Take the mask, T∴𝙹's voice echoed. Grian was ripped from his dream to his shivering, curled up body in his bed. He sat up quickly, and the voice replayed in his head as he realised fully what it had said. How he'd been asleep in the first place despite the cold was a mystery to him, but that wasn't important. Take the mask, the voice replayed again as he tried to take it in.

Whether it was his own imagination or the Watchers was a question he didn't need answering; it was definitely the Watchers. Even his own nightmares couldn't make the pull to the mask stronger.

He brought his legs to his chest, pressing his fingernails into his ankles through his socks in an attempt to ground himself somehow.

He wanted the mask. He needed it. The magic, the fire, the purple, the warmth. He could feel which direction it was in, could feel it calling out to him like a mother calling for her child after getting separated on a crowded beach.

Grian was shivering, and he was sick of it. He was sick of being cold. He was sick of the fear and the not-knowing.

He got up, wrote a half hearted note thanking Etho and Iskall for letting him stay over, and took off into the moonlit sky.

Within minutes he was crash landing into his starter base because he couldn't be bothered to land properly because he just wanted his mask and his magic and some warmth so he stumbled inside feeling the magic get closer and closer and he reached out for it and-

He gasped as the flame previously surrounding his treasure slapped against his fingertips before getting bigger for a second and extinguishing.

It was as good as he'd imagined it. The white material welcomed his hands with a warm fuzzy tingle that shot down his arm. He placed the mask on his face and all the cold disappeared, like it had never been there in the first place.

Raw, excitable, beautiful energy flooded through his mortal body and seemingly took over. His wings flickered into existence and his back lost the empty feeling he hadn't even noticed before. He smiled a smile of pure joy as all the things he'd missed came back to him.

He lit his hand with the incredible flame and stretched out his wings for the first time in years. The power he now had was ineffable, beyond understanding, there were no words to describe it.

* * *

Morning came too quickly. Grian would've travelled back in time to relive the few hours he spent in bliss if it weren't for the fact he wasn't strong enough yet. Yet? He thought. That meant he would use the mask again. He bit his lip, part of him knew he shouldn't and that he was only giving in to what the Watchers wanted from him, but the rest of him didn't care. The rest of him wanted the magic.

When he really thought about it, he knew he should be scared of everything that was going on, but for some reason he wasn't. It was just... what was happening. He accepted it. Maybe he wasn't thinking properly.

As he took the mask off the cold fell over him like a cloak, wrapping around him and shielding him from the hot air. His hands tingled for a few moments after placing it in his Ender chest. He felt colder now that he'd experienced the warm.

He wanted the empty feeling inside of him to be filled up again with energy, but it was too dangerous to give himself that privilege during the day, when any hermit might pay him an unexpected visit.

As he organised his inventory, his mind felt hazy and all the objects in his chests seemed to merge together. His arms seemed to take a second too long to do what they were told and standing up seemed to be more hard work than he remembered. Grian squinted, confused, before realising that he was tired. Not just tired but tired. Like he'd gone two months without sleep and not just the amount that he had.

Being in hermitcraft, this wasn't the first time he'd missed out on a few hours rest, but this time felt different. He felt completely drained, of energy, emotion and... well, everything. Thinking back, he'd spent nearly the entire night with at least one hand on fire, just picking up and doing random things with it simply because he could. Maybe that was why.

Magic had been second nature to him, but now his body was more human than it had been before. It wasn't used to it. It didn't have the mask all the time to block out problems. He huffed, annoyed.

* * *

The next night was not the same.

His mind had been arguing all day, as he mined out part of the mountain that would become his base. The 'conclusion' was changing all the time, going back and forth between what was right and what was tempting.

He was scared of the Watchers. He hated them beyond what most would consider possible. He resented doing what they wanted. However, maybe if he did what they wanted they wouldn't be as angry. Maybe he'd gain enough power to send them away, although that was unlikely.

He wanted the magic. He also wanted safety. He wanted to protect the other hermits. He wanted the warmth and the energy buzzing through his body.

He wanted a lot of things.

But when the sun set, a wave of tiredness hit him hard and he was asleep before he even got to his bed, and ended up on the floor next to a few chests.

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness. There was definitely a floor beneath his feet, but it was indistinguishable from the rest of the space and felt only partly solid, like he was half floating and half being held.

