TW: Death

     "Nico! Nico, where are you!" Henwy burst into Nico's house, scanning the empty room in a near-frenzy. Another person was missing. Books were scattered across a wooden table, their pages flying from the wind accompanying the door Henwy had just opened. A couple papers messily thrown on a desk flew from their spots and spread out on the floor. A dust pile twitched in the wind and swirled about. Lights flickered uncertainly.

     Henwy called his friend's name again, flying around corners to inspect more rooms. All hung heavy in silence.

     He turned and left, meeting the worried, albeit slightly unfocused, gaze of Sigils. The man was leaning against the stiff wooden beams of Nico's house. His right eye was closed and puffy and a long cut ran straight through it while his throat was purple and bruised.

     Sigils opened his mouth to speak but Henwy cut him off.

     "Nope, you're not talking until that's healed, k? Nico isn't here. Jerome should be back soon and when he gets here, he can take you back to my place so you can lay down. I'm going to keep looking after you two leave."

     Sigils crossed his arms, but when he realized he wasn't winning the argument, he rolled his eye and relented.

     Jerome poked his head out from behind a tree, looking back and forth between the two of them. He snickered and walked up to join them.

     "Hey Jerome, just on time," Henwy said. For once. "Can you take Sigils back to my house and just keep an eye on him? I'm gonna see if I can find Nico."

     Jerome smiled around his tusks, nodded, and hooked his arm around Sigils'. "Come on," he called, "We need to get those wounds taken care of."

     With Jerome practically carrying Sigils away, Henwy turned back to Nico's house. Being alone let the realization settle in.

     Biffle was a traitor.

     And SSundee had snapped.

     Henwy froze, his breath hitching. The Snap. But it couldn't have- no. He's around here somewhere. He has to be.

     Henwy looked past the wooden beams towards the forest beyond. He could see a lake peeking through the swath of dense trees, its water flashing in the midday sun. Not knowing where else to go, he found himself drawn towards it.

     This was the lake he'd been standing over when he first met his friends. He'd fallen in and the commotion drew Sigils, Nico, Biffle, and SSundee towards the lake.

     It seemed like a lifetime ago.

     He clenched his jaw and shoved the memory away. He needed to find Nico. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted his friend's name.

     And again.

     And again.

     But Nico never replied.

     With each passing second, Henwy's footsteps hastened. Soon, he was at a jog, then a sprint, racing through every known spot screaming "NICO!" at the top of his lungs.

     It wasn't until the sun was dipping below the horizon and the sky ran pink that Henwy let the truth sink in.

     Nico was dead.

     Henwy, who was at the Lvengers Tower by now, pressed his back against the cool stone of the skyscraper and slowly sank to the ground. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, fighting his ragged breathing.

     The night usurped the day, sending dim shafts of moonlight across the land. A crescent moon slowly climbed the sky.

     Henwy stayed still, watching it, as his body went numb. Nico was dead, Biffle was a traitor, SSundee was a madman, and Sigils was hurt.

     A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision broke up his thoughts. Curious, he turned towards it. A fox scampered towards him like a small, fluffy bullet. Humble skidded to a halt beside Henwy, his ears flicking, before he grabbed the man's sleeve between his teeth and began to pull him along.

     Henwy obliged, letting the fox lead him. Humble paused, sniffing the air, before picking up his pace. His fur was smooth, but there was a look in his amber eyes that was unsettling.

     He knew something.

     Their route was unclear, but eventually Henwy figured out they were heading back towards his house. Humble made a small detour to grab a scroll from Sigils' house before they made it to Henwy's home.

     Henwy turned the golden doorknob and stepped inside. Jerome pricked his ears, turning away from a sizzling pan.

     Henwy almost flinched at the hopeful gleam in his eyes. He shook his head and the other's shoulders sagged. Jerome tilted his head to the side, indicating Sigils, who was sitting with his head against the wall, his eyes closed.

     Jerome motioned Henwy closer. Keeping his voice low, he questioned, "Are you sure?"

     Henwy sighed. "I couldn't find him anywhere. Unless he fell off the face of the world, or maybe- hopefully- he was in another dimension- the Snap got him."

     Jerome's eyes were dark with sorrow. Then he paused, recoiling slightly. "Did anyone check the sorcerers?"

