Mumbo was falling. He wasn't sure where or how, but he was falling. It felt as if someone had tossed him off a cliff; one moment he's fine, but the next, he's lost grasp of anything and everything to indicate reality. His mind whirled. How long until he'd land? The void should've begun to kill him by now, right?

His eyes snapped open, but it felt like slow motion as he took in the blackness around him. He felt like he was in The End, but there was nothing around him.

Then gravity seemed to stop altogether.

Weightlessness is a funny feeling. It feels like you're floating in water, but without the sensation of water on your skin. It feels like any tiny movement could send you flying in a random direction, like your movements are hypersensitive. Mumbo wondered why in books, it was always portrayed as being on a roller-coaster, or free-falling. It felt like he was asleep, like he was lucid dreaming, but without the dream.

Mumbo blinked. He was dreaming.

Hermitville. The black roots. The frost.

Grian.

Mumbo felt a moment of panic, his brain finally registering the absence of gravity. His arms flailed, his body wanting control. Wanting a grasp onto anything solid. Anything real.

And then he woke.

But nothing changed. He was paralyzed, unable to speak or move. He could feel the mattress under him, could feel the IV pricking his skin, but it all felt slightly numb, like his entire body was still asleep.

He thought it might've been sleep paralysis, but he could breathe fine. He tried to open his eyes, but it felt like he was lifting deadweight.

But at least he could hear.

Someone was on his left, sniffling. He heard a hoarse voice come from them, one he barely recognized.

"I'm so sorry. Please wake up. Please."

He wanted to call out, say he was awake, but he couldn't make his mouth move.

So he lied there, listening to Grian.

It felt like an eternity. After a while, Grian was silent, but Mumbo could still hear his shaky breaths.

Eventually, Doc spoke. "Grian. You should go home."

"B-but-"

"No buts. You've been up all night, and Mumbo isn't getting any better."

He could hear Grian stand up. "Doc, is there anything I can do? Any ingredients you need for healing potions?"

Grian's desperate to help. He's guilty, and this is how he expresses it. Mumbo thought.

"No, there's nothing else I can do but monitor Mumbo's condition. I don't know anything about this disease, since it's pure magic."

It was silent for a few seconds.

"You're right. It's magic." Grian's tone changed, sounding more firm. "So there must be a cure."

Mumbo felt a hand rest on his, one he assumed was Grian's.

"Mumbo, It's my fault you're like this." His voice sounded determined now. "I'm going to find a cure, I promise."

_______________________________________

Ren glanced up at the sound of wingbeats.

Grian was fluttering in the sky above him, holding an old book under his arm. The hermit looked like he'd been crying for hours; his eyes were red and puffy. The flower crown on his head had wilted, and he had dragon-like horns sprouting out of his unkempt hair.

"I need to speak with Renbob."