Work Text:
“Lomedy—c’mon. Just… just follow me. Please.”
Flame was too close now. Close enough to reach him. Close enough to see the cracks in Lomedy’s composure, the way his shoulders stayed rigid like they were bracing for something worse than the prison itself. Flame had fought his way through chaos, through steel and shouting and blood, for this one moment—
And Lomedy was still standing in his way.
“I’m not going,” Lomedy said. His voice was steady. Too steady. “Why should I trust someone who’s not willing to change?”
The words landed heavier than any blow.
Around them, the prison roared with noise—clashing weapons, panicked yells, the collapse of stone—but between them, there was only silence. Deafening, absolute. Flame had come here for one reason. One person.
And he was going to leave without him.
Flame clenched his jaw. If there was one thing anyone knew about him, it was this: he didn’t let go. Not after watching Lomedy get trapped the first time. Not now.
“Can’t we just talk about this once you’re out?” Flame stepped closer, desperation creeping into his voice despite his effort to keep it steady. “Please. Just—just follow me.”
“I don’t even understand why you’re here,” Lomedy replied. He didn’t move. Didn’t waver. He stood tall, unmoving, as Flame fidgeted with the hilt of his sword like it might anchor him.
Flame reached out.
Just for his hand. Just to pull him along, just to prove this wasn’t over—
Lomedy yanked it back.
“Just. Go.”
Two words. Six letters.
Flame froze.
It wasn’t what Lomedy said that hurt. It was how he’d pulled away—sharp, instinctive, like Flame’s touch burned.
“Lom—let’s just—”
The world cut out.
Sound vanished. The prison, the fighting, Lomedy—gone. Flame’s stomach dropped as if the ground itself had given up on him, and suddenly he was falling, tumbling into an endless void that swallowed light and air alike.
“Wha—? What the—Lomedy?!”
Panic flared, sharp and immediate. Flame fumbled for an ender pearl, threw it—
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
He kept falling. Down and down and down, the void stretching infinitely beneath him.
And for a split second, it wasn’t This is how I die that crossed his mind.
It was—
Is Lomedy okay?
—
The void didn’t end.
Flame kept falling, the sensation endless and wrong, as if gravity itself had forgotten when to stop. There was no wind roaring in his ears, no ground rushing up to meet him—just the silent, nauseating drop into nothing. Darkness stretched in every direction, thick and suffocating, swallowing any sense of time or distance.
His chest tightened.
“Am I not supposed to be dead by now?” he muttered, the words sounding fragile, almost foolish as they disappeared into the void.
The thought lodged itself in his mind and refused to leave. The Void was meant to kill you in seconds. Everyone knew that. Ten seconds—maybe less—and you were gone. Erased. Reduced to nothing but a memory for those left behind. Yet Flame was still here. Still falling. Still thinking.
A minute had passed. Maybe more.
Panic crept in, slow and cold. If this wasn’t death, then what was it?
His thoughts betrayed him, drifting to the one place he didn’t want them to go. Lomedy. The way he’d reached out. The way Flame had been so close—close enough to almost believe he could save him. The failure burned sharper than the fall itself, gnawing at him until breathing felt like a chore.
Maybe this was the punishment.
Maybe the Void wasn’t meant to kill him outright. Maybe it was meant to give him time—time to replay every mistake, every hesitation, every moment where he hadn’t been enough. A final cruelty. The devil’s idea of mercy.
The darkness pressed in tighter, heavier, until even his thoughts felt sluggish. His body began to give up, strength draining from his limbs like water through cracked stone. His vision blurred, spots of light flickering at the edges.
Then, without warning, everything shifted.
Flame dropped—not just falling now, but collapsing entirely. A blinding white light tore through the darkness, sudden and overwhelming, swallowing his senses whole. For a fleeting, disorienting instant, it felt holy. Pure. Almost comforting.
Like he had seen God.
And just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
The light faded. The void dissolved. His consciousness slipped through his fingers, and the world went quiet as his vision sank into black.
—
Flame woke up.
The first thing he noticed was that he could feel.
The dull ache in his skull throbbed in time with his heartbeat, sharp enough to make him wince. His lungs drew in air on instinct, rough and uneven, like they were surprised to be working at all. For a long, terrifying second, he didn’t move—afraid that if he did, the world would snap apart and prove this was just another trick of the Void.
