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─⋅⋆⁺𖤐
Egg is on the ground when a dark, sharp shadow towers over his figure.
“What are you doing?” It hisses, voice sharp and intimidating.
A chill runs down his spine, the sick feeling of fear settles in his stomach. Fearing for the worst, Egg slowly looks up to see who, or what, is looking over him.His eyes land on a sharp figure wearing netherite armor, gripping a mace in his hand.
Almost immediately, Egg's shoulders drop. “Oh, it’s you.” Egg sighs in relief. “Can’t you tell? I'm here collecting resources, bro.”
The armored person flicks open his helmet, revealing his knight Wemmbu’s purple eyes. He squints down, leaning over him slightly to try to get a better look at the wildflowers the witch was holding.
“You're picking flowers.” He says flatly, eyes narrowing into a glare.
“Yup.”
“Flowers.”
“Yup.”
“Why didn't you tell me you left the cottage?” Wemmbu scowls, crossing his arms. “You could've left me a note, or something. A directional spell could’ve been nice."
“Oh. My bad, bro.” Egg shrugs plainly. “I thought I’d be quick.”
“You thought you'd be quick? You've spent the entire afternoon away from home,” Wemmbu huffs. He takes off his helmet and discards it to the side, landing in the grass with a soft thump. His hair falls and hangs loose by his side. “Have you even looked up? The sun is about to set.”
Egg glances up and, huh, it really is almost about to set. The orange was starting narrow into the skyline, letting the purples and blues start the transition into the night. Just barely, he starts to see the stars above start to twinkle. He was squatting in some open field in the middle of the Enchanted Forest, a huge area of magic where animals and mystical individuals alike roam freely. It was rare to find an open spot where he could see the sky, given with how compact the pale oak tree compositions were, yet he was lucky enough to find a spot with growing dandelions to pick from.
“Resource gathering takes a lot of time,” he replies, patting the bags slung over his shoulder. He has a whole collection of things a typical witch like him would need; a couple of frog legs, some live wild spiders, some crystal rocks, one or two pieces of dead animal- the usual. He was lucky enough to live so easily in a forest with this much stuff.
“Still, you should have said something and asked me to come with you,” Wemmbu grumbles, “I thought you had gotten kidnapped again.”
Egg shrugs uncaringly, deciding to take out a new leather bundle to place his flowers in instead of responding.
“Or, gotten lost in the Enchanted Forest. You know you never know whats lurking around the corner.” Wemmbu continues. Egg could hear the teasing smile slipping into Wemmbu’s voice, and he can already feel himself get annoyed. “You know, the woods are a dangerous place for a defenseless little witch like you to be wandering so freely around in.”
Egg scowls, “Dude, we've been over this. I'm not defenseless. I know offensive spells.” He waves his hand up, commanding the flowers to jump in the bag. “It's just that I specialize in more of the utilitarian aspects of magic. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Wemmbu snickers above him, nudging a playful fist in his hair. “Yeah bro? You're most definitely not a fighter in any sense. If you were, why would I be here?”
“Because you're a great companion to be around and fun to converse with,” Egg replies easily, swatting away the hand without looking up. His hair is messed up now, great.
Egg can hear Wemmbu’s armor clinking against himself as he chuckles to himself. “No, I'm your knight, and you're the little witch I gotta protect from the world. That's how this little arrangement goes,”
“Well, I don’t really see it as much like that but–”
“Well, it is. We just happen to be great together anyways. That’s a plus.” Wemmbu cuts him off.
Egg falls silent. They’ve done this many of times before; he knows that if they kept going they’d be arguing until the sunrises.
Quiet settles between them. A rare moment in their lives. Egg shifts his focus back to picking flowers, making sure to get the nicest ones so she can make great afternoon tea with them. The wind quietly brushes over his fingers, and he can hear Wemmbu take out his mace and quietly spin it in his hands. The light whistle of it cutting through the wind comforts Egg's ears.
It's weird for an ancient weapon of mass destruction to be described as comforting to anyone sane; with how often he hears it during battle though, when he's down and bruised, he's come to secretly associate it with protection, loves seeing as his knight comes to his aid and slam down on his opponents. Adrenaline pumping in his ears as he watches Wemmbu stain it red as he fights and pushes away othes from him.
Egg might not be a big fan of fighting or learning offensive spells, but he knows for a fact that he'll always have Wemmbu by his side to shield him. He actually hates the heat of the battle all the time, yet somehow they always end up in the middle of the chaos. Mainly Wemmbu, but by proxy Egg too.
Egg wishes his life could stay this peaceful and quiet forever, until, in all of Wemmbu’s great thinking, decides otherwise. Egg believes that, when he hears Wemmbu's armor clink right beside him, they were now sitting in this very nice flower field together enjoying the sunsetting. However, he then feels Wemmbu's head rest on his shoulder, and soon after his entire body weight lean heavily against his figure.
He immediately loses his balance and they both tumble unceremoniously down onto the ground, becoming tangled in a heap of limbs. Egg is flat on the ground, yelping in surprise, while Wemmbu is giggling furiously on top of him, purple hair suddenly clouding his vision.
The first thing Egg thinks about after realizing that his best friend was being incredibly silly and annoying was the perfect flower patch being smushed the beneath them.
“DUDE, the flowers!” Egg yelps, starting to flail and failing to even move an inch, “Noo-ho-ho…Why did you do that?!”
Wemmbu's toothy grin appears in Egg's vision, clearly delighted that he has disrupted the natural flow of floral order in the world. His arms innocently wrap around Egg, pretty much hugging him and pinning him down at this point, chin resting shamelessly on Egg's chest. His hair contrasts nicely against Egg's magically sparkly blue robe.
“Bro, it's chill! Look around, you got tons all around you!” Wemmbu cheerily says, gesturing with his hand to the expanse of the open field that also had more wildflowers.
“Nooo!” Egg wails, shaking his head wildly, trying to struggle against this unwarranted captivity, “You don't get it, bro. This one was like, the best patch I could've plucked from!”
“They look like regular old flowers to me. Surely, it doesn’t matter where you pick you flowers from.”
“It does matter. Quality versus quantity, dude,” Egg sighs, eventually giving up his fight because Wemmbu didn’t seem to want to move off of him. “They were the best flowers in the I could have found,”
“It literally doesn’t matter,” Wemmbu says in a sing-song voice. Egg could see his dimples the longer his smile stays on his face. He has two on either side of his face.
