[✔] Someone Named Xelqua (Hermitcraft Fanfiction)

I. Prologue

(A/N: Welcome to another Hermitcraft fanfiction book!

This is not a shipping book, sorry to disappoint.

If you're new here/first Ariyaquila book you've read, updates are usually quick if I didn't put it on hold. I work alone and have a few other books to plan and write which would make the process a little slower than usual. Thank you for understanding. [Already done.]

Started on March 2nd, 2020. Finished on May 7th, 2020

Please, sit back, relax, and enjoy this book of Hermitcraft Fanfiction. <3)

"They're the bad guys. You need to stay away from them," his mother warned her young boy. She had her child sitting in her lap on the grass outside, keeping him close as if he were in danger. The mother held her kid's hands with a gentle grasp as he wiggled around. Smiling at the boy, her sapphire blue eyes glimmered with an indescribable amount of affection. He gave a toothy smile, tilting his head at the mother.

"Who's 'they'?" the young boy asked, looking up at his mother with his curious blue eyes he inherited from his mother. The mother sighed, contemplating whether she should say or not. She looked into the child's eyes, examining every part of his face as if it were that last time she'd see it.

"Honey," she said, cupping the boy's face with her hands. "We never speak of them. Saying their name could bring them to us, which is no good." She ruffled his hair.

"But I want to know!" he insisted, pushing her hand away from his hair. The mother chuckled. She slowly nodded, adjusting her position on the grass.

"Alright, but you have to promise to never associate yourself with the group. They do no good," she said, sternly looking at the child. He nodded, pretending to zip his lips. The two of them held eye contact in silence for a moment.

Maybe a few moments.

A bird squawked, interrupting the short silence.

"They're called Watchers." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "And you must never speak of them... or join them." A flash of purple and white lightning struck in the distance, something only the mother saw. She paled, eyes widening at the sudden flash. It was unusual, as today was a cloudless and humid autumn day.

"Mum? What's wrong?" The innocent child asked. The mother shook her head, putting a fake smile on to mask her fear.

"Nothing, sweetheart. We should go inside, your father's coming home." The child started to protest, but stopped at his mother's stern look. He let her carry him into the small but hospitable home. The six year old ran around the house as soon as he set foot into it; it was as if he was on a sugar high. The mother let him, knowing that he was responsible enough to not break anything.

Just a few hours later, the door opened again. This time, a tall man walked through the doorway, exhaustion written all over his face.

"Hey darling," he said when he saw his wife, his voice indicating that he was tired. He looked around as she hugged him. "Where's the little one?"

"Resting. He was running around outside and wasted his energy when he came in. Collapsed on the bed a few minutes ago," she softly replied, pulling back and leaning against the wall. The father looked at her with worry. Something was off.

"Did you tell him?" the father asked, tilting his head at the woman. She nodded, worried lines creasing her face. The mother nervously pushed a strand of her chocolate-colored hair out of her face. She wrapped her arms around the father's waist, resting her head in the crook of his neck. In response, the man laid his head on the top of her head.

"Yes, dear. He's old enough to know about them. But I know... I know they know about him. I saw their lightning," she replied. The father hummed, rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"It's inevitable, you know. It's... my fault he has to eventually go through it. I..." he trailed off, biting his lip.

"No, don't blame yourself. If he's anything like you, he'll survive and be the best in his league. Even better, the best one there," the mother assured him. The father hesitantly nodded, unsure if that would be true. 

"It's a curse. He can't do anything about it. He might end up the worst one there... and they'll punish him for it," the father said, moving himself to the kitchen. His wife followed him, staying close.

"He's got the skill to survive," the mother finally said as they stood still. She looked up into the father's brown eyes, looking for any reaction. He only wrapped his wife in a tight but not uncomfortable hug.

"He's got your building skill," he commented, gazing at his wife and running a hand through his sandy hair. The mother's lips curved upwards, into a gentle smile.

"But he also has your courage and sense of right and wrong. He has your strength of not giving up and not backing down when he knows he can do it," she replied, pulling away.

"Oh honey, what will happen when he realizes-" The mother put a finger on the father's lips, stopping him. He tilted his head down, picking at the charcoal black suit he wore for work.

"He will accept it and not fight back. He will know that it is dangerous to do that. He will realize that... that it's going to be okay. He will be okay, no matter what happens," she reassured him.

"What if he gets thrown into place like what happened to me?" the Father shook his head, his brows furrowing.

"He won't," the mother said. Her husband shook his head, taking his glasses off and setting them down on the table.

"How do you know?" he asked. The mother heaved a heavy sighed.

"It's... it's just a gut feeling, understand?"

"I dread the day it comes," the father mumbled, wrinkling his nose.

"Of course you do. But we won't be around for it. He'll be... what, eighteen? Nineteen? He'll be living in his own world with his own friends," the mother said. She shook her head. "You stress too much. He will be fine."

"I trust you, darling," he sighed. He rubbed his face, exhausted from the long and hard day at work and the discussion he is having at the moment. For him, no, today was not a good day. For the woman, however, it was a normal day. Calm and peaceful. Spent time with her child. Got a small amount of work done when the child was busy doing other activities.

"I know you do, we always trust each other. We promised we would when we married, we promised to trust and to tell the truth. Why should this time be different?" The mother inquired, tilting her head. The father stepped away, turning to the bathroom. As he turned to close the door, he met her blue eyes. Holding her gaze for a moment, he shrugged and looked away.

"I don't know." The door closed and locked with a click, leaving the woman with blue eyes and brown hair standing in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by silence.

(Proofread and edited, June 15th, 2020.)