A/N: Hello, one and all, Siggi here! This chapter was originally published last December on AO3 (Archive of our own for those wondering), but i decided to put it up here. I'm excited to publish here (even though I defo prefer AO3 as my primary fanfic reading/writing platform) and see what y'all think of it!
Now, my friends, go get yourself a nice warm cup of tea, some fluffy blankets, and a stuffed animal friend (or two!) and enjoy this first chapter!
Salutations to Willow and Tea, who beta-read this chapter!
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Soundtrack: "Nascence" and "The Call" by Austin Wintory
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The sky is dark, the winds whispering through the stalks. Not a single bird calls its sad song tonight on this little grey island, far, far away. The island is engulfed in a deep fog, the mist swirling and twisting in the moonlight. An aura surrounds the place, telling of ancient songs and tales forgotten amongst the cries of the fallen. The moon sits high in its perch in the sky, watching over this ancient land, as night's reign descends upon the world.
A sudden rustle breaks the silence. A rabbit jumps out of the brush with an expression of fear on its face; it is fleeing from a loping Figure in the darkness. The mist curls and twists around the Figure, the hissing of the wind pausing as it goes by.
This Figure makes no sound as they walk upon the mycelium-entwined ground. Their tattered cloak moves only a few inches off the ground, fluttering and twisting to the rhythm of the wind as they wander through the deep, dark biome. White spots shine brightly off of the crimson red of their garment, illuminated under the ever-watching eye of the moon. A wide-brimmed hat shadows their face, hiding secrets unknown and stories untold. Whether the Figure brings good or bad is just as hidden as their identity, enveloped in the fog and the night air.
The Figure moves cautiously through the towering stalks of the trees, trodding nervously through the shadows. Their steps are sagging, their posture hunched, yet their determination is evident. However slowly they may be moving, they are moving steadily, traipsing onwards with a tired sort of persistence. A glimmer catches their eye, a small glint in the moonlit woods. They stop and look down upon a strange, half-buried thing, the hazy light just barely revealing its form.
With pulsing interest, the Figure kneels to observe. It appears to be a busted-up helmet, partially buried in the mycelium. They dig it out with their gloved hands, blue eyes sparkling with excitement as they raise it closer. The brim of their hat lifts ever so slightly, the moon's greedy gaze latching onto those sparkling eyes.
"By the Charrot's pinfeathers," The Figure says to themself, their voice no more than a whisper.
"He was here..."
They quickly set to work, scrubbing dirt off of the helmet until it shines. For a split second, the Figure catches a glimpse of their reflection in the faded moonlight, reaching out toward their own fuzzy visage under the watchful forest. A heartbeat passes, and soon enough the moment is gone, clouds whisking away the light as they engulf the pale moon.
"I wish it didn't have to end this way for us," The Figure whispers, their voice fading under the inquisitive gaze of the stars. "What happened should never repeat in history."
They shake their head as if they were clearing away the haunting memories of the war. The wind whistles quietly through the fungi forest, the moon flickering back into view in the sky.
The Figure sets the helmet down again, solemnly stacking pebbles and mushrooms around to make a memorial. They shake their head sadly, knowing this is hardly the commemoration the poor soul deserves, but it is the best they can do. Moonbeams fell from between the gaps in the fungi canopy, shedding light on the burial ground.
"May your soul find rest, brother," The Figure says, sympathetically. "For you have faced the greatest trial." They bow their head, thinking about what might've happened to their fellow warrior. However, it doesn't do to dwell on the past. They soon stand, gathering their cloak around them, preparing to leave their fallen friend's discarded helmet alone under the moon's ever-watching gaze.
The cloaked Figure hears a twig snap behind them; they whirl around to face the danger, pulling out a netherite sword. A tense moment passes, their heartbeat rattling in their ears as they wait, muscles rigid with fright. Another rustling comes from the underbrush, and they raise their sword to strike when something makes them pause.
A young Mooshroom crawls out of the brush and waddles over to the Figure, their spots glowing just as brightly under the moonlight as those on the Figure's cloak.
"Oh!.. Oh, Mushi, it's just you," the Figure says, slightly miffed. "I thought someone was following us."
The Mooshroom shivers from the bitter wind, and whimpers softly. The Figure sits down and lets the calf climb up into their lap, their fur soft underneath the Figure's hand.
"We can't go home." The Figure whispers with a solemn voice, to themself. They look away from the small cow, gazing up towards the sky.
The fog partially lifts, and the stars begin to peek through, their beams minuscule compared to that of the radiant moon. The sight is stunning, the little shimmers and glimmers peeking through, hoping to catch a glimpse of something. The Figure would've enjoyed a sight like this a few months ago, but now it only invokes a sense of dread.
Why must people be so cruel?
Not that long ago the Figure's life turned upside down; they have not been at peace ever since. Their life is an escape plan, a winding, twisting path that sinks deeper and deeper into the canyons of despair. As they gaze up their eyes land upon the moon, their last glimmer of light, the one that watches silently.
You see, you either run or submit to the darkness.
There is no escape though; the darkness consumes their world, a visceral force driving their life... whether they want it to or not. The Figure grits their teeth, resolving for what seems like the hundredth time to not fall victim.
Not again.
Shivering from the cold, and tired from their reminiscing, the Figure stands up. They gather kindling from among the towering trees of fungi, attempting to find some that isn't damp from the fog.
Eventually, a fire is lit and the Figure sits beside the flickering light, staring deep into its glowing center. The dancing blades of flame, the glowing warmth, it's all so familiar to them. Now, all that they recognize is the cold weight of fear, ever-present, and ever-watching. They close their eyes, and the outside world is shut out from their mind.
Soon they descended into the vast emptiness of sleep, along with the horrors that their consciousness keeps hidden and locked away.
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A/N: Chapter Deux is coming soon to Wattpad! I'm planning on waiting a couple days before publishing the next chapter here, just to see how it does :D
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Le Mère des Champignons
Fanfiction3 months have passed since the fabled Mycelium Resistance was shattered into pieces by the H.E.P. 3 months have passed since Scar declared victory over the Mycelium Menace. 3 months have passed since Grian has befallen endless tragedy. 3 months...