Egg sniffs. “Of course you wouldn’t know, bro.”
They both stay on the ground for a while, gazing into the darkening sky. Eventually, Wemmbu lets him go, rolling off, relieving Egg of his horrid weight. When they both sit up and look at each other, Egg tries his hardest to give Wemmbu a stern look, but they both burst into a fit of giggles. Egg's stomach hurts from how long they've been giggling.
“Just grab the okay-looking ones and let’s leave, it’s getting dark. I’m hungry,” Wemmbu eventually says, getting up and collecting his helmet.
Egg, reminded of the poor flowers that were crushed beneath them, grumbles something dark under his breath, and picks up any salvageable wildflowers that have survied their tumble. (Which, he mourns, isn't a lot.) He ties up the bundle before storing it into his bag. Looking up, he already sees Wemmbu standing before him, extending an expecting hand towards him.
“Let’s go.”
Egg collects himself, brushing off the dirt and stray grass blades that stuck to his sparkly blue witch robe before taking the hand. When he’s up, he notices how Wemmbu’s hand doesn’t let go of his, so Egg doesn’t try letting go either. Instead, he lets his eyes trail up back into the scenery around them.
Lightning bugs were starting to twinkle into existence, emerging from nearby bushes, subtly illuminating the grey-ish green grass beneath their feet. In the shadows, he can faintly see the other nocturnal animals start to shift and gain their footing for the night. The gentle wind started to make the pale oak trees sway, making them look like they’re stretching up.
A glint in Egg’s eyes appeared. It was looking like he was staring at a gorgeous oil painting in real life. The Enchanted Forest was gorgeous when it wakes up.
For a moment, Egg becomes absorbed in his surrounding, completely forgetting about anyone else’s existence. He flinches when he feels a finger tap his shoulders. He turns and is met with a raised eyebrow from his knight. “Are you done gazing at the nothing, or what?”
“Dude, I’m enjoying the scenery,”
“I’ve spent the entire afternoon traversing these woods tryna find you, bro,” Wemmbu glares, his signature tone of mock-agitation making its way into his voice, “I just wanna go home. I’m hungry.”
Egg sighs and rolls his eyes. Wemmbu is never the type to just stand still and do the things Egg likes to do. He always seems to be moving about, running form one place to another, never wanting to stay in the moment.
“Yeah, we can go now, I guess.” Egg shrugs. Wemmbu hums, and starts moving in the path of their home.
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐
One thing Wemmbu will never understand in this world is how magic works. It’s convoluted, it's mysterious, and worst of all, it hurts.
A stinging sensation surges up through his arm, making him shriek loudly and shake their hanging kitchen lamps. "BRO! Are you sure you can't find a spell that doesn't hurt this much!?"
Egg huffs annoyed from his side. His hands were hovering over a nasty deep scar Wemmbu had in his forearm, concentrated over a misty blue cloud of healing magic.
Not even fifteen minutes ago, a group of bandits had jumped their house. They wanted to try to kidnap Egg, as always. Everybody seems to want to kidnap the guy these days. It would've been an easy fight if it weren't for two things.
For one, they attacked the house in the middle of lunch. It wouldn't be a big deal if it weren't for the unspoken rule of not attacking anyone during lunch time. Who bothers to break that rule? Certainly not good men. (To be fair, Wemmbu has attacked people during lunch time- but that was before he became a better man.)
So, when Wemmbu went to open the door in a loose blouse and pants and no weapon hooked on his waist, he was surprised to be an dodging arrow, watching it whizz past his face. It had smashed an expensive pot they had stolen received from the market a couple of weeks back.
Wemmbu almost forgot about the bandits for a moment when he heard Egg shriek loudly from the kitchen hearing the pot crash, bursting into unbridled laughter. (“NO! Dude, that was my favorite vase! How could you!”)
For two, the bandits had actual skills with the sword. It wasn't an uninvited surprise- Wemmbu always enjoys the challenge- it just made defending the house a bit more of a challenge. He rarely gets a good fight coming on his doorstep nowadays. It only took a minute in before he was able to disarm one of them and take their sword, and after that, he was able to pack them up and send them home bawling.
Though, unluckily, one bandit had been able to slip past his gaze and manage to land a deep cut into the skin. He was the first to go, yet he still left his mark.
He didn't mind getting cut, but it meant that he had to tend to the wound after the battle, which was incredibly tedious. And the only healer nearby in this forest full of magic was, unfortunately, his best friend and witch, Egg.
“Bro, I don’t know what you want me to do.” Egg grumbles, muttering an incantation under his breath, “Stop complaining so much and maybe it’ll hurt less.”
“Dude, does it hurt so much because of the spell, or you?” Wemmbu hisses, turning away after feeling another sting of pain shoot through his arm. He can feel the magic stitching together his skin, regenerating blood and skin cells at that very second. He had very high pain tolerance- he had to if he was to be a real fighter-
but this felt like an army of angry bees stinging him from the inside and out, and it was painful.
“I dunno, but this spell is the most efficient one I know,” Egg shrugs.
“Why can’t I just use one of your health potions?”
“Because you know how bad they are for you,” Egg replies smoothly, more sweat beading his face as he presses his hands harder around the blue magic cloud, “You know the effects of these potions.”
His eye twitches in annoyance. There’s a mirror nearby the kitchen table, and Wemmbu has to will himself not to look up to look in it out of habit, or else his eyes will land on the grey streaks in his hair. He doesn't like to be reminded of that time.
Instead, he turns his head towards Egg. He watches, through gritted teeth and chewed lips, how completely focused his witch was over Wemmbu’s scar. His glasses were pushed all the way up to his nose bridge, mouth in a thin line, a crown of sweat on his forehead– all Wemmbu could think was how if Egg was focused like this all the time, maybe they’d win more battles together.
He always wants to laugh out of spite watching Egg like this. He’s so used to seeing the normal side of Egg– goofy, clumsy, empty-headed best friend, who was funnily-wise at times where he didn’t need to be. That was his charm, and of course Wemmbu wouldn’t give anything to change that about Egg. Just seeing him so focused, so caring was…out of the ordinary.
Not that should be a big deal either. It just made moments like these, tense and unusually quiet, watching Egg perform his actual witch powers, was so jarring. Usually, there never was any serious air when they’re in a room together.
