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Everyone and their mother would know that the message buzzing on Spoke’s communicator and flashing in pixelated white text was a big fat trap. It was the simplest of traps, a hidden pit of dripstone under compacted dirt type of trap, but Spoke reads that message with sharp focus because there’s a name—all too familiar and far too important—shining right beside the words “taken into custody” and “to atone for both of his and Spoke’s crimes”:
JamatoP
It’s not a secret that JamatoP and Spoke were still friends when they were discovering exploits, but it’s still not something that everybody in the Unstable Server knows. The few people who do know (which, unfortunately, happen to be Wemmbu, PrinceZam, and basically his entire army) are aware that JamatoP made the decision to break off from Spoke for good. In Spoke’s pursuit of achieving more exploits, he lost a friendship he held dear, and the people he intended to keep the secret away from found out and began to use the exploits for, well, exploiting their purposes.
Maybe it was naive, but Spoke thought that they would have left JamatoP alone. It’s not like JamatoP was planning to be allies with him again and all the exploits that he had access to were burned into ash. Spoke can bet that not a single brick of JamatoP’s home or anything he owns in his inventory came from the glitches or exploits.
JamatoP shouldn’t be anybody of interest to the PrinceZam Empire. He’s not helpful as a pawn, he’s not even half as good as a prisoner to atone for both of their crimes.
But Spoke is unconsciously strapping netherite armor over his arms and running back and forth in his underground base as he repeats the message PrinceZam publicly announced over and over in his head:
[PrinceZam] JamatoP is being taken into custody under the PrinceZam Empire as a direct associate of the exploits that have ruined the Unstable Server. He is to atone for both his and Spoke’s crimes.
JamatoP isn’t guilty. Sure, he found multiple glitches, but it was Spoke who convinced him to open the rift even further. It was Spoke who found other methods, who encouraged JamatoP to do the same, who helped him build the chunk suppressor. JamatoP told him already that he wasn’t going to get involved in whatever trouble Spoke was inevitably going to be in the moment the rest of the server finds out.
Spoke didn’t fight back. He knew better than to ask JamatoP to help dig this hole into bedrock.
JamatoP…he isn’t innocent, but he isn’t entirely guilty either.
Spoke grabs his communicator and whispers to Mapicc. No, forget that, he should call him. He’s probably asleep at this time but he needs somebody trustworthy and dependable to help him.
Mapicc, He texts, his fingers flying over the keyboard, meet me at my underground base rq. I need your help. I need to save Jamato.
Any other day, a flash of silver and the whistle of a rocket would’ve been the marking of doomsday for Spoke, but he sees Mapicc’s black hair, his distinctive red hoodie, and when he lands in the dirt sounding quieter than a feather, his racked up nerves ease up immensely.
“Mapicc,” Spoke smiles, relieved out of his mind. “you got my message.”
Mapicc stretches, probably trying to work out some kinks and aches from being awoken abruptly by thirteen calls in the last five minutes before slipping out of bed in his newly built base.
At least his netherite armor is still shining. It’s probably the enchantment hiding the wear and tear, but Spoke did give him some enchantment bottles to help patch the armor. He most definitely used it to fix most of the damage, because Spoke remembers seeing a lot of dents.
“Yeah, well, when you’re being called more than a dozen times it becomes a little more pressing than just any other alarm clock.” He yawns, attempting to shake away the sleep still pulling at his eyelids. “Anyways, Spoke, what happened to Jamato?”
“Right, you probably didn’t see the message since you were out.” Spoke forages for his communicator in his hotbar, showing Mapicc the screen after he scrolls up to PrinceZam’s message. It’s been a good hour, waiting for Mapicc to show up, but he’s not so late that Jamato’s death text has appeared in chat. “PrinceZam took Jamato. They’re keeping him prisoner.”
“Uh huh.” Mapicc hums, his eyes still scanning the announcement. “Spoke, you do know this is a trap, right?”
Spoke sighs, storing the communicator away after he’s sure Mapicc’s had more than enough time to read it.
