~The First Step~ a Hermitcraft AU

Chapter 56

wc: 1378

Steady breath in.

Grian ran his fingers along the walls of the small armory, feeling damp moss under his nails.

Steady breath out.

The walls were well decorated with weapons and trinkets, some labeled and some not, and as he stepped closer, the itch to drag them all off the walls and arm himself in any way possible turned overbearing. Grian squeezed his eyes shut. In, out.

He plucked a sheathed knife off the wall, sliding the blade out to inspect it before slipping it onto his belt. A rather nondescript box sat, dusty, on the corner of a tabletop, and Grian moved the lid to peer inside.

Grenades, a paper settled harmlessly on top read in messy scrawl. Handle carefully.

They were no larger than a strawberry. Grian grabbed six and shoved them into the pouches on his belt, fingers curling nervously around the leather.

A row of shining daggers laid out on a table caught his eye, and slowly, Grian moved closer and traced a hand along the handles. Throwing knives, Grian noted, removing one from the strap and weighing it in his hand. It felt- special, as if it was someone else's.

"Oi!" came Joel's voice, and Grian jumped and whirled. "Those are mine, idiot."

Grian laughed. "They feel specially made," he commented, eyes moving over a carved LS on the bottom of the handle. He tossed it to Joel, who snatched it out of the air. Fits perfectly, Grian thought, watching Joel swing it from the loop on the end.

"They were made for me," Joel answered, moving to slip the dagger back in the strap. "Before I joined the Listeners."

"Really?" Grian asked a bit absentmindedly, scanning the walls for something like a community knife bin. "It's well made."

"It's fae work," Joel told him. "The finest."

"Anyone special make it for you?" Grian teased, shooting a mirthful glance at Joel. To his surprise, Joel's expression turned wistful.

"Yes, actually," Joel said quietly, walking to the door with echoing footsteps. He paused and turned. "We have a lot to lose today," he added, like an afterthought. "But I would rather die then live oppressed. Without my love." His eyes bore into Grian's, rage and something like sorrow swirling in his deep purple eyes. "Whatever problems you have, forget them until after this. Hundreds of lives are relying on us."

The door closed, and Grian's legs crumpled beneath him as he sat and- breathed.

This could be his last day alive.

At least he lived for something greater than him.

Grian took a shuddering breath. Get up, he chastised himself, planting a hand on the table next to him and heaving himself up. Stay strong. At least until tomorrow.

On time, too, because at that moment, Mumbo and Etho walked in, balancing something slightly bulky between them.

"Grian! There you are!" Mumbo greeted cheerfully.

"Hey, Grian," Etho said, tipping his head in a nod.

"Hey, guys," Grian said, warily eyeing the... was that a gun? "What in the world is that?"

"Oh!" Mumbo perked up, lifting his side of the thing and throwing them a bit off balance. "It's a sugar gun!"

Grian massaged his nose bridge. "A... sugar gun."

"He remembered that Watchers can't touch sugar," Etho interjected. "We compressed a bunch of sugar into exploding rounds, and made as many gun things as we could and gave them to the hermits."