Wemmbu could have one-hundred percent walked this scar off too. All it really needed was a simple bandage and a couple of health potions to speed up the healing process, but Egg was always insistent on taking care of his injuries after a battle, whether he voiced it or not. Many times, Egg will straight up drag Wemmbu to the side and start the healing process before Wemmbu could even open his mouth and protest.
“Dude, scars like this are dangerous. What if it becomes infected?” Egg always says whenever Wemmbu would loudly protest.
“It’ll heal on its own,” Wemmbu always retorts in reply, “I don’t need you to nurse me all the time.”
“If I don’t nurse you, and your wounds become infected and you die, what will happen to me?” Egg replies.
That always manages to shut Wemmbu up. Eventually, after years of this conversation repeating every time, he’s learned to keep his mouth shut whenever Egg grabs him by the wrist and drags him away from the battlefield.
It’s comforting, in a weird sense, knowing that his best friend, for all the silly things he does and says, will do this out of the blue. Before him, Egg didn’t even know what a healing spell was, but he had learned when Wemmbu first got hurt. He learned it and mastered it fast just for him. Wemmbu would never say it out loud, but Egg was a pretty good witch, better than most that he had encountered in the past. Sure, witches would use their magic to create exciting and powerful displays for the public, and they were undoubtedly powerful, but he’s never seen any wield nature the same way as Egg. He never seems to want to flaunt his power or expertise, and would rather hide away in the woods and tend to his own vices and interests.
It gives him an odd sense of pride, knowing that through all of his goofy attitude, his best friend was secretly powerful. Only he really knows the extent of Egg’s magic, and they’re not even that far away from a popular town. He’ll never admit that outright, of course, not even to Egg himself, because that’s stupid to say that. He’ll save that notion for the moments that really matter.
Probably. Hopefully.
He shivers when Egg rubs a bit of healing salve around the skin, leaving a slimy, cold trail in its wake. His witch mutters one last spell under his breath, completing the healing process. Wemmbu holds his beath for another minute, letting the painful bee-stinging sensation settle and the blue-magical-healing-cloud dissipate before turning his arm to inspect the results himself.
The scar on his forearm that was once open was now sealed tight, the only indication of it’s existence was a long, darker-than-his-skin-one line in its place. He flexes his arm to check if it’ll split open. It doesn’t. It’s a seamless heal.
“Good?” Egg says.
“Good.” Wemmbu nods approvingly, lifting his hand to trace the scar.
“Great.” Egg turns and reaches behind Wemmbu to grab something. Wemmbu groans, because he knows exactly what’s coming next. Egg holds up a bowl of suspicious stew up to Wemmbu’s face. “Now eat.”
Wemmbu scoffs and shakes his head defiantly. “Nope, no way, bro. I do not need to eat this stew every time you heal me,” Every time Egg has ever healed him, it has always followed up with this otherworldly, demon-ish looking concoction that his witch calls "soup". It looks neither appetizing or soup, which he isn't sure how it's possible.
“Bro, you have to, or else the mana in your skin isn’t going to set properly,” Egg insists, shoving the bowl back into Wemmbu’s face. He peers into the bowl and immediately gets hit with an obnoxious sour smell, making him belch involuntarily. For all the years he's known him, Egg has never been able to improve this recipe at all, which is so odd, because he's the better cook between the two. (Admittedly, the bar isn't high for either of them when it comes to cooking. It's just that Egg's cooking was slightly more salvageable than Wemmbu's...on most days).
But still, how does anyone manage to make...whatever this is?
“I tried a different recipe this time. I think it’ll taste good.” Egg says slowly after a long moment.
“Egg,” Wemmbu deadpans, slowly looking up at his best friend with his disturbed look, making Egg crack a nervous grin. “why do you never try to make your soups at least a little visually appealing for me to consume?”
“Because, I believe in functionality over visuals,” Egg replies simply, holding out a spoon for Wemmbu. “If I tried to make it pretty, the magic instilled might change.”
“...Right.”
“Hey, don't get mad at the alchemist. Get mad at the alchemy.”
Wemmbu doesn't bother to hide his disgusted expression as he takes the bowl and spoon. He has faced harder things in life; fought dragons, infiltrated multiple armories, stole and lied in the monarch's faces. He’s a well-seasoned knight and has the physical scars and years of training to prove it.
And yet Egg's healing soups were somehow worse than all of those. No knight book nor trainer ever prepares anyone for this type of agony. He fears that he'll never be able to best this as long as he stays with Egg (which is, hopefully, the rest of his life).
Slowly, he dips his spoon in, letting some of the unidentifiable chunks in the liquid slip onto the spoon, and lifts it up. He squeezes his eyes shut before shoving the spoon into his mouth.
It’s like acid on his mouth.
Wemmbu swallows, chokes and jerks the bowl away from himself. “EGG, BRO. You cannot be feeding me this!” He gags, quickly turning and reaching for a napkin to wipe his mouth, half tempted to leap off of the table and run outside to a nearby stream to drink some water, “Do you even taste test your soups before feeding to me?!”
He can hear Egg try to stifle his giggles with his hand, his sparkly dark-blue robe bouncing against his shoulders trying to keep himself together. “Dude, of course I don’t. It’d be bad if I consumed some of my own work. It might cause an imbalance in my magic.”
“Dude, you’re made of mana— and it’s yours in the first place!” Wemmbu splutters, “What mana will you mess up if it's all yours?”
“It just will, bro. Just trust me on this one.” Egg replies, pushing the bowl back into Wemmbu’s face. “Just keep eating so you can heal properly.”
Wemmbu let out a sob of complaint before gathering all of his willpower to shove the spoon back into his mouth, pinching his eyes hard down trying to swallow it down.
After a couple more spoonful's, he places the bowl back down with so much force that a lot of soup spills out, jumping down from the tabletop and backing away with a violent headshake and an X-gesture with his arms.
“DONE. No more– No more of that,” Wemmbu wretches, sticking out his tongue and grumbling. “That was the worst healing stew ever. What in the world did you put in it?!”
Egg frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Bro, I thought it would taste good.” He looked down at the soup and then back to Wemmbu. “I added frog blood into this one. I thought it would bring out a nice flavor.”
“YOU WHAT?”
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐
On the rare days where the Enchanted Forest doesn’t have enough supplies for him, Egg has to travel out of the Enchanted Forest to Merchant City to buy things from the black market. It’s not his favorite activity to do, but it’s a must if he wants a full restock on healing wards and potion ingredients.