He was alive.
The realization hit him all at once, heavy and unreal. His vision swam as his eyes fluttered open, light bleeding in slowly, painfully. He blinked several times, forcing his focus to hold, trying to convince himself that the shapes above him were real—that he hadn’t imagined waking up.
“That… what the hell was that…?” His voice came out hoarse, barely louder than a breath.
He pushed himself up with a groan, immediately regretting it. His head pounded like it was being split open from the inside, and the room lurched violently. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the spinning to stop, one hand braced against the floor as if it might disappear beneath him.
When he finally dared to look again, the haze began to lift.
That’s when the smell hit him.
Damp earth. Leaves. Something green and alive. The scent was so familiar it made his chest tighten, dragging memories with it whether he wanted them or not. This wasn’t the sterile emptiness of the Void. This was real—grounded. Warm.
Slowly, carefully, Flame took in his surroundings.
The room was small. Lived in. Little things were scattered around in a way that felt intentional, not messy—pots tucked along the walls, gardening tools leaned neatly in a corner, dried plants hanging from strings near the ceiling. Decorations sat off to the side, subtle and modest, like whoever lived here didn’t care much for showing off.
Then he saw it.
A framed picture, half-hidden behind a stack of supplies.
Flame’s breath caught.
“…What the fuck.”
His heart slammed against his ribs as the realization snapped into place, cold and electric. The smell, the plants, the careful little touches—he knew this place. He had been here before. Not often, but enough.
No. That wasn’t possible.
He scrambled to his feet far too fast, the room spinning violently as black crept in at the edges of his vision. He staggered, barely catching himself against the wall. “How—?” he gasped, laughing once under his breath in disbelief. “Bro—no way.”
Before he could finish the thought, he froze.
Someone was standing in front of him.
The world seemed to narrow, the air thickening as his eyes locked onto the figure. Familiar posture. Familiar presence. Too real to be another hallucination.
Lomedy.
Standing there. Alive. Watching him.
Flame’s breath hitched, his mind scrambling to catch up with what his eyes were telling him. After the Void. After the fall. After everything—
Lomedy was right there.
And for the first time since he’d woken up, Flame didn’t know whether to believe what he was seeing.
“Lomedy…?” Flame’s voice cracked around the name. “What—? How did you—”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Flame surged forward and grabbed Lomedy, hands wrapping tightly around his wrists like he was afraid he might vanish if he let go. His grip was firm, almost desperate, fingers pressing into warm skin, into something solid. Real.
Lomedy didn’t pull away.
That alone made Flame’s chest ache. He loosened his grip slightly, thumbs brushing over Lomedy’s knuckles as if memorizing the feeling. If this was a trick—if this was his mind breaking after the Void—then it was cruelly convincing.
“I’m so confused,” Flame said, breath shaky. “What happened? I—I thought—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
When he finally lifted his gaze, really looked at him, it hit even harder. Lomedy was right there. Upright. Breathing. His brow was furrowed, expression caught somewhere between concern and irritation, but his eyes were focused entirely on Flame.
Alive.
“I told you to stop fighting already,” Lomedy said, his voice steady but tight. “You practically collapsed after the fight with the hundred law men.”
Flame blinked.
“…The what?”
A hundred law men?
The words didn’t make sense, bouncing uselessly around in his head. His thoughts scrambled, trying to piece together the last thing he remembered—falling, the Void, the blinding light. None of it matched what Lomedy was saying.
His grip tightened again without him realizing. “Wait—no. That’s not—” He shook his head hard, like that might force the world back into order. “How are you even here? You were in jail. I—I fell. I didn’t—”
His chest tightened as the questions piled up.
Had Spoke freed him? Had someone dragged Flame out after he collapsed? Or was this something else entirely—something he didn’t understand yet?
Nothing lined up.
Flame stared at Lomedy, heart racing, mind spiraling, knowing only one thing for certain:
Whatever had happened after the fall, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Flame opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.
Something was wrong.
Not danger wrong. Not Void wrong. Just… off.
He loosened his grip on Lomedy’s hands, his fingers slowly slipping away as his eyes drifted back to the room. He took it in properly this time. The clutter. The plants that hadn’t yet grown wild. The tools neatly arranged instead of scattered wherever they’d last been dropped.
