Mythical Shadows

Chapter 16: The Mansion Again

"As we're about to return to the mansion — where we first saw Herobrine, and where we know Sercher currently is — I'm worried that someone is going to die. Knowing the circumstances, the chance seems to be high. I really don't want to be pessimistic, but... if someone dies, and that someone happens to be me, there are some things you should know. . . ."

I continued to read the note. I knew what was in it—I had written it, after having woken up from a nightmare—but I wanted to read it again, for some reason. Once I was finished, however, I neatly tied it up in a ribbon and set it on my bed.

I felt sad. A better word would be melancholic, actually, as it was a quiet sadness. After all, the only reason why someone would have to read my little note is if I became friends with Death while we were at the mansion. I worried, mostly, about how others would take my death, if I were to die: The idea of losing a friend seemed so painful. I had, after all, thought about it a lot. So even if I didn't much care for myself, I knew others did. Maybe.

The gloomful feeling grew stronger as I looked around my room. My old, simple room. I thought back to when I had crashed down onto the floor, after having narrowly escaped staff members with Melon. But even more came fresher memories of agony and rage in the quiet hours of night, when I was alone in the darkness.

I left my bedroom and went down the hall, and then down the stairs. I thought about another escape from staff members—it came right after the previous escape—thanks to some quick thinking from all of us.

The living room below brought back memories of its own—memories of so many conversations with my friends, with server admins, and even with the server owner himself, Hypixel. The bitter conversations came to the front of my mind, with the sweeter ones in the back seat, as is natural.

My house was, in all of its modesty, full of so many memories, both good and bad. In my mind, there was a very real possibility that I'd never be here again.

Maybe, or maybe not. . . .

When everyone arrived, there was a lot of talk. Theories and hypothetical outcomes were tossed around. Earnest worries and encouraging words were told in and with confidence. And packing lists were checked and rechecked. Meanwhile, I went into my secret basement to retrieve the artifacts, along with the sets of armor and weapons that we would need. When I got upstairs, chatting stopped, and the question was posed: who would get the artifacts?

They all naturally wanted to have one, so it was up to me to dish them out. Eventually, I decided that this would be best: I would have the Warp Orb, Kiqy would take the Broadcast Orb, and Dia would take the Heal Orb. Michael, Duk, and Octo would all share The Sword, and The Bow would go to Typo. Nobody decided to complain.

As everyone donned their armor and secured their swords and bows, I looked around at the crowd in thought. Ten friends, all willing to help for the greater good.

I tried to think of something to say, especially when they all looked at me. There was so much I could say—words of motivation, or of advice, or of warning. But, standing straighter, I said only two words to all of them: "Thank you."

I felt like saying it more. It needed to be heard more, because they were all doing so much more than mere words could give gratitude for. They were risking their lives to repay a debt that I alone owed; they were sacrificing time and energy to protect thousands of people; they were being heroes. And true heroes aren't thanked enough.

There was so much to say as the leader, in front of everyone, but there was also so much to say as a friend, to each of them individually.

I could've thanked Melon for his loyalty, and made certain that we were on good terms, just in case something happened—but instead, I merely smiled at him, and he smiled back.