Egg's head hangs low, a hood shrouding his face so nobody can see his face as he maneuvers through the regular market. His vision is hindered, he can only see people's feet like this, but it's a must if he wants to get anything done around here.
Witchcraft, in Merchant City, was generally frowned upon by pretty much anyone around. It was taboo of sorts to practice it— people were scared of hexes and dark evil spells that witches could do. Which was stupid to Egg, because that was dark magic, and most witches don’t even practice that. That idea was just spread by rumors back in the old days. Nowadays, witches like him practiced domestic magic, spells and sigils that were to help others. And still, they were chased out of town on the spot.
Of course, it didn’t drive out all the witches in Merchant City. After all, once magic gets in, it can never get out. Merchant City held one of the biggest black markets in all of the lands— it’d be poor economic activity if magical items weren't being sold as contraband here.
Plus, his existence as a witch was well-known to the city. He was their resident witch that lived deep in the Enchanted Woods surrounding Merchant City. Anyone who came back from journeying into there and returned with his head on a pike would be rewarded luxuriously.
Someone had to play the part of their wicked witch, and even though Egg knew of various other witches that also lived in the Enchanted Woods, he was the chosen one for some reason. He knew of plenty of other devious witches in the woods who would fit the bill quite nicely– he has tea with them every new moon.
That's why hunters frequented his house so often. They all wanted that reward, which didn't make sense to Egg. He knew a lot about magic and just about the world's history– wouldn't capturing alive serve them better?
Plus, other residents came to visit him in secrecy too. They'll come knocking at his door at the dead of night asking for herbal remedies to heal their young, or for readings of their future. He can’t read the future, but invites them into his kitchen and pretends to do so anyway, which greatly peeves a sleep-roused and agitated Wemmbu, who is always the first to wake and has a weapon in his hand from the knocking. It's funny to lie to the townspeople.
What's wrong with a little bit of lying? It's a reward for him, seeing as though everyone in Merchant City seems to be out to get him, he serves more help than the resident healers inside of the city.
Even with the large target on his back and the bounty over his head, his death didn’t concern him much. He felt perfectly protected by the elements of the forest…as well as by the physical force of nature right next to him.
They turned a corner past one of the city’s buildings, entering a dimmer alley where the sun didn’t quite reach them. Egg decided that it was safe enough to steal a glance to look at his knight Wemmbu, who was a couple of steps in front of him. Egg always uses his knight's footsteps to help him navigate the town when he can't see.
Wemmbu's hair, neon purple with a couple of streaks of grey, was bouncing in a half-up half-down ponytail behind him at the wind of his pace. He doesn't particularly don his helmet when he's in town; claims it makes people less likely to mistake him as a Merchant City guard and walk up to them. Though Egg thinks that his purple hair makes him stand out so much from the crowd that it attracts more attention towards them.
It was the nicest physical detail about Wemmbu, his hair. Egg can admit that freely, especially because he's the reason why Wemmbu takes care of it at all. He likes practicing his handiwork in it, likes creating pretty hairstyles like a long braid or a huge bun with his hair for fun. He can't do that if his hair is dirty all the time from battle grime. It's another reason why either of them venture into town; besides getting mana-embedded artifacts or more armor sets, they purchase expensive hair products so Wemmbu could appear as a rich and smooth-talking individual for any rare, peaceful diplomatic occurrences.
It's very silly, but always being able to secretly weave flowers into Wemmbu's hair without him noticing is always exciting to do.
“We’re almost at the black market,” Wemmbu mutters loud enough for Egg to hear, slightly turning his head back without completely turning to him. Egg hums in acknowledgement and lowers his head again.
It was a frequent conversation between him and Wemmbu that they should move. Living around here drained their resources more than if they lived elsewhere. Somewhere more peaceful. However, the Enchanted Forest was so fruitful and Merchant City just happened to have everything that the benefits outweighed the cons. They practically had access to everything that the world had to offer. They’d be fools to give it up.
The black market was located deep in the city, away from the prying eyes of the regular market. The path to it was long and winding, purposely so nobody could stumble upon it by accident. So it takes a while until Wemmbu stops dead in his tracks without warning, forcing Egg to ram head first into his hard metal armor hiding under the ugly brown cloak he's wearing to dissuade anyone from paying attention to him. Egg was wearing a black one instead of his magical robe.
“You know where you’re going?” Wemmbu says quietly.
“Yeah, bro.”
“Alrighty then,” Wemmbu reached out and gently pushed the red curtain aside, the entrance to the Black Market. It reveals a dark alleyway with oil lamps lining its side. “Lead the way, Egg.”
It's down two flights of steps, and they're there.
The Black Market is full to the brim with people. Unlike the regular market in Merchant City, where it was all quiet and peaceful, merchants left and right were shouting and waving their arms, frantically trying to capture people’s attention and trying to sell their products as fast as possible. There were merchants carrying products around their waists in baskets, shaking paper pamphlets in the air, and even just pushing people bluntly into their booths so they could see what they were selling.
It was loud, it was frantic, it was perfect for the both of them. Wemmbu and he could blend in so much easier here.
Egg started to move in the crowd, reaching back so Wemmbu could grab his wrist so they didn’t lose each other in the crowd. Being smaller-than-average-height, Egg had a harder time sifting through the crowd as well as his taller counterpart could, which was unfortunate because he was taking the lead.
He bumped into many individuals, apologizing under his breath for each touch. Behind him, he could hear Wemmbu mutter curses under his breath for every collision, so there was that. Egg had to hold in his chuckles every time.
Egg led them to an area where the crowd slowly started to thin out, stopping in front of a shop that looked a little run down.
“We’re here,” Egg announces loudly.
Wemmbu frowns, and turns to look at Egg. “This isn’t the place we usually visit.”
“Oh yeah,” Egg takes out a flyer from an inner robe pocket and holds it up. “I got this poster the other day, and advertised this place. I thought it would be nice to check it out.”
Wemmbu takes the poster out and reads it back-to-front. He blinks slowly, and stares hard at Egg. “Who posted this on our door…?”
“I dunno. I’m assuming the shop owner.”
“Whose the shop owner?”
“I dunno. I told you, it was just on our door one day.”
“How come I didn’t know about this– what? I–”
“Because we were probably out somewhere, and we didn’t catch them pinning it on,” Egg said, swiping the poster back from Wemmbu’s hands and shruggin.
