in the room.
You stared. “Oh, no— go ahead,” you said, voice heavy with sarcasm.
He didn’t even glance your way. “Hm?”
“I almost died horrifically,” you pointed vaguely at your bruised self, then at the treasure, “but you? You get all the worthwhile things. Kinda rude, don’t you think?”
He shrugged, plucking a gold block from the chest.
“Eh, I mean it’s equitable. I save you—I get first pick,” he said, inspecting a netherite scrap before slipping it into his pocket. “Decapitating the problem for you and all.”
You exhaled slowly, incredulous. “I guess...”
Credit where it was due: it was a clean kill. Without him, you’d be dead—and maybe splat in the lava.
You stepped closer, eyes on his bent form. After snagging more gold bars, he straightened, cape billowing just enough, like a reminder as if he owned this place.
His eyes hardened—just a fraction—as they landed on your bloodied nose. It was probably just as hard to look at as it was to feel it throb in pain. You shrank a little under his gaze—but your eyes didn’t waver, your stance didn’t falter.
He held out the golden apple, pulled fresh from the chest.
“Figure you might need this more than me.”
“Thanks,” you hummed, taking it slow as you accepted the gift, bringing the gleaming fruit close for a bite. Though you could heal it yourself, you kept the little blessing tucked away, saving it for when the pain truly demanded it. One bite, and your nose’s sharp throbs softened, melting into relief. “But I, uh—I had it covered, you know.” You spoke around the chew, the taste rich and strange.
“Uh-huh.” His lips twitched with dry amusement as he turned away. “Suppose dying was part of your master plan, then?” he mused, shutting the chest with a sharp click.
Your eye twitched. “Oh, my bad for not dying faster.” You crossed your arms as he mined the wall, revealing solid blocks of gold. “Next time, I’ll just drop dead on cue. Better?”
“For your enemies? That would be ideal.” He worked the gold from the wall like a king reclaiming his treasure.
You opened your mouth—but shut it again as a guttural grunt echoed through the Bastion halls, followed by a chorus of agitated squeals.
You froze.
He barely glanced your way. “Huh. That didn’t take long.”
Your stomach dropped. “You knew they were coming?!”
“Ehhh, had a hunch,” he admitted, like it was no big deal.
Your stomach dropped even harder.
Aggressive grunts swelled again, then thunderous hoofbeats pounded closer from all directions. Your breath hitched as you spun toward the dark corridors—sound closing in like a pack.
Shit. Not good, definitely not good—
The first piglin stepped into view, golden chestplate gleaming, axe sharp and ready. Its snout twitched, locking eyes on you.
Then another.
And another.
Within seconds, the treasure room filled with furious piglins—axes raised, crossbows primed, snarling with savage intent.
Your pulse sky-rocketed.
Your body tensed, mind racing. You were weak. Your sword—shattered. Shield—barely holding.
A click —a crossbow.
Oh, fuck.
You dove to the side just as a bolt fired, splintering into the blackstone where your head had been a heartbeat ago.
The piglins roared a deafening battle cry.
And then—they charged.
Your instincts screamed— move. You scrambled up, breath jagged, legs unsteady.
Clank!
A golden axe spun out of the air, tumbling and sizzling as it vanished into the lava below.
The hybrid was a blur. His sword slashed fluid and deadly, piercing the first piglin’s chest. Without missing a beat, he kicked the corpse aside like a pesky bug. Calm. Bored. Deadly. He sidestepped another attacker with ease.
“Well? You gonna run, or just stand there and die?”
That snapped you out of your trance.
“Running!” you gasped.
You bolted, ducking a swinging axe by inches. Behind you, piglin shrieks and pounding hooves echoed off stone.
The hybrid fought on, unbothered, unstoppable.
You didn’t care. Your lungs burned. The lava’s heat pressed down, heavy and relentless.
Bastions twisted like a labyrinth, but you’d memorized enough.
If you could just make it to the bridge—
A deep snarl erupted from your left.
Your head snapped just in time.
A piglin barreled around the corner—dead center in your path.
Instinct screamed—stop. Turn. Dodge.
But before you could react, a sudden yank ripped you backward by the collar. You yelped. Feet leaving the ground, momentum lost as you tumbled back.
A crossbow bolt whizzed past where you’d just been standing. Before you could even breathe, you were shoved forward again, landing hard but upright.
Blinking, it finally clicked—the hybrid had saved you. Again.
“Wow. You’re terrible at this,” he muttered, appearing at your side like it was no big deal.
“Screw you!” you gasped, breathless.
He didn’t even flinch.
Behind you, piglin roars swelled like a tidal wave. No time to argue.
The exit loomed just ahead—beyond the final bridge. Narrow. Crumbling. Hanging over a pit of molten lava. Perfect.
The hybrid strode onto the bridge without hesitation, like he’d danced this dance a thousand times.
You? You were just trying not to become lava toast.
Another crossbow bolt whizzed past your ear. You ducked just in time, heart pounding.
“Move faster,” he spoke over his shoulder, voice like he’s barely breaking a sweat.
“I’m trying!” you shot back, lungs burning.
A piglin lunged—too close—too damn close—And then, just like that, the bridge gave out. Your stomach dropped as the stone beneath your foot crumbled, plunging you into the void.
For a heartbeat, all you saw was lava.
Then—
A hand snatched your wrist mid-fall. Again.
Before you could even register the miracle, you were yanked back onto solid ground, landing hard on the other side. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You coughed, struggling to draw air.