“Yeah, of course I do. PrinceZam has sent Wemmbu, his personal guards, and some of the best PvP’rs in the server all to catch me, so it’s not a surprise that this is just another scheme to set me up with a date to banned hell. Or simply death, but JamatoP…” Spoke feels a twinge of something unfair and anxious in his chest. “he’s cut ties with me a long time ago. He shouldn’t have to suffer just because I’m the one who’s wanted.”
He equips his elytra, the wings requiring a little adjustment after so little use. “So, are you with me, Mapicc?”
Mapicc, now fully awake, nods.
“Okay, sure. Let’s go save your ex-friend.”
Spoke chuckles nervously. “Yeah…you got pods?”
Mapicc rolls his eyes.
“You don’t?”
Spoke huffs. “It’s been kind of hard to travel into the nether for the basic necessities when PrinceZam has guards stationed in literal hell.”
Mapicc reveals a familiar blue shulker box in his hand and shakes it. It rattles with noise and that’s how Spoke knows there’s probably loads of invisible, speed, and strength potions stored in their neat spaces. “I’ve got enough for us to take a leisurely walk all around PrinceZam’s Empire. So don’t worry about it.”
Spoke smiles.
“Hey, Mapicc?”
He turns. “Yeah?”
“Thanks, okay?”
Mapicc smiles, switching the shulker for rockets. “No problem, Spoke.” He lights it as soon as Spoke takes his out and they both go flying in the direction of PrinceZam’s empire.
Spoke had also been given a private message from PrinceZam, but of all the traps in the world, this one was the most blatant:
PrinceZam whispers to you, I’m willing to let JamatoP go if you turn yourself in. You have five hours before his execution.
Turn himself in? Spoke has been hiding from this damn empire for almost half a year, he is not about to ruin all that progress. It doesn’t matter how many times the PrinceZam Empire attempts to steal the remaining good things from him, because he will have and eat his cake. With the remaining exploits he’s stolen from the empire, he can outlive them if he wanted. Stacked totems, armor that glistens with too many enchantments than possible…it doesn’t matter if he uses the exploits he so desperately wanted to get rid of to survive assassination attempts. It’s justified and using them now to save JamatoP is worth it.
“I see the empire up ahead.” Mapicc says, his voice dampened by the wind.
They’ve been flying for a good two hours. Spoke had built his base thousands of blocks away from spawn point, grabbing everything he can in his inventory with a spare ender chest and the multiple shulkers he could think of forcing in it. He had no time to even raid his own house before PrinceZam Empire guards came storming into his home.
They were already determined to ban him before he chunk banned himself. They even locked his ban in an elaborate prison made up of a complicated series of baby piglin bans, complex traps, and thick obsidian walls. When Spoke came to, he could only remember how relieved he was for carrying everything with him before he banned himself. So now, with grudges left unsolved and tensions at its highest ever since he escaped, the PrinceZam Empire wants his head.
(Apparently ParrotX2 also went ahead and banned a lot of PrinceZam’s guards. To say that there was a grudge between them would be an understatement, but Spoke could care less.)
“I see it.” Spoke replies, acknowledging Mapicc’s warning. “Let’s fly to the lighthouse and discuss everything there. The city might not see us due to the commotion.”
With the whistle of a rocket, they fly over the city.
From this height, Spoke sees a lot more people. Normal civilians living under the protection of the PrinceZam Empire, the name forever etched in their birth certificate that spoke of their status. Because a lot of these people aren’t just ordinary citizens. Almost all of them are well-rounded in the basics of survival, crafting, and fighting. Give them an opportunity in the PrinceZam army and they would be able to fight long enough for a second wave to assist.
This empire, as PrinceZam had intended it to, was powerful. By deliberately picking away at the weakest links and replacing them with more competent, stronger people, he was able to develop an empire of citizens that could turn into a dangerous replacement for the army in a snap of a finger. There might not be another FlameFrags in the crowd, but there was most certainly a number in strength.