Wemmbu’s face twists into something like anger, though it doesn’t flare in his eyes. “So we’re just trying his new, shady shop because they posted a shady advert on our front door?” Wemmbu turns to look at the establishment, so Egg does so too. Some of the wood was rotting off of the structure, insinuating that the owner either sucked at taking care of the outside, or just started renting the place from someone else like last week. There wasn't really a large glamorous sign for it either; only a small version of hanging at its door, and even that looked shoddy.
“Dude, you cannot be serious.”
“Dude, support the local economy. You know how high rent is in Merchant City right now,”
“Actually I don't, because we don’t technically live in Merchant City,” Wemmbu rebuts, “We don’t pay their rent or their taxes.” He turns his head to the side, looking back into the populated, loud street, “The officials are probably always mad about that, huh?”
“Probably. Well, the winds have told me they’ve been doing so.”
“Right, the winds,” Wemmbu mocks. He turns to scan the building again, obviously having that bad feeling triggering in his gut. “You want me to follow you in or what?”
“Nah. Just stay outside and keep an eye out. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Wemmbu gives him a weird look. He's half expecting him to reject it, but he doesn't. “A jiffy…” His knight mutters, gesturing to Egg to enter and get on with it.
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐
This forest can't ever seem to get smaller, Wemmbu thinks frustratingly. He shoves away the low hanging branches hanging in his way, adrenaline pumping as obnoxious twigs snap his armored boots. The longer he runs, the more mad he's becoming.
Egg got captured again.
Wemmbu knew that weird old shop was no good. After thirty minutes of silence and no sign from Egg, he finally decided to enter the store himself. That was when he found out that Egg was missing, and so were the boss man of the shop. Why did he have to trust his friend’s word when his gut was screaming otherwise? The only tail he had was the meek shop tender that didn’t fail to fold after seeing Wemmbu’s heavy mace. He had spilled the direction where shop owners were going in, and Wemmbu left in a flash.
Leave it up to Egg to get himself kidnapped by a silly poster on their front door in broad daylight.
The forest is a white-and-blue blur as Wemmbu practically flies through the tall trees, swearing under his breath as he tries hardest to keep up with the carriage of horses just beyond his vision.
He can see the chained door that Wemmbu is more than sure Egg is behind. If Wemmbu had any experience with Egg kidnappings, he was likely bound by his wrists to mana-inhibiting chains and pinned against a wall in the wooden cell. Following the rear on either side of the door were two mercenaries with sharp spears in hand. He figures that there's at least one coachman leading the carriage and the boss leading the entire operation in the front.
They look like low class mercenaries, which makes it all the more embarrassing that Wemmbu let Egg walk straight into this trap. He should’ve known.
Seeing an opening in the forest, Wemmbu immediately takes to the trees. He lifts himself with ease and takes hold of the vines, jumping and swinging from one tree to another. He's closing the distance between him and the carriage.
At closer inspection, they were in regular metal armor. The guards didn't seem to be paying much attention to their surroundings, cracking jokes and laughing loudly. Their voices perfectly masked the sound of the leaves rustling against Wemmbu's movements.
He’s panting hard when he finally catches up to the carriage, leaping at the same pace it was rolling at. Seeing an opening, he grabs a vine, prays for a bit of safety, and swings on top of the wooden box, right above where he’s assuming Egg is sitting alone.
Wemmbu isn’t graceful when he lands, thudding against the box and making the entire vehicle rattle. He’s great at stealth missions. He crouches down, pressing his ear down on the roof, trying to hear Egg’s startled yelp. He hears nothing. Is he okay?
The carriage almost immediately comes to a stop at his action. Wemmbu peeks over the side and sees sharp spears pointed up at him.
“Oh hello gentlemen.” Wemmbu nods nonchalantly. Damnit.
“You.” One guard snarls. He sounds nasally. Maybe he’s sick? “What are you doing up there?”
Wemmbu blinks innocently. “I don’t know. I was just swinging by and thought I’d check you guys out.”
“Who are you?” The other guard asks. He looks green in the face. Are they both sick, or are they both scared? “And a-also, get off of there. It’s bad for you to be up there.”
“Why?” Wemmbu tilts his head mock-curiously, “Something in the carriage?”
“Y-Yes! Something—” The nasally guard pauses and looks at his other guard friend, who is giving him a pointed look that screams ‘Don’t say it!’ “Uh— Don’t worry about what’s there. Just know that something important is in there and it’s our property, so you shouldn’t disturb it.”
“Your property?” Wemmbu’s face twists into something near amusement, “You can’t be serious, are you?”
“What’s it to you?” A new voice calls out.
The carriage weight shifts, and from the front emerges a grey-haired individual with purple eyes. He’s dressed like a noble, and wearing an unreadable pin Wemmbu can’t make out. He doesn’t look armored at all, incredibly exposed and vulnerable to attacks.
“And who are you?”
“Answer our question first!” The grey-haired squeaked. He doesn’t look like a fighter at all, but he does have a lot of nerve, he’ll give him that.
“Name’s Wemmbu,” He says.
None of them seem to recognize his name, which isn’t typical. He’s pretty known around these parts, which means they aren’t from here.
“Well, Wemmbu,” The grey-haired guy sniffs, “The name is Branzy, and I’d highly appreciate it– my client would highly appreciate it if you would get off the carriage, and, uh, scram.”
“Scram,” Wemmbu snickers, a grin full of sharp teeth appearing on his face, liking the words rolling off of his tongue. “No. Not a chance will I scram.”
“Well you should!” The green-faced guard pipes up, voice slightly shaking, “Because if you don’t, you’ll regret messing with our client.”
“Who is your client?”
“Nunya.” Branzy states simply.
“Who in the world names their kid Nunya?” Wemmbu blinks.
“Nunya-buisness!” Branzy finishes. He looks way too proud of himself, and the guards have to turn away to hide their snickers. Wemmbu rolls his eyes.
“Real mature,” He snarls, standing up to his full height and glaring down at them. His hood falls from his head, and he can feel the sun beat start to warm him. There’s a wind picking up too. “I’ll be honest, I don’t care what your client thinks– whoever that may be.” He brushes his cloak away from his waist to unveil Crucible, his mace, glinting eagerly in the light. “You have my friend in here, and I’m here to collect him.”