He stood over you, arms crossed, expression flat.
Seriously? Twice in a row? Embarrassing…
“You sure have a thing for falling,” he muttered, unimpressed.
You wheezed, “I hope you fall into lava.”
He smirked. “Bold of you to assume I’d die.” He held out a hand. You stared at it, hesitating a beat, before finally taking it—begrudgingly.
Behind you, the echoing rage of the piglins faded into the winding Nether tunnels.
Your jaw tightened. Your arms crossed. You hesitated, shifting your weight—ready to say something, but not quite sure what.
“I, uh… owe you one. I guess.” The words felt strange rolling off your tongue. “Thank you.”
For the first time, something flickered in his expression—just a hint, a crack in the stoic mask. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“Yeah, twice actually… but I wasn’t keeping score. You wouldn’t like the numbers—”
You blinked.
And he mentioned it…
“You’re not supposed to agree!” You sighed, and if you hadn’t been looking right at him, you might’ve missed how intently he was studying you.
His eyes dropped to your palms, unreadable. Then, just as quick, he turned away, gaze settling on the smoldering Bastion ruins. Silence stretched, awkward and thick, before he glanced back at you with a tilt of his head.
He motioned vaguely to his face. “You, uh… there’s a little—”
You blinked, grumbling as you swiped the back of your hand across your nose. The gapple hadn’t quite finished its work, or maybe it was playing favorites with your injuries. Turning away, you focused on healing the stubborn throb.
“I hate everything,” you muttered, the faintest head-throb teasing the back of your mind as you mended.
He snorted. “You’re very dramatic.”
“I almost died.”
“Yeah. Almost. Almost’s a good word.”
You peeked at him from the corner of your eye and shot a glare sharp enough to cut netherite.
“How are you fine?!”
He hummed, shrugged like it was no big deal. “Sounds like a skill issue on your part.”
You crossed your arms, scowling, and subtly flicked a loose piece of netherrack at him.
He stepped aside, unfazed.
“Cocky bastard,” you muttered. “Thank you— but seriously, you’re the most egotistical nutcase I think I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah,” he drawled between bites, voice flat as stone. “And here you are. Alive. You sure have a funny way of showing gratitude.”
You rubbed your temples. “Are you ever serious?”
“Only when it’s necessary.”
You muttered something about punching him. He barely looked up, but the corner of his mouth twitched—amusement, or maybe just tolerance.
Silence stretched, broken only by distant lava bubbling and a far-off ghast’s mournful cry.
Then, without changing tone, he asked, “So, what’s your deal?”
You blinked. “My what?”
“You don’t fight like a warrior. Don’t act like a trader. And you’re the worst at running for your life… just the worst.” He tilted his head just enough to be unsettling. “So what were you after in the Bastion.”
You hesitated.
“...Ehh. Potions. Bastions supposedly have magma cream.” He raised an eyebrow. You gestured vaguely. “That’s my thing. Brewing. Medical stuff. Surviving.”
“Not very good at that last one, are you?” Flat, unimpressed, with a hint of dry humor. You groaned.
“I mean respect,” he said, unbothered. “Most people I know wouldn’t solo a Bastion. Even if it was… kind of a disaster.”
You scowled. “You have a special talent for making compliments sound like insults.”
“It’s a gift.”
You sighed, tilting your head back. “I was supposed to be in and out. Grab some things, maybe trade a little. Then some kid needed healing, and—”
You stopped. You hadn’t meant to say that. He didn’t react right away. Just chewed his steak slowly, eyes on you, stomach twisting under the weight of the silence.
Finally, he spoke.
“Right.”
Not casual. Not mocking. Just… acknowledging. Like he was filing it away. For later.
Not normal.
Who the hell is this guy?
You cleared your throat. “Anyway, we’re alive. We made it out. Now we can go our separate ways.”
He leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Agreed.”
You glanced over. “What? No sarcastic remark? No ‘Try not to die before we meet again’ speech?”
“No point.” He stretched lazily. “Doubt we’ll cross paths again.”
You scoffed. “Oh? And you’re so sure?”
He smirked, eyes flicking to you, amused. “Just a realist. Trouble always finds me. Just depends weather you bring trouble too.”
That shouldn’t have twisted your stomach.
You scoffed again. “Yeah well—Next time, I’ll actually be prepared.”
“Doubtful.”
You grumbled, silence settling like thick smoke. Not unpleasant. Just… heavy.
You stood, rolling out stiff shoulders. “Well, enjoy your food or whatever. I’m heading off.”
“Mm.” Eyes still closed.
You turned.
Then—
“Hey.”
You glanced back.
He wasn’t looking at you, voice different. Not soft. Less mocking.
“You should uhh… really fix your nose. Looks kinda awful.”
You hesitated.
For a split second, you wondered if he was testing you—pushing to see if you'd flinch, break, or show some crack in the armor. But you turned away instead, fingers brushing your nose with a ghost-light touch. The dull ache dissolved like smoke, the swelling faded to nothing.
He watched you—his pale eyes squinting, sharp and unblinking—catching every subtle movement, like he was trying to read a secret no one else could see.
You didn’t need a mirror. You knew it was already healed. The pain was gone—albiet with the subtle head-throb. But still, he held his gaze.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look forward, to keep moving. You didn’t glance back. But the weight of those eyes pressed against your back like a silent question that wouldn’t let go.
Very strange.
No. Very, very strange individual, this one is.
You shrugged, whatever.
Not like you’ll see him ever again.