Xelqua, he turned around suddenly, skidding on the barely present ground, and his eyes locked onto two familiar, dark figures. You know we're here. Oリᒷ's voice, if it could really be called that, spoke.

Grian nodded, not quite trusting himself to say anything.

We're not angry, they continued calmly. Anger is a human emotion. Of course they would compare themselves to humans, they would try and come out on top. They would always play the role of a god.

"How did you find me?" His voice echoed through what could've been infinite space.

We were always here. T∴𝙹 replied.

"What?" How was that possible? They didn't answer him. "Why are you only talking now, then?"

You can't be here for much longer. Oリᒷ said.

"What do you mean?"

The hermits. They continued. They are a danger.

"They're my friends!" He yelled suddenly.

No, they're an enemy. T∴𝙹 said, their tone of calmness not changing.

"No! They're my friends, they're not a threat! They're better to me than you ever were, you're not going to tell me otherwise or tempt me away from them using your stupid mask and magic!" So he had been right; the mask was a temptation.

Xelqua. Oリᒷ interrupted, their voice dripping with superiority. We're here to warn you. The mask is to protect yourself. Maybe one day you'll realise that humans can't be trusted, and maybe on that day you'll come back to us. Until then, we'll still keep you safe.

Grian was about to argue back, but T∴𝙹 spoke instead.

We'll be watching, don't worry.

Grian woke with a numb arm that he'd been leaning on and a weird, slightly bitter taste in his mouth, the kind you get after taking an impromptu nap. He sat up.

The sun was just rising outside even though it felt like he'd only been asleep for ten minutes. The heaviness surrounding his eyes had disappeared and he felt like he'd slept for a week straight.

His 'dream' came back to him all at once, and he thought through the words that had been said. Were the hermits an enemy?

Of course not! How could he even think that? The Watchers were clearly tricking him. But... why? Why not just take him? Why go through the hassle of convincing him?

Because they were Watchers, that's why. They liked to mess with people's emotions.

Was what they said true? That they'd been there the whole time? Why wait until now to reveal themselves? He crossed his arms, why was he so cold? Was it a side effect or a way to tempt him to use the mask?

He was clearly not safe, but who was he not safe from? The hermits or the Watchers? That shouldn't even be a question, but somehow he couldn't feel one hundred percent convinced he could trust his friends anymore. Sure, that was what the Watchers wanted, but nothing added up anymore.

Maybe both. Maybe he wasn't safe from either.

He wandered over to his Ender chest and stared at his mask as if it would give him all the answers. As he held it, his hand buzzed and he wondered whether to put it on or not. It was inviting him to, asking him to cover his eyes with the white material and use his magic. His phantom wings wanted stretching and he wanted to get away from the cold for a few minutes.

Sighing, he put it back in the blackish, blueish chest. He trusted his friends, right? He didn't need to prepare for danger from them. He went to pick up his pickaxe for another day of clearing out rock, and then decided to also pick up his sword. He would've probably done so anyway (for mobs), but his mind told him to for a different reason; the hermits.

How could he be completely sure the Watchers weren't lying? The answer was he couldn't.

* * *

Whether it was a good or bad thing that he was getting used to the numbing cold, he couldn't tell, but when he put on the mask the feeling immediately faded and turned into a pleasant warmth circulating his body. His wings reached out behind him and he glanced around his starter base, which was tinted ever so slightly purple. He hadn't really decided whether to wear the mask or not that night, but had just done it without a second thought.

Now that he was slightly past the initial shock and joy of getting his mask, he was able to think slightly more clearly. He had many things he wanted to do; to try and communicate with the Watchers to find out more, to practise his magic and get stronger again (whether that was to defend himself as Oリᒷ and T∴𝙹 had told him or not), and in the smaller picture he wanted to use his wings.

He had an elytra, so it wasn't like he was completely limited by gravity, but flying wasn't quite the same with it. Having wings felt much stronger and much more freeing. Without the need of technology (for lack of better word), he felt less confined.

But then there was the problem of potentially getting caught. It may be night time, but a lot of hermits would still be out and doing things. He didn't feel like telling them about the Watchers, so maybe some more specific planning would have to be involved for him to use his wings again. Flying was a passion for him, and as one might guess, it wasn't a passion born in Hermitcraft.

He took off the mask and got in bed, deciding that he shouldn't use it when it wasn't necessary. It was cold, but maybe that was just something he'd have to accept.