“You’re friends with this guy?” Branzy stutters.
“Yeah, I’m friends with this guy. And I can tell you that he doesn’t like to be captured like this.” Wemmbu holds up two fingers at the small crowd. “So, I'm going to give you two choices. You either unlock this carriage and let him go so we can be on our merry way, Or,” with his other hand, he unhooks Crucible from his waist and points it threateningly at them, “You all die.”
“Over my dead body will you take him from us!” The nasally guard shouts, somehow gaining some strength into his voice. The other two look taken aback by this vindication. Wemmbu’s lips morph into a sharp grin.
He cackles, laughter amplified throughout the forest, making birds flutter away in shock. “Then so be it!” He giggles.
The guards don’t have their shields up when Wemmbu leaps up from the carriage in a flash. He arcs his mace high, aiming first for the nasally guard’s skull first.
…
When the dust settles, Wemmbu wastes no time checking the guard bodies for the pair of keys to the back. He smears blood on his cheek, trying to wipe away his sweat as he drags the dead bodies behind some bushes on the side of the path before walking back to the carriage. Their blood was dripping on from his mace, and stained his cloak. It wasn’t a particularly hard fight to win, thankfully. He’s just disappointed in himself that he let that Branzy guy and the coachman go.
As he approaches the carriage, some anxiety settles in Wemmbu’s stomach. He hasn’t heard anything from Egg at all while he was fighting. Usually, Egg would shout for help and make a ruckus, but during this fight there was nothing. What if there were more people inside the carriage? Did they harm Egg to silence while Wemmbu was out here making a scene?
Was Egg okay? Was he dead? Why didn’t Wemmbu hear him?
His hands slightly tremble as he starts to use the ring of keys on the locks. It takes him an anxious moment to try them all until he finds the right one. His hand is already gripping Crucible again he loosens the lock and swings both doors open.
He steps back, squinting into the dark carriage, ready to fight any danger that steps out from inside. His eyes adjust to the darkness inside and–
“Took you long enough,” Is the first words Egg says to him, who is standing cross-armed at the entrance of the carriage like he’s been standing there the whole time.
“Uh- what?” Wemmbu blinks.
“Took you long enough. I thought you forgot about me in the heat of the battle,” Egg says simply, stepping down from the carriage casually. He scans the area. "Wow, you really did a number on this place. It's a real mess."
Wemmbu, ignoring him, immediately scans Egg from head to toe. His wrists were red, so at some point he was bound to the mana-inhibiting chains on the wall Wemmbu can see inside the carriage, but besides that, he looks relatively untouched. There wasn’t a single scar on his face, nor was his raggedy robe even really torn.
“How did you–”
“I’m the greatest witch this forest has ever seen,” Egg shrugs plainly.
“No you aren’t,” Wemmbu says, eyeing Egg suspiciously. “How in the world did you unchain yourself?”
“I just told you, I’m the greatest witch this forest has ever seen.” Egg repeats with a grin sliding on his face. “I escaped my shackles through pure strength.”
“That’s not true. You have noodles for arms.”
“You’re right.” Egg folds, sighing dramatically. “That Branzy-dude felt bad chaining me up.” Egg tuts, “I think he left it purposely loose for me to escape. But not too loose– I did have to wiggle a bit to get out of them.”
“So you were free there the entire time?” Wemmbu says slowly. “For how long?”
“Uh, when you landed on top of the carriage I decided to free myself.”
He wants to punch something out of spite. “So, I didn’t need to follow this carriage and get myself all tired and dirty to come get you?” Wemmbu sniffs, plucking a stray hair branch out of his hair and brushing some dirt too.
“No, you did.” Egg takes the tree branch out of Wemmbu’s hand and stores it inside his robe. To do what, Wemmbu doesn’t know. “How else would I have escaped the chained door?”
“Well I mean, you just said you were the greatest witch of all time, so I would like to think a witch could leave a wooden prison easily.”
“Well, firstly, I said I was the greatest witch this forest has ever seen–”
“To-may-to, Toh-mato.”
“–And secondly, I don’t know how to pick locks that I can’t see,” Egg shrugged, “My magic isn’t that advanced.”
Wemmbu snickers out absurdly and slams the carriage door shut with a BANG. “Do you know who kidnapped you?”
“Uh, yeah. I think,” Egg reached into his robe again and took out a small business card. Wemmbu takes it and thumbs over the red and black wax stamp of a clown face on it. He pauses, recognizing the design.
It was the ClownPierce stamp, king of one of the biggest and most feared kingdoms of all time.
“Wait, is this actually who sent those goons to kidnap you?” Wemmbu flips the card from the back to the front, slightly unbelieving.
“Yeah. I was surprised by the lack of quality and care his guards took to capture me,” Egg replied. “I took this right off of the Branzy-guy when his back was turned from me.”
So they weren’t just ordinary mercenaries. The grey-haired guy had run off with their horse and coachman, and Wemmbu didn’t bother to chase them because they looked weak. Now, they were long gone, probably running to a nearby town to send a message to ClownPierce about the failed attempt. Damnit.
“You think we should lock down the house and flee the country?” Egg asks cautiously after Wemmbu doesn’t speak after a while.
“Lock down the house, yes,” Wemmbu grunts, turning on his heel and starting to walk, “Fleeing the country? Not a chance.”
“Eh, worth a shot.” Egg shrugs, throwing up his hood again and following Wemmbu, grabbing his sleeve. Not tugging it, just holding.
“...You sure you weren’t hurt when you were shoved in there?” Wemmbu mutters after a moment of silence.
“No. The wrist burns is all I have.”
“Alright.” Wemmbu glances away, scanning the shadows of the trees, “This is why we don’t trust random adverts on our doors, okay?”
“Yup. Lesson learned.”
“Remember, if you ever get captured again, just break out with your magic and run,” Wemmbu says, “You’re a witch, remember?”
Egg frowns and tilts his head. “But why do I need to run and create more danger when I know you’re just gonna find me and come save me anyways?”
Wemmbu turns back to give Egg a look. “I’m not always going to be there to save you, you know. I can’t save you every time you get taken hostage.”
“...But you haven’t failed once.”
“Well– yeah, of course I haven’t failed once. I’m the best.”
“So, I know you’re always going to come. I don’t mind sitting in a prison for a short time waiting for you.”
“Don’t say you like sitting in prisons," Wemmbu groans. “You’re going to jinx yourself.”