They reach the lighthouse, the large cube of light turned off while it’s still early in the afternoon. At night, it shines like it’s the empire’s personal manmade moon. PrinceZam never minded feeling a little more in control of everything unpredictable.
“Do you have a plan?” Mapicc asks, fidgeting with his sword in an attempt to keep the nerves directed elsewhere.
Spoke nods. He always has one, Mapicc knows that. However, they’ll need to be careful. Despite the fact that the citizens are PrinceZam’s, they’re still innocent. He’s not about to drag in people who aren’t involved.
This is a grudge between him and PrinceZam.
JamatoP has no worth to the prince or the empire.
He’s not the one at fault.
“We’ll set off an explosion at the castle. It’ll catch PrinceZam’s attention that most of his guards will have to investigate it, but the moment we do, we take off with our elytra and make a run for Jamato’s prison. Because it’s a public execution, it’s going to have less defenses than a normal one. We’ll just take turns fighting back the guards and freeing JamatoP. You brought an extra pair of elytra, right?”
Mapicc shows a fresh pair off in his hands, switching it for a stack of rockets that he also prepared beforehand.
“Rockets too. A lot of them. We’re going to have to fly for a very long time.”
But Spoke shakes his head and it leaves Mapicc frowning.
“No.” He says, “We’re not bringing him to my base.”
Mapicc narrows his eyebrows.
“So then where are we taking him? He can’t possibly go back home. PrinceZam will just capture him again and instead of using him as bait, he’ll probably just be murdered the moment they find him.” Mapicc adds, his tone a little softer now, “The empire is not known for mercy, Spoke.”
Spoke sighs.
“I know, but…” He looks in the direction of the town square, where a pitiful cage of iron bars were set up to trap JamatoP.
Jamato had nothing to protect him, only wearing the clothes on his back.
They made him stand in that humiliating little box like a prisoner. Like a dog.
Spoke feels something sharp and hot burning in his veins. The PrinceZam Empire was always so needlessly cruel. It was the only way Zam knew how to live: like everything and everybody had no worth, like they were always born underneath him until he was proven wrong. It didn’t matter that JamatoP had cut ties with Spoke, it didn’t matter whether any allies he once teamed up with were on acquaintance terms. As long as he no longer saw value, he’d simply ask one of his guards to fetch him a pair of shears to snip the thread away.
“Jamato will choose what he wants. I will never take that away from him.” Spoke finishes, his tone somber. “But I want him safe. He’s—was—my friend, and I don’t like it when my friends are in danger.” Spoke clasps onto Mapicc’s shoulder, looking at him meaningfully. “Make sure you stay safe too, Mapicc.”
Mapicc just smiles.
“You know I’d do the most for you, Spoke.”
“And I’d return it tenfold.” Spoke finishes, returning his smile. “Now, test your flint, and make sure it’s sharp. We have a castle to explode.”
They fly high enough to reach one of the dark grey spires emerging from the head of the castle. Mapicc places down his shulker box as soon as they land. Spoke doesn’t wait for his permission, he simply opens it and takes a splash potion.
“Ready?” Spoke asks, holding an invisible potion with careful hands.
Mapicc nods, storing away his shulker box once he mined it away.
“Ready whenever you are.”
Spoke throws the splash potion. A thousand glittering shards of glass fall onto the floor and in the blink of an eye, it renders them invisible. If he had to choose, the invisible potion was probably the best type of potion: it worked instantly, had minimal aftertaste, and best of all, it was odorless if it was a splash potion.
“Keep your eyes on your communicator. The code to explode is TNT.”
By this point, the invisibility potion is showing nothing but their elytra, but Spoke can practically feel Mapicc’s eyeroll.
“How creative.”
“And simple.” Spoke defends lightheartedly. “Now let’s finish this.”
Mapicc doesn’t respond. He starts placing down the TNT in a quick manner and Spoke replicates the motion. The lighthearted mood evaporates quickly, as if the tension has overflowed and stolen away anything gentle and warm. Mapicc works quickly and Spoke can see it. He notices how efficient he is while wiring all the TNT together, placing more down as he gradually works his way through it. Spoke, on the other hand, is just doing everything instinctually.