This wasn’t how Lomedy’s base looked the last time Flame remembered being here.
It was cleaner. Smaller. Untouched by everything that came after.
Flame swallowed.
“You collapsed,” Lomedy continued, watching him carefully now. “After the fight, you came into my base and just collapsed. You scared the hell out of me.”
That sentence landed harder than any punch.
You scared the hell out of me.
Lomedy didn’t say things like that anymore. Not after everything. Not after the fights, the distance, the way their words had turned sharp and poisonous instead of familiar.
“…You,” Flame said slowly, his voice barely steady. “You helped me?”
Lomedy frowned. “Obviously? What kind of question is that?”
Flame’s heart began to pound, louder and louder, drowning out everything else.
He took a step back, then another, until his shoulders brushed the wall. His gaze snapped back to Lomedy—really looked at him. The clothes were different. Older gear. No fresh scars along his arms. No guarded stiffness in the way he stood.
No wall between them.
“Wait,” Flame whispered. “No—no, that’s not right.”
Memories slammed into him all at once. The argument. The prison. Lomedy behind bars, eyes cold, refusing to follow him. The Void. The fall.
Flame dragged a hand down his face, breath coming faster. “You… you hate me,” he said without meaning to. “You— you said you wouldn’t trust me again.”
Lomedy stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “What are you talking about?”
That was the moment it clicked.
Not all at once. Not cleanly.
But enough.
The room. Lomedy’s voice. The way none of the worst things had happened yet. Flame’s stomach dropped as the realization settled in, heavy and terrifying.
This was before.
Before the fallout.
Before the betrayal.
Before he lost Lomedy.
Flame felt dizzy. His knees threatened to give out.
“I—” He let out a shaky breath, half-laughing, half-horrified. “I think I… I went back.”
Lomedy’s confusion deepened. “Back where?”
Flame looked at him, eyes burning, chest tight with something dangerously close to hope.
“…Back to when we were still okay.”
And for the first time since waking up, Flame was more scared of what came next than of the Void itself.
“You’re being really weird,” Lomedy muttered. “Get some rest.”
Flame chuckled under his breath. “Yeah… I’m good. Promise.”
“If you say so. Once you’re better, you can continue your hunt for Wemmbu. I have to go first, though. Get well soon.”
Lomedy turned, already taking a step away.
Flame didn’t know why—only that the thought of watching him leave again made his chest tighten. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and caught Lomedy by the arm.
He had no right. He’d been the one who ruined everything. The one who let their friendship fall apart.
But maybe—just this once—he could be selfish.
“Can I… follow you?”
The words came out small. Almost childish. Like a kid asking their mom if they could tag along to the store.
Lomedy froze. Then his face lit up. “Wait—really? You want to?”
Flame nodded. He’d missed this more than he wanted to admit: the dumb adventures, the long walks, having someone beside him instead of the empty road.
Those days were supposed to be long gone.
But not now. Not when fate—or whatever cruel, kind thing this was—had handed him a second chance.
“Yeah.”
Lomedy’s smile was so bright it almost hurt to look at. He immediately launched into excited rambling—about how he hadn’t seen Flame since the 1980s, about how fun this journey would be, about all the things they could do along the way.
Flame just listened.
He hadn’t heard Lomedy’s voice in so long that it felt unreal. And somewhere between the laughter and the nonstop talking, he realised how deeply he’d missed it.
They stocked up on gear together before setting off—side by side, like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Like maybe, just maybe, things weren’t completely broken yet.
—
“Absolutely not. That is not north.” Lomedy squinted at the map like it had personally offended him. He rotated it. Then rotated himself. Then rotated both at the same time.
Flame leaned over his shoulder. “You just turned the paper upside down.”
“It’s called perspective.”
“It’s called being lost.”
Lomedy huffed. “Okay, genius. If we go your way, we’re going to walk straight into a swamp.”
“And if we go your way,” Flame shot back, “we’re going to walk straight into disappointment.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“…So swamp?” Lomedy suggested.
“Swamp,” Flame agreed.
—
The “shortcut” turned into three hours of hiking through suspiciously squelchy terrain.