“My bad, bro,” Egg grins. Wemmbu turns away with an eyeroll.
“Don’t depend on me all the time to come and save you. I can’t save everyone, you know.”
“... Yeah, I know.”
They walk a couple of more steps in silence when Egg pauses in his step, forcing Wemmbu to also pause.
“Is that your blood on your face?” Egg stares. Oh, Wemmbu almost forgot he had it on his face
“No,”
“Liar. ”
“You’re seeing things. I’m not hurt. Don’t try to heal me.” Wemmbu says quickly.
“When we get back, we’re going straight to the kitchen table.”
“NO–”
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐
One thing Egg has learned about his knight throughout the years is that he was an unusually sentimental person.
It was unexpected at first, given his friend’s destructive behavior and tendency to leave a damaging impact behind, but surprisingly, Wemmbu does hold a lot of things close.
Their shared cottage is practically split into fourths, three-fourths of it belonging to Egg so he could practice witchcraft and spread his books about. Wemmbu on the other hand only had a medium-sized room a couple of doors down from Egg’s that he really took ownership of. When they first moved in together, Wemmbu had insisted on just having this room because it had a window looking out into their front garden, and was right next to the main entrance.
“It’s a safety precaution, for the guard to be closest to the front,” Wemmbu insisted.
Neither of them ever separate from each other during the day, so having two rooms apart from each other was a nice change of pace at night.
Having separate rooms means that Egg doesn’t look into Wemmbu’s room often.
Not like he wants to anyways. Egg’s room is so whimsical and entrancing; full to the brim with bookshelves and scrolls and magical artifacts from faraway lands. He has embedded a bit of mana into the room just to give it a sparkly effect, which he was quite proud of. It looked like the stars twinkling when stepping inside, which served as a great excuse to never leave his room on some days.
Wemmbu’s room on the other hand was, to put it plainly, boring.
Sure, it absolutely screamed “Wemmbu’s room” undoubtedly. Egg had hand-sewn purple banners with a silly smiley face a while back, which Wemmbu had hung all around his room for fun. The curtains and his bedsheets were purple. It was all purple. Clearly, he had a signature color, so Egg could never walk into his room and get confused with his own, thankfully.
There was hardly anything on Wemmbu’s bookshelves; maybe a dusty book or two about fighting (Wemmbu claims that he’s read those books front to back on multiple occasions). He also did have an old sword with the engraving Nightrider sitting on the top shelf (“This was before I found Gambit and Cruicible— and before I found you, Egg.”), which was also collecting dust.
But besides those things, his room looked so awkwardly plain compared to the rest of the sparkly house. There was barely any cool memorabilia to marvel at when looking around the room. Talk about living with a magical witch– Egg would totally brighten up his room if Wemmbu asked him to.
But he hasn’t so Egg won’t bother doing so.
It was so bare that one day, curiosity took hold of Egg and he couldn't resist snooping around Wemmbu's room one day while his knight was outside doing something weird. He's been acting weird lately, ever since they've gotten back from their last adventure, which didn't go completely to plan. At least they made it out of there alive.
Egg looked behind his dusty bookcase, his drawer, his bare desk for anything Wemmbu was hiding out sight. He knew that he had to have something— they’ve both been on plenty adventures together, and they bring some stuff home all the time. Egg puts his on display all around the house. Where could Wemmbu be hiding everything...
Egg peers under his bed and something immediately catches his eye. He grabs it and drags it out.
It’s a wooden chest.
Egg fumbles for the lock and opens it slowly. The hinges hardly creak when he lets go.
Inside the pristine looking chest was an odd assortment of items.
There was a broken netherstar rune, a broken smooth oak button, some empty glass bottles, old chipped armor pieces, a couple of torn up banners, some fishing string, and so much more stuff hiding under.
Egg blinks, confused. He slowly takes out the items, gingerly turning them over in his palm, examining each item closely. They aren’t dusty— in fact, both the chest and the items were pretty clean. The locks of the chest looked worn, like they’ve been opened often. Some of the nether star had broken a bit into pieces, some of the corners lying in the chest still. Some of the ancient text of the rune had faded, like a thumb had brushed over it multiple times on different occasions.
After a moment of just sitting the items around Egg realizes. ‘Oh. This was what he was looking for.”
He’s come to the realization that Wemmbu doesn’t talk about his past before Egg often. Neither of them do. It’s kind of that mutual sentiment that they had after meeting each other; they both had fought tooth and nail to get where they are now, so there was no point in reminiscing on the past.
At least, that’s what Egg thinks. Wemmbu seems like he doesn’t hold to that as strongly as Egg does.
Admittedly, they hardly have the time to ever talk about past properly. Sure, Egg used to try to ask; for the plain lifestyle Wemmbu was living in now his knight sure had a wild history, and Egg absolutely wanted to document it. But every time he used to ask, they’ve always been conveniently interrupted by some outside force, distracting them and forgetting about the topic entirely until another day.
So it got to a point where Egg just stopped trying to bring it up. He was okay with that too; he also had skeletons in his closets he didn’t really want to unpack. Plus, it doesn’t concern him much that he doesn’t know his best-friends before life. He’s pieced enough information through the odd people they’ve met that recognize Wemmbu to gather a frail picture of his story
For example, the netherstar rune in his hands. Egg remembers once that someone had mentioned a guy’s name to Wemmbu, tossing him a rune similar to this, and leaving. He remembers how Wemmbu had stopped dead in his tracks, a blank look spreading on his face the longer he had held the rune. In that moment, Egg thought the rune had some type of spell, but when he tried to grab it from Wemmbu, his knight had flinched hard and yanked it harshly away from him. He didn’t apologize, but when they got into a fight later, Wemmbu seemed to smash his mace harder into the enemies than usual, muttering something about “useless training”, whatever that meant.
He reaches back into the chest and takes out the broke armor pieces. He noticed how the some them were different— perhaps some of these were from various people he’s fought. Some were yellow trimmed, while there was one particular piece that as red. To Egg's surprise, it was still surprisingly warm to the touch, like it was embedded with a continuous warmth. Maybe these armor pieces belonged old rivals or enemies that Wemmbu used to fight and bested— Egg knows that he used to be more ruthless and dangerous before settled down in the woods. He knows that some part of Wemmbu had changed after they'd met– but how much? Egg had no idea.