TNT is easy. All you need to do is wire it a bit and reassure that there’s no loose gunpowder to spark in places you don’t need it to be, like yourself, for example. But the fear for Jamato’s life is striking at Spoke’s heart like a clock’s arms continuously pushing forward and he’s fumbling with his communicator when he hears rockets whistle because he knows that isn’t Mapicc.
He dares a glance up—a big mistake—and sees the silhouette of five PrinceZam Empire guards flying in rapid succession. Suddenly his message goes out quicker than his mind can think and in the corner of his eye, Mapicc is switching TNT for rockets the moment a spark emerges from his flint. Spoke lights his TNT up too, just seconds before hearing the explosives hiss threateningly.
Rockets whistle and it makes Spoke want to lean away, to turn away into the direction of his base where he can sleep knowing nobody will—maybe—possibly—find him. But he doesn’t. Jamato is in the town square and he’s going to be killed in thirty minutes and Mapicc is at his side and there’s nothing left to lose. There shouldn’t be anything more for him to lose so why is he so scared?
Spoke crashes onto the town square too early, a good dozen feet away. Mapicc lands a second later, already unsheathing his sword and fighting off two PrinceZam guards.
Spoke runs to Jamato’s prison. There’s so much adrenaline running through his body that he has to cling onto the bars in order to still his running legs.
“Spoke?” Jamato exclaims, his voice cracking slightly with shock.
Spoke barely has time to slip his pickaxe through the thin slits of the bars before the sharp hiss of a netherite’s blade swings at him from his right.
He unsheathes his own sword and it rings with a loud clang. His teeth unconsciously grit together as he fights the strength of FlameFrag’s sword.
“So you’ve come crawling back after all, Spoke.” PrinceZam says somewhere to his side. “To be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Spoke can only step farther and farther back to avoid the lethal or threatening attacks directed his way. He’s faster but FlameFrags is stronger, and with enough brute force, even his speed won’t save him.
“I thought you’d just let JamatoP’s death message go through the chat while you save your own skin, but here you are.” PrinceZam continues annoyingly, his words pricking into Spoke’s skin like sharp little needles.
FlameFrags finds an opening. He kicks Spoke square in the chest, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He crumples to the floor with a hard thump and hears Mapicc grunt trying to fight off the weight of a guard he doesn’t recognize the name of.
This is when Spoke hears his heartbeat the loudest. It’s pounding in his ears, a drum underneath his ribcage that keeps jolting and trembling. He tries to take in a breath but maybe it’s fear or maybe it’s adrenaline because he can’t.
Mapicc! Spoke thinks, watching his best friend struggle to hold his own. The guard swerves and knocks Mapicc back down like he was nothing.
Spoke looks desperately in the direction of PrinceZam.
Please, He wants to yell, to scream, don’t kill my friends. If you want me so badly, I’d surrender now—
Spoke’s ears ring sharply and he closes his eyes as fast as humanly possible. There’s a beautiful strike of blue, a burst of red, the colors of the sky, of blood, of dyed fireworks.
Somebody’s urging him up, but he can’t tell who it is. Every sound around him is muffled, as if it was hidden behind a blanket of wool.
“Spoke!” A familiar voice forces itself into his groggy mind. “Come on, we have to get out of the town square at least!”
Spoke feels strong hands lift him up. “Jamato?” His voice cracks from relief. “You’re okay”
At Spoke’s right, somebody—Mapicc—grunts.
“Stay quiet. We’re still in the PrinceZam Empire.”
That grim reminder digs into Spoke’s heart with a shard of fear and he keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the way.
Eventually, they stop in some obscure corner of the empire’s walls. There’s two buildings at their sides, but judging by the lack of sound and activity, nobody was home.
It would be a good enough place to hide for now.
