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You’ve never told him your name.
It isn’t on purpose, at least not at first. You’re too focused on saving his life, your voice hushed and your body interposed between the spectators of the battle you’ve just lost and the totem you clutch to your chest like the miracle it is.
He looks at you with wild eyes, caught somewhere between awe and pride. There’s a hint of fear in the determined set of his mouth, but he swallows and then it is gone.
You push the totem into his hands. The cool edges of the metal give way to the warmth of his skin.
Your hands are shaking as you pull back. Despite the years of preparation, you tremble, and it is only now that you realize that searching for a champion isn’t the same thing as being ready for one.
You’ve given away your totem, and suddenly, everything is real.
You leave him with the responsibility of the world and think yourself pathetic.
The next time you see him, he is in your house. His eyes light up as they meet yours.
“My friend!” he calls. You allow yourself the luxury of smiling back. And then you grab his hand and lead him to the map room. Beneath you, people are dying. There is no time for names.
And then, well. He never asks.
‘Evbo’s friend’
It becomes a moniker all its own, really. Your neighbors begin to use it- at first only when referring to you and then directly to your face. You’re surprised by the singularity of it at first. Surely, someone as charming as him would have many friends.
A bit of logic is quick to dispel that thought. He has climbed higher than anyone, after all. Any other friend who has truly known him has been left behind.
You know you’ll be next. But still. You cling to that title of ‘Friend’ like the honor you know it is.
(Later, much later, the title changes. ‘Evbo’s Champion.’ The distance between you grows. You talk to him, and with every word you feel like you’re leaping upwards, scrabbling at the edge of an ever ascending ledge. You just want to keep him within your sight. Maybe it’s more than you deserve.)
He knows Seawatt’s name. A chill washes over you the first time he says it, an ice bucket unceremoniously dumped upon your head, and the feeling is so overwhelming that you miss several sentences of his plan.
When you’re able to pull yourself back to reality, you see the hate sparking within his eyes at every utterance of said name, and you decide that it wouldn’t be worth it.
You practice leaping between brewing stands. But the glass is so thin and fragile and you keep slipping off the edge. You pray that Seawatt doesn’t try anything, because if your incompetence gets the chosen savior killed you will never be able to forgive yourself.
When you enter the hall, Seawatt is standing over his unconscious body.
“You’re late,” Seawatt says. You don’t bother responding. Instead you carefully hoist the limp form over your shoulder, holding him as safely as you are able.
Seawatt shrugs, and slowly leads you to the battlefield. And you do mean slowly. With every step, his limbs fight to push through the air. The gold bands around his arms clank together like chains. His body shakes with the effort of motion. Seawatt grimaces, and the tears forming in the corner of his eyes wash streaks of black down his face.
Finally, as Seawatt opens the door at the end of what to you is the third completely unnecessary secret passageway, you enter the challenge hall. Besides the doorway you stand in, there is no floor.
“Put him down there,” Seawatt says, pointing to the floating stage in the center.
“If this is a trap…” you warn, and you can’t find a threat severe enough to express what exactly you would do to him.
Seawatt sighs, “I can’t make it to the arena like this.”
You know it’s true. There’s too much empty space. Whatever he’d done had made Seawatt too slow and too exhausted for the jump.
You hold him tighter, adjust his positioning on your shoulder, and throw yourself across the gap.
You lay him down gently in the center of the stage. Seeing him so still sends a spike of anxiety shooting through your chest. Your next few breaths are panicked and shallow.
With one hand you brush his hair out of his eyes, and with the other you double check his pulse. The steady drum of his heartbeat feels like a promise.
From within the doorway, Seawatt laughs, and it sounds like pity. Your face burns.
You and Seawatt wait behind the walls of the challenge hall, and the two of you watch him win. You grin. Seawatt sinks into himself, muttering, and then runs for the door. You hope he jumps.
You take to circling the levels, steadily pacing against the bounds of your world. It helps to be able to look off into the distance and be greeted with the endless void. It reminds you of how small everything is. Sometimes you’re even able to convince yourself that it doesn’t matter.
It makes sense, you suppose, that you are the one who finds the bridge to nowhere. It stretches into nothing, over nothing, and you pretend it’s the excitement of the new discovery that makes you dizzy as you run to show him. (You haven’t spoken to him as much, lately. Couldn’t risk distracting him from his duties.)
He gasps as he sees the bridge and then goes still, quietly monologuing to himself in the way he does when he’s nervous. He walks up and down the length of the structure, testing it against his weight. The wood feels almost warm, radiating heat from under your boots. You wonder if he senses the same energy.
You jump off the edge before he does. Partly to show him that you are brave. Partly to see if you are worth following.
You land in a floating puddle of water. Nearly half of the liquid manages to migrate up your nose by the time you pull yourself back up, spluttering, onto a plank of wood. You’re looking behind you, peering into the empty air and hoping for a glimpse of his confidently smirking face when Seawatt tackles you into the ground.
The prison cell is hastily built, just a few chains positioned above a deadly fall, but it still manages to be completely serviceable. Your hands are pulled above your head. Your feet are balanced on a thin piece of metal.
“Don’t step off of that,” Seawatt warns. “It’ll hurt.”
You grumble something about being smart enough to keep your shoulders firmly within their sockets.