The banners? Looks like old civilizations. Wemmbu was apart of many— he tells silly short stories about the people from them all the time. Egg’s favorite was the Ice Kingdom that Wemmbu had joined for fun. The people sounded nice...until Wemmbu accidentally blew it up in some sidequest he went on trying to defend it.
The glass bottles...Egg doesn’t really like mentioning it, but his mind can’t help but picture the grey streaks in his knight’s hair. Using magic potions held great benefits, but they always come at a physical cost. Just by looking at it, clearly Wemmbu had used invisibility elixirs in his past. For what reason, Egg has no idea.
The button, and the fishing string are the only ones Egg can’t really put a label on. Incredibly obscure objects, so he puts them down and just examines the other objects in the box again.
Egg was surprised that Wemmbu has all of these locked up in a chest under his bed. Why doesn’t he display some of these? He clearly looks back at them often enough, might as well have them sitting on display for him to see when he walks in.
Maybe they hold bad memories. Maybe they show off vulnerabilities that he doesn’t want others, or Egg, to know about and use against him. That, Egg could understand.
But if they did, why keep them at all if they hurt to look at? Wemmbu’s mind was an enigma that Egg isn’t sure he wants to completely understand. It’d be nice, but maybe not now.
Egg decides he’s done looking through Wemmbu’s stuff, satisfied of what he’s found. He’s definitely sure to sneak in look at the rest of the objects at another time; right now, he’s gone too long without knowing where Wemmbu was. He gently shuts the lid of the chest and shoves it back under the bed, not bothering to cover the tracks of him moving it, because he already knows that Wemmbu would be aware of him snooping anyways. Whats the point?
He stands up from the bed and looks out the window into their garden.
Egg blinks. Is he seeing things? Wemmbu was outside, kneeling over a patch of dirt in the grass. This is new.
Their front garden was pretty much filled with lots of veggies and flowers that Egg had planted himself. It had taken him several weeks to manage it. Egg has tried to get Wemmbu to plant stuff on his own, help out with the garden from time to time, but he’s found that Wemmbu wasn’t the greatest at maintaining plants, so he’s stopped asking. This sight was unusual to see.
Egg slips out Wemmbu’s bedroom and out the front door, slowly pathing his way towards his knight. Wordlessly, he walks up behind his knight and just...watches.
Wemmbu, even though Egg is one-hundred percent sure that he had felt his presence from the moment he stepped outside, didn’t say greet him. He just continued to do what he was doing: In one hand, he had a shovel, and in the other he was pouring sunflower seeds right into the bed. Right in the view of his bedroom window.
Oh.
Egg can’t seem to move from his spot, like roots had sprouted up from the ground and tied his feet down. He couldn’t move; just watched Wemmbu dig the ground up, pour some seeds in, replace the dirt, and shift a couple of inches to the side to repeat the action.
They both were there until the sun changed from the late afternoon sun to sunset, when Wemmbu finally finished watering them all. He was armor-less and sweaty when he leaned back on his heels, examining his handiwork. Egg wanted to say something, maybe crack a joke to break this odd tension, but couldn’t find the voice to say anything.
Thankfully, Wemmbu broke it instead. He looked up to Egg, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“I thought my view could use something pretty to look at in the summer. You like the new addition?”
“...Yeah, bro. It’s nice.”
“Yeah thanks…it is nice.”
...
A couple of days later, there were rocks surrounding the youthful sunflowers, who were already starting to sprout.
A week later, Egg had walked out and put a spell on the flowers so they’d never wilt. He liked the idea that once they bloomed, they would live in their little garden for eternally.
In the summer time, he found Wemmbu outside of the cottage on a rainy night, bent over the fully-bloomed sunflowers. Egg had walked out with a shield spell, a bit panicked at the sight.
Wemmbu didn't seem to care that Egg was out there with him now. He was too busy in his own thoughts— Egg could tell. He’s learned that anyone can read Wemmbu’s emotions by looking into his eyes; when he’s angry, his eyes flash a flaring purple. And when he’s sad, he his eyes go cloudy and despondent. Right now, his eyes look exactly like that- like he wasn't in his body, so deep in his own thoughts. And Egg understands why. He pities his knight, even if he can't share as deep of a feeling.
Selfishly, Egg wonders if this is how Wemmbu would grieve for him in the future. Will he plant flowers in lieu of him, keep a book or two in that chest under his bed for him? Or would he rather not remember him at all? Sometimes, Wemmbu was so unreadable that Egg couldn't tell sometimes.
Together, they stood there in the rain, Egg covering the both of them with a shield spell, rain pounding against them. It took an hour for Wemmbu to come back to himself, blinking out of his stupor and looking up both confused and surprised to see Egg there.
“Egg? What are you doing out here? Go back inside— you’re going to get sick.” Wemmbu says.
Egg frowns. “Dude, you’re one to talk. If you get sick out here because of the rain, we’re screwed.”
“Psh— no you’re not,” Wemmbu replies, getting up and grabbing Egg’s hand. “We'll be fine when I’m sick. You should be more worried about yourself. You're a pain in the ass to take care off when you start sneezing mana.”
Egg's mouth seems to dry up, making him fall silent. He already can see where this conversation is going; joking about their external situation to sweep the glaring situation under the rug. Whatever, that's fine with him, he supposes. He already has seen the objects under Wemmbu's bed, hasn't mentioned it since he's discovered it, and hasn't no intention of bringing it up either. There was no point of mentioning it now. Skeletons were skeletons anyways. Keep then buried, keep things comfortable.
Wemmbu, for all of his ego and grandiosity, was an unusually sentimental person.
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐
On the outskirts of Merchant City, deep in the Enchanted Forest lies a witch’s cottage. It’s filled to the brim with unique potions and tricks galore; everything you can imagine, he has.
Though, if you ever dare to enter, it’s really the witch you want to see. His knowledge of this world goes far beyond the realm of the living. One word from him and you’ll know things you wish you didn’t.
There’s a knight-gone-rogue that lingers in the shadows of the cottage. After a long life of adventures, he’s found himself next to the side of this witch. He’s said to be one of the best in the country. Chances are, you’ll meet the head of his mace before you even see a single hair of the witch.
They’re close, those two. Nobody knows how they came to be. Nobody knows how much they mean to each other– is it contractual? Is it companionship? Nobody but them knows.
All they know is that they’ll run together until their time runs out. After all, they are human, and human life is fleeting.