At some point, Lomedy’s boots made a noise that no boots should ever make.
Florp.
They both froze.
Flame looked down. “Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.”
Lomedy looked down too. “…It’s just mud.”
Another step.
Florp.
“Okay it’s aggressive mud.”
Flame laughed—actually laughed—and Lomedy blinked at him like he hadn’t heard that sound in a while.
“What?” Flame asked, still grinning.
“You’re being weirdly cheerful for someone ankle-deep in ‘aggressive mud.’”
Flame shrugged. “Maybe I like mud.”
“You absolutely do not.”
“No, yeah. I hate mud.” He paused. Softer, almost to himself—“I just don’t mind this.”
Lomedy didn’t catch the shift. Or maybe he did and chose not to.
They finally dragged themselves out of the swamp, covered in questionable stains and one extremely offended frog that had briefly clung to Lomedy’s sleeve.
“You made a friend,” Flame said.
“I made a mistake.”
—
By the time the sun started sinking, the sky turned that dramatic orange like it was trying way too hard.
They ended up on a small hill overlooking uneven fields—some green, some patchy, some very much not the “secret farming paradise” the map had promised.
Lomedy flopped onto the grass with a groan. “If this place is hidden,” he muttered, “it’s doing a fantastic job.”
Flame sat down beside him, quieter now. Not stiff. Just… thinking.
The light stretched long shadows across the hill. The air cooled fast, carrying that end-of-day stillness that always felt heavier than it should.
Lomedy leaned back on his elbows. “You ever think sunsets are kinda overrated?” he asked. “People act like it’s deep. It’s literally just the day ending.”
Flame let out a soft breath. “Yeah.”
“…Yeah?”
“Sometimes things ending just means you don’t get more of it.”
Lomedy tilted his head. “Bro, that was unnecessarily philosophical.”
Flame huffed a quiet laugh. “You started it.”
The wind brushed through the grass, ruffling Lomedy’s hair. He didn’t notice. He was too busy staring at the horizon like he expected the hidden farm to rise dramatically from the ground any second now.
Flame watched him instead.
Not in a soft way. Not in a dramatic way. Just steady.
He’d seen days end like this before. He’d stood in fading light knowing he’d said the wrong thing. Knowing he hadn’t said enough. Knowing he’d run out of time without realizing it.
Back then, he hadn’t paid attention to moments like this.
Now he did.
“You’re staring,” Lomedy said without looking at him.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Flame shrugged. “I’m making sure you don’t roll down the hill again.”
“That happened once.”
“It happened twice.”
“That second time was tactical.”
Flame smiled faintly.
The sun dipped lower, orange bleeding into deeper red. The kind of color that makes everything look warmer than it actually is.
Lomedy pulled his sleeves over his hands. “Okay, it’s getting cold. If we don’t find that weird farm thingy tomorrow, I’m starting my own secret farm mission and naming it ‘Definitely Not Here.’”
“I’d invest,” Flame said.
“You don’t even have money.”
“I have emotional support.”
“That’s worse.”
They sat there a little longer.
The light thinned. The sky dimmed. Another day gone.
Lomedy didn’t seem bothered. To him, it was just a failed search and a long walk back.
To Flame, it was something else.
Another chance he hadn’t wasted.
Another day where nothing had broken.
He stood up first. “C’mon. Before you start blaming the sunset for our navigation skills.”
Lomedy rolled his eyes but grabbed the map. “Next time, I’m holding the compass.”
“You were holding the map upside down.”
“That was perspective.”
Flame shook his head, but there was something quieter behind it.
The sun disappeared completely.
And this time, Flame didn’t feel like he was losing something.
He felt like he still had time.
—
They almost walked past it.
Again.
“Okay, if this is another dead end, I’m eating the map,” Lomedy muttered, pushing through a wall of tall grass.
Flame followed, already half ready to say I told you so.
Then the grass parted.
And everything opened.
The land dipped gently into wide, sunlit terraces of green. Crops lined up in neat rows, swaying softly in the wind like they were breathing together. A narrow stream cut through the middle, clear and bright, reflecting the sky in shattered pieces of blue. Wooden fences framed the fields, and at the center stood a farmhouse tucked beneath climbing vines, warm and solid and undeniably real.
