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Ren sat on top of his crypt, watching as the sun slowly set over the graveyard. His graveyard. Fingers tightened around a bottle's neck, one black and dusty with age. Streaked lines of orange and purple cast long shadows over the signs he'd set up, one for every hermit. One for every one of them.
Ever since his death in the game demise, he could see them whispering, ducking around corners as he approached. He could see it in the way Grian tightened his hands around his fireworks at the mere sight of him. He could see it in the way Cub reached for his trident, ready to throw at a single movement.
He supposed in some strange twisted way, it was ironic, how he'd gone from the helper of the server to one of the most detested, the most avoided. All because of one death, all because of his greed for more diamonds.
No one was looking for him.
He let out a shaky exhale, releasing his hold on the bottle. He knew Stress was 'dead' too, but even she was avoiding him, for reasons he could not determine.
Maybe she was scared of him?
He knew it had to be his fault, going straight after Grian, then trying to kill Xisuma. He knew he'd messed up from the moment he heard the breathless 'I trusted you' from one of his closest friends, anger an underlying tone in his voice. He just didn't expect that no one would care for him any longer.
The sun was getting lower now, the shadows from the graves melting into the same tone of the night. Was there a point in coming back? After his untimely death, after putting on the damning skin, no one wanted to be with him.
He wondered if he should have chosen to come back. He had heard the question a million times, whispered in his mind. A choice. Respawn, or rest. And every time, he'd chosen respawn.
What if he didn't?
Would the hermits even miss him?
He thought back to everything he'd done on the server, since the beginning. The stock exchange, the railway, everything. Would this be worth it?
He looked down at his hands, still clutching the potion bottle. By the lantern's light, the black liquid glowed eerily, ominously. He knew what it contained. He'd found it at the start of the season, at the bottom of the ocean in a long forgotten ship. Kept it in his enderchest, where not even Xisuma could find it.
Somehow, he had remembered what it was, from another forgotten world. A potion of wither, one that would allow him to disappear, fall back into dust on the path. Allow him to never be found.
He used to imagine what death would feel like, quietly in the back of his mind. Would it hurt? Would it feel like peace? It was a question that surfaced back in the civil war, though he knew realistically they would all choose to come back, back then. Unlike the old, forgotten hermits, who all chose to move on.
He wanted to ask them, the ones who left, how it felt. He even wanted to ask Evil X, who'd form out of a glitch in Xisuma's death. Who'd tried again and again to die but couldn't, unable to live with his actions. But back then, it was just a simple question.
Now, not so much.
He uncapped the bottle, peering into the insides. If he was honest, he was still afraid, but desperation was slowly winning him over. Desperation to numb the pain of being forgotten and cast aside.
Was this what they felt like?
He never understood why they left, cursed them in tears, just like Doc had when Etho and Beef left. Some part of him now felt guilty, wondering if he was part of the reason, whether he was one of those who forgot them.
Distantly, he felt himself resolving to apologise, if he ever saw them again.
The bottle felt more inviting now, like it was the solution to all his problems. Gently, he lowered it again, leaving it resting by the side. Should he really, after everything he had accomplished?
But, if he was being honest, they were not anything the hermits couldn't do themselves.
He became aware of his fingers typing in his communicator, hoping for a way out. Hoping that someone would come. But even as he typed, he had the feeling no one would come.
[Rendog] hello?
[Rendog] is anyone there?
[Rendog] please, anyone...
Silence greeted him.
What did he expect, really? That they would suddenly trust him, after his previous traps? Laying back, letting his fingers dance across the glass of the bottle, he watched the stars with a prickling in his eyes.
He was not the type to let emotions get the better of him, but no one was there to see him cry. Cry, because of the friendships he had lost. Cry, because of how alone he felt. Underneath the comforting gaze of the stars, he let it all out, til he was hitching with silent tears.
He had no idea of how much time passed, himself laying there, his communicator having fallen off the edge. He had no use for it, anyway. But the dying light had long disappeared, leaving him embraced by the shadows.
Pushing himself up on shaky arms, he swept his gaze over the graveyard. As he expected, no one was there. An overwhelming sense of loneliness overtook him, consumed him to the point that he would do anything for it to leave.
He had to leave.
From afar, he thought he heard the sounds of a nether portal being activated. No, it must be his imagination. No one was coming for him, and he had to come to terms to that. He raised the bottle, letting it rest against his cold lips.
With a final exhale, he downed the potion, feeling his body seize up, muscles getting weaker as he fell forward, off the top of the crypt. In another time, he would have been panicking, fighting against all odds to stay alive. Now, he had no strength left, lying there with his eyes closing for a final time.
Rendog withered away.
He heard the question whispered in his mind. A choice. Respawn, or rest. Steeling himself, he responded in kind. No respawns. And there he felt his body explode in a million pieces, destined to drift aimlessly in the void, til his time came for the next adventure.
And yet.
Perhaps, if he had waited just a little longer, he would have heard the cries of his friends, calling for him amongst the graves.