     They stared at each other for a long time, and just as Henwy broke for the door, Humble darted in front of him.

     "Did you check?" He asked, "Are they all okay?"

     The fox nodded.

     He sighed in relief. "Thanks, Humble." He turned back to Jerome, who had picked up the scroll Humble had gotten from Sigils' house. The parchment was old and worn with singed edges, its appearance threatening to fall apart at the slightest touch. Jerome's brow was furrowed as he stared at the scroll, his eyes dark.

     "Hen," he said quietly, "Look at this."

     Curious, he went beside Jerome, hovering over his shoulder to read the contents. Humble leapt up on some furniture before jumping onto Henwy's shoulder, his nose twitching as his eyes trained on the parchment.

     Torn by power and torn by pride.
     Torn by a monster in a monster's guise.
     Time and Space torn apart.
     A comet marks a second start.
     Each world crumbles, each world falls.
     Each world transfixed by the night's call.
     The controller of your foe is not your friend.
     Only by four will this darkness end.

     "Well," Henwy murmured, "That isn't concerning at all."

     Jerome snapped the scroll shut, turning to Henwy, concern lacing his eyes. "Where did you find this?"

     He shook his head. "I didn't. Humble got it from Sigils' house."

     Perhaps stirring from the sound of his name, Sigils groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He seemed unfocused, staring at the wall behind Henwy and Jerome instead of at them.

     Henwy glanced at Jerome and gestured to Sigils.

     "I gave him a painkiller. The spell I used will heal him quicker than usual, but those wounds are going to pack a punch for the time being."

     "Loopy Sigils, great," Henwy muttered. He walked over to Sigils, sitting down beside him on the bed. It just now occurred to him that Sigils had been sleeping upright against a wall instead of laying down like a normal person.

     He put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Feeling any better?"

     Slowly, more slowly than Henwy ever thought anyone could move, Sigils turned his head to raise an eyebrow at him. He then pointed at his throat.

     "Don't worry, it'll get better soon. All you have to do is rest and not talk."

     "Hallelujah," Jerome cut in from across the room.

     As Sigils glared at Jerome, Henwy stifled a chuckle, managing to turn it into an odd cough. As Sigils turned his scathing look on him, it was clear it didn't fool the man.

     Jerome rustled with a satchel, putting in a few objects before slinging it over his shoulder. He sheathed a glowing sword to his side and waved to Henwy. "I'm getting the sorcerers in on that funky scroll. I'll be back soon. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid or Sigils-like- well, same thing I suppose."

     Henwy flashed a thumbs up as the door closed.

     Turning back to Sigils, who was fiddling with his thumbs, he murmured, "Are you doing okay?"

     He received a blank stare.

     "Not with this-" he gestured to the bandages, "-with Biffle and SSundee." He sighed. "Betrayal hurts, especially when it's from someone close."

     Sigils nodded slowly.

     "Well, we can talk more when you're better. For now please get some rest- and for the love of everything use the bed like it's supposed to be used. The spell should kick in soon." Henwy paused, furrowing his brow. "At least I think it will. Jerome used the right spell, right?"

     Sigils pinched the bridge of his nose, most likely wanting to call the two of them 'degenerates' right now.

     "I'm sure he did. Hopefully." He stood, preparing to find the spell Jerome had used. The man's spellcasting was... interesting at best, and it wouldn't hurt to make sure he hadn't turned Sigils into a pickle or something.

     "Oh, and Sigils?" He said, turning back, "They won't get away with this. Seven of us against the two of them? As long as we can take back a single Stone, they're done for."

     "...Eight?" Sigils croaked.

     "Wha- no, seve- oh. Oh." He shook his head slowly. "Nico didn't make it."

     Sigils' eyes widened, intently searching Henwy's gaze as if he had misheard. Henwy stared back helplessly.

     Both of their gazes shifted as a crackle ran through the room. The crackle shifted to a zap, then a crinkling, as if something was burning.

     Henwy's eyes fell on the scroll and he gasped.

     The parchment looked as if it had been drenched in tar. The edges were inflamed, but not burning, creating a smoky smell but not at the repercussion of damaging the scroll, and the inky letters were turning white.

     In this new state, a final line was written at the bottom.

     Beware the enderman's cry.