Jamato lowers Spoke onto a clean spot on the floor, allowing his back to lean against the wall. He watches as Mapicc, like second nature, checks his communicator to indicate how many hearts have cracked away in the fight, before eating a golden carrot, his eyes still on the screen. The invisibility has worn off, so Spoke sees everything: the cuts bleeding actively in Mapicc’s exposed areas, the nasty bruise on his face, the twitch of his hand as if it was straining itself more than it can currently handle.
At the sight, Spoke feels something bitter—guilt—burning underneath his ribcage.
“Mapicc, are you alright?”
Mapicc doesn’t look at Spoke. Instead, his eyes drift to Jamato, his red gaze locking onto him.
“Never been better.” His voice sounds slightly on edge and Spoke doesn’t know why.
He decides to redirect his attention to Jamato after swallowing another bite of golden carrot, the vegetable sweet and fresh in his mouth.
“Jamato, are you okay?” His voice softens almost instantly, as if he was talking to a frightened deer that could bolt at any sudden movement. He feels like flint trying to communicate to TNT, but all they can do is feel tension thicken physically in the air and hear the explosion that comes with it.
Because Jamato’s next words are a slap to the face.
“Why would you save me, Spoke?”
Jamato’s eyes are dark, melting in the shadows of this alleyway and reflecting back nothing but agony. Not a single drop of gratitude to be seen.
Spoke sees Mapicc’s shoulders tighten with tension. He’s offended—greatly so, and it’s taking the form of curled fingers and a sharp voice.
“I just took four hearts to bust your ass out of a dog cage!” Mapicc adds with a sharp movement of crossing his arms. “No ‘thank you for saving me’ or ‘I appreciate your help’?! Not even to Spoke who orchestrated this whole operation?”
JamatoP frowns, a small flicker of anger lighting up in his eyes.
“I didn’t ask for you, or Spoke, to save me!” He exclaims. “I was prepared to meet my punishment with dignity, but PrinceZam is probably commissioning an illustrator to put wanted posters of me around the city after your stunt!”
Mapicc catches Spoke’s horrified expression, muttering his name tentatively to ask whether he’s okay until Spoke says,
“Jamato…” He mutters, forcing the slight tremble to go away. “How could you say that?”
Jamato’s face is covered with the shame of somebody who realized what he said and he looks away, his face turned to the side. Spoke grits his teeth, continuing,
“You’re just going to let yourself be murdered?” He asks, his voice burning like venom. “What happened to the JamatoP I knew? The one who always thought five steps ahead, the one who never backed down from a challenge, my friend who abandoned me because he wanted to live.” He inhales sharply, attempting to take a breath of air through the tangle of complicated emotions (anger, frustration, fear) in his chest. “You don’t understand what you’re saying—”
Something washes onto the shores of JamatoP’s eyes—something ruthless, something malleable, something so entirely exhausted that it makes Spoke bite his tongue back. In that opening, Jamato spits back,
“No, Spoke, you don’t understand what you’re saying.” He walks up to him, his fists clenched but never inching upwards in a physical attack. “I helped you get those exploited items. Hell, you’re still wearing parts of the damned armor from that collection right now! But what I did differently before you could even think about it was stepping back after realizing the gravity of the consequences. Now the server is more unstable than ever, but if PrinceZam is happy to help balance it through my death, then I’m done running.”
His fingers loosen. A surrender, of sorts.
“When are you going to realize that not taking accountability will hurt you more than it’s worth being stubborn about it?” Jamato adds after a pause, “Spoke, have you slept well at all?”
Spoke scoffs, jerking his eyes away from Jamato and keeping them on Mapicc.
Mapicc catches the intent in his eyes and prepares a rocket in his hand.
“Jamato,” Spoke says coldly, his heart twisting from the guilt that was already surfacing from treating his friend so cruelly. “I still consider you my friend despite everything that’s happened between then and now, but if balancing the server and being punished for my actions means my death, then I won’t join you.”
Jamato lowers his eyes.
“I know.”
Spoke gestures to Mapicc and without hesitation, he gives him a pair of unenchanted elytra and a good handful of rockets.