They both froze.
“…Oh,” Lomedy said quietly.
Flame blinked once. Twice.
They hadn’t been crazy.
They hadn’t been wrong.
It existed.
Lomedy turned slowly to look at him, eyes wide in disbelief.
“We found it.”
Flame felt something in his chest loosen. “Yeah.”
And then Lomedy exploded into motion.
“WE FOUND IT!”
He bolted downhill without hesitation, nearly tripping twice but refusing to lose momentum. Flame laughed—actually laughed—and chased after him.
“Don’t break your legs, bro!l
“If I break my legs, you’re carrying me!”
“That’s not happening!”
They reached the bottom breathless, both bending over with hands on their knees, trying to catch air and failing miserably.
Lomedy straightened first, spinning in a circle like he was taking it all in at once. “This is insane. This is actually insane.”
Flame walked toward the stream and crouched, letting the water run through his fingers. It was cold. Clear. Real.
Not a rumor.
Not a false lead.
Not another wrong turn.
They had made it.
Lomedy jogged over and stood beside him, grinning so wide it almost looked ridiculous. “Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You doubted me.”
“I doubted your ability to read a map upside down.”
“It was perspective!”
Flame shook his head, smiling. “Sure.”
The wind swept through the fields again, carrying the smell of soil and something fresh—like beginnings.
Lomedy took a few steps back, looking at the farmhouse. “Imagine living here,” he said. “No chaos. No people bothering you. Just… this.”
“You’d get bored in three days.”
“Wrong. I’d thrive.”
Lomedy shoved him lightly. Flame shoved back.
It turned into another dumb scuffle, all exaggerated offense and terrible balance, until Lomedy lost footing and grabbed Flame to steady himself.
They both froze.
Then started laughing again.
And before Flame could overthink it, Lomedy stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him in a quick, tight hug.
Not dramatic.
Not heavy.
Just pure, victorious happiness.
“We did it,” Lomedy said into his shoulder.
Flame hugged him back without hesitation this time.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “We did.”
For a moment, they just stood there—two idiots who got lost, argued about directions, fought a swamp, and still somehow found something beautiful at the end of it.
The fields shimmered under the sun.
The stream kept running.
The farmhouse stood patient and quiet.
And for once, it didn’t feel like they were searching for something.
It felt like they’d arrived.
—
It didn’t happen slowly.
One second, there was sunlight.
The next—
There was nothing.
No ground beneath his feet. No sky stretching above him. No warmth clinging to his sleeves.
Flame dropped into white like a stone through milk, the world sealing shut without so much as a crack.
The void welcomed him the way it always did—vast, soundless, endless. Not violent. Not loud. Just absolute.
As if erasure were something clean.
He floated there, staring into a horizon that did not exist.
And then he understood.
Flame’s biggest mistake was thinking this would’ve lasted forever, because why would it?
Why would the universe let him keep something so gentle?
Why would time, which had already proven itself merciless, suddenly grow kind?
He let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh.
Life is cruel.
Not always in dramatic, shattering ways.
But in precise ones.
In giving you a single perfect day.
In letting you believe you earned it.
In taking it back without warning.
He closed his eyes.
He could still see it—
The fields spilling gold under the sun.
The stream flashing silver.
Lomedy grinning like he’d just conquered the world.
The hug.
Warm. Brief. Real.
For a moment, something in his chest ached so sharply it felt physical.
Then Flame smiled.
Small. Crooked. A little broken at the edges.
Because even if it was only one day—
He had it.
He had walked beside Lomedy without distance between them.
He had heard him laugh without hesitation.
He had found something beautiful together.
Even if their present selves weren’t like that.
Even if reality was messier. Colder. Harder to fix.
What could he do?
He couldn’t hold time still.
He couldn’t demand another chance.
He couldn’t make the current version of them magically softer.
But he could remember.
And maybe that was the quiet rebellion.
The void stretched endlessly around him, pale and indifferent.
Yet inside him, the fields were still green.
The sun was still setting gold.
And Lomedy was still mid-laugh, frozen somewhere in a moment Flame would carry long after the world decided he didn’t belong in it.
If time was a river, then he was never meant to build a home along its banks.
He was only meant to pass through—
and remember the warmth before the water took him again.