“You’re smarter than Evbo, then,” Seawatt smiles, and you choose to take offense.
“Coward,” you accuse, “You didn’t even challenge me to a fair fight.
“And that’s because I’m smarter than you.”
Unfortunately, it’s true.
Seawatt feeds you, at least. The process is… decidedly uncomfortable, and mainly consists of him throwing pieces of beef in the vague direction of your mouth. He laughs at you when you miss, and you gnash your teeth in his direction like an angry beast.
Two days into your imprisonment, Seawatt comes down into the chamber by your cell and sits down in the corner like he’s expecting a nice, long chat.
“He came down after you,” he says, and it’s the best news you’ve heard in weeks. You try to school your expression, but you can’t fight the warmth that rises to your cheeks. It’s fortunate that your skin is so dark.
“Oh,” you say, nonchalantly, “So you’ve been speaking to him, then?”
“I have him running some errands for me. He’s… interesting. Determined. Arrogant. Dead set on finding you, by the way.”
If you decide not to meet Seawatt’s eyes then you can’t find any evidence of him lying.
“Why does Evbo care about you so much?” Seawatt asks, and the question is so genuine, so bare of the barbs that Seawatt loves threading into his words, that you respond out of reflex.
“Because we’re friends.”
“I would never risk so much for friendship.”
“Perhaps that is because you’ve never had a friend.”
Seawatt’s lips curl upwards in disgust. He pulls his knees closer to his chest.
“He doesn’t even know your name!”
You turn your body away from his face and refuse to speak to him for the rest of that evening. But he still comes down to see you the next day, and the day after next. Eventually, you allow him the privilege of talking with you.
Seawatt wears his loneliness like he wears his eyeliner, an addition so strikingly obvious that it cannot help but make him more beautiful. You wonder what happened to leave him like this, but it feels too cruel of you to ask. Even if the question would be directed at the enemy.
You’ve given up your halfhearted efforts on keeping track of the days by the time Seawatt tells you that, one way or another, it was nearly over.
“Evbo will be back soon,” Seawatt says, his voice nearly wistful, “If he dies, maybe I’ll set you free. As long as you promise not to seek revenge, of course.”
“Don’t bother.”
Seawatt shrugs.
“Regardless of how this ends,” you say, flashing Seawatt a glimpse of your teeth, “We both know that you’re going to miss us.”
This time, it’s Seawatt who refuses to respond.
In the end, he does more than follow you. More than tirelessly chase your image across the ruins of a lost civilization. He saves you. You throw yourself off the edge of the chain, spinning onto the chest he’s placed for you, and land on solid ground.
It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re not dead. You stagger to your feet and pump your fist into the air.
“I knew you could do it!” he says, and you hug him so tightly you nearly sweep him off his feet.
There’s the uncomfortable sound of someone behind you clearing their throat. You place your champion back down and turn to meet the gaze of a scrawny looking stranger. They shift in place awkwardly, adjusting the bandanna covering their lower face.
“Who-” you start to ask, but you are already being dragged along.
“No time!” he says, grabbing the stranger’s arm with his free hand.
Less than two minutes later, he has thrown himself into yet another bottomless pit, and you are left awkwardly standing next to his newest friend.
You wonder, briefly, whether or not the two of you will have to duel for the titles of ‘Friend 1’ and ‘Friend 2’ respectively, and then decide that that is perhaps the stupidest thing you’ve ever considered.
Instead, you introduce yourself to them. They pull down their bandanna and hesitantly do the same.
When he comes back for you two, he descends from the sky, materializing earth beneath his feet. His boots are gilded with a darkened metal, and the air around them seems to glow. He grins at your shocked expressions and gives you a double thumbs up.
“I’m a god now,” he says.
You suppose that this might as well happen.
He takes you back to your broken world, and the three of you work at putting the pieces back together.
It’s difficult. The command blocks are finicky at best, and you keep summoning… echoes of structures. Stores with walls you can walk through. Houses with no roofs. Training grounds that devolve into bloody fractals. You dread attempting to bring back the people.
Your new god isn’t particularly sympathetic.
“I could do that on my first try,” he shrugs, and you momentarily consider deicide.
You flop yourself over one of the command blocks in abject exhaustion and promptly pass out.
In your dreams, a body tumbles endlessly through the void. You recognize the screaming voice, and despite positioning yourself beneath him, Seawatt phases through your arms. He looks so scared.
When you wake up, you are shaking.
It gets easier with time.
The buildings you make sit more comfortable with reality. Your farm animals stop spawning as many legged abominations. Your nightmares get quieter. The world is nearly peaceful.
You practice and practice and practice.
And one day, you jump across the command blocks and rip a human soul out of the ether.
Next to you, someone gasps. You open your eyes. There’s a figure outside one of the houses. You recognize her. She’d lived in your neighborhood. Before everything had broken.
You feel so lightheaded with relief you nearly collapse.
Beside you, your god whoops with joy and does a celebratory three-sixty.
“That’s my champion!” he shouts.
You push yourself to your feet, grinning, and let your adrenaline fueled body pull him in for a kiss.
He freezes, statue still against your lips. And then he throws his arms around your head and reciprocates with the same passion he brings to everything he does.
When you pull apart, he is bright red.
You lean back in, hover your mouth above his ear, and tell Evbo your name.