“My coordinates are -9000, 87, 188. If you want to live, then visit me there.” He looks at Mapicc meaningfully. “You back to full health?”
Mapicc nods. “Already there.”
Spoke switches his chestplate for his pair of elytra, his eyes barely missing JamatoP in the periphery of his vision. “Then let’s leave. Just make a run for it, no matter what.”
“I’m behind you.” Mapicc reassures Spoke, preparing his wings.
But when Spoke walks past Jamato, he stops.
“If you’re really going to let PrinceZam kill you, then maybe you shouldn’t have helped me get away. Actions speak louder than words, after all.”
Without waiting for a reply, Spoke launches a rocket and the looming grey walls with its smoking castle fade into the distance. Out of sight, out of mind.
When Mapicc lands next to Spoke, he already knows what he’ll say. With a huff, Mapicc says,
“When you said that you’ll let him choose where he wants to be, I didn’t think it’d still be in the PrinceZam Empire walls with no guarantee that JamatoP won’t willingly walk back to his death.”
Spoke shrugs off the elytra, sighing as he walks heavily to his base.
“Thank you, Mapicc, for the depressing reminder.”
Mapicc rolls his eyes.
“Come on, Spoke. Why would you give him the coordinates? Six months of nearly no contact: hiding, watching behind your back, and leaving your communicator on mute, only to shatter and fall away the moment JamatoP tries to scurry back to PrinceZam.”
Spoke frowns. “Mapicc, what do you mean by that?”
Mapicc’s eyes harden, a frustrated expression on his face.
“How could you ask JamatoP, a person who doesn’t even consider you his friend and doesn’t even want to live, to run away with you?” He asks, his voice rising to a yell. “Just be honest with yourself, Spoke! You’re better off without him—”
Spoke attempts to land a punch on Mapicc, but it misses his face and falls to chest. There’s a dull throb the moment his knuckles make contact with the netherite armor and he draws his hand back sharply like a cat that touched water.
Mapicc just looks unimpressed.
“Are you angry I’m right?” He asks after a moment of tension.
Spoke’s eyes are furious. His shadow-like body begins to disperse in sparks like he was a bonfire roared to life, made of ink and rainbow stars.
“You’re not!” Spoke declares, trying to make his voice still. “JamatoP doesn’t deserve to die.”
Mapicc’s hand flies out fast. Spoke doesn’t realize until a second later that he has his jacket bunched up into his trembling fist. It takes another moment, longer than before, to register the fear that Mapicc’s red, angry eyes are hiding.
“Stop throwing a tantrum and just think, Spoke!” Mapicc hissed, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you honestly believe that JamatoP is worth dying over? Do you honestly believe that JamatoP will be helpful to you, in any capacity, as a friend?” His teeth clench together, as if he was trying to hold something hurtful and cruel behind his bones. “I will die for you Spoke but it will be to save you, not to stall your death moments after mine.”
Spoke blinks, frozen in place, but then his hand cups over Mapicc’s fist and he gently pushes it away.
“I know, but…I don’t know what I’ll do if you die.” Mapicc’s hand falls away, unfurling and falling to his side like a rock. It reminds him of Jamato. “The same goes for him, too.”
Mapicc inhales sharply through his teeth, his eyes jerking away to glare at the floor.
“You’re so stupid.”
Spoke chuckles, the sound hollow and soft. “I’m well aware.”
“If Jamato died, would you be the same?” Mapicc asks, his voice collected and serious now.
Spoke’s smile fades away.
“I’d want nobody but myself to bury him if he did.”
Mapicc sighs, the calculations and cogs turning behind his eyes. Spoke doesn't know where he’s taking this conversation, but he waits for Mapicc to speak before making a move to ask.
“Okay. Well…if he’s ever in danger, I’ll reassure his safety.”
Spoke’s eyes widened slightly.
“Okay, Mapicc, that’s a little bit—”
“Overachieving? Obsessive? Concerning?” Mapicc suggests, his eyebrows narrowing.
Spoke hums.
“…much.” He finishes simply with an awkward expression. His voice softens as he adds, “But I really do appreciate it, Mapicc. For everything you’ve done for me.”
Mapicc grabs rockets from his inventory.
“You know I think of you as my friend, right?”
Spoke nods. “Of course I do.”
Mapicc hesitates, or maybe he just wanted to micro-analyze the look on Spoke’s face before adding,
“Then you’d know that I want you to be safe, too.” And then he flies away, his figure transforming into a bird within the sky.
It’s storming, but Spoke can’t sleep.
Every time the sound of thunder splits the sky into two, charging the air with something dangerously electric, his ears would fuck with him and transform them into the high pitch whistle of a firework. In the rain, they don’t glide a player as far, but elytra are the key and if somebody comes flying over his base, they might see his nametag or hear the rapid beating of his heart and considering the number of people who live in this server, it’s a very small chance that it’s Mapicc with the inability to sleep without a familiar presence.
But then there’s a hard thump above the ground and Spoke’s body freezes in place. His mind is racing with a million different thoughts. Where are the exits? His armor is only a few blocks away. If he pods up should he choose to go invisible or fight back if there’s only one player? He always stores his sword away in his inventory. If PVP doesn’t work, then he has TNT. But while these thoughts, injected with anxiety and racing faster than a boat on an ice bridge, spin in his mind, he hears another sound.
It’s a grunt of pain. Despite it being muffled from the few block distance Spoke has above him, he knows it. He’s well acquainted with the involuntary groans of pain from being shot so many times in non-lethal areas and being cut down until his skin was attached to him like pathetic ribbons of blood.
And he’s even more familiar with the name that comes with the voice, murmuring something too far away to clearly hear, but with the way it sounds makes it clear:
“Spoke?” Jamato’s voice is dampened by rain, distance, and pain. “Are you here? You said you’ll be here.”
Spoke rushes out of bed and hastily straps his armor on before making his way above ground. When the grass block hiding the opening of his base shifts away, he catches Jamato in the rain. Instead of only wearing the clothes on his back, he actually has netherite armor on, but they’re unenchanted and dull. They must be some last resort emergency set that he has stored away in his chest, but because he had to wear elytra to travel the distance, his upper body is thoroughly soaked and he mind as well be freezing in compact snow.
“Jamato, in here.” Spoke says, running up to him and helping his friend make the short walk to the hideout.
Jamato is shivering violently against Spoke, his body rocking back and forth as if there was a torrent inside him and not outside the base. Spoke crafts a fireplace the moment he sets Jamato against the stone walls and while it warms his friend dry, he makes the effort to dig a small and careful vent up so the smoke doesn’t kill them when they make the decision to go to sleep.
It takes a few minutes, but Spoke also manages to heat up some stew and hands it to Jamato. Judging by the loosening tension of his shoulders, he can tell that it’s warming Jamato's hands.
“Thanks.” He murmurs, only blowing the soup for a few seconds before downing it like it was the best thing in the world.
He’s starving. Spoke realizes, summoning a golden carrot from his inventory and offering it to Jamato.
He hesitates but Spoke just pushes it closer to him so there’s no room for being modest. Jamato takes it without a fight and finishes it in three quick bites. They continue this cycle until Jamato shakes his head and adds that he’s full. Spoke doesn’t need another reminder, he’s well aware that Jamato was telling the truth.
He stores his food back into his inventory and holds his hand out to the fire, enjoying the consistent warmth that it has been filling into the base. Or maybe it was the contentment, odd as its presence was, inside his chest. Knowing that he helped his friend from being further tortured by the elements was summoning something familiar: the warmth of giving back to the people he cared about.
“Hey,” Spoke says after the silence has lingered for long enough, “Do you want to switch into some of my clothes? You don’t have to wait for it to dry, you know.”
Jamato glances his way, but then his eyes falter back to the floor, drifting to the bonfire. It’s still so strange to see how easily Jamato’s emotions pulses in the air like a beating heart. Spoke has never seen him look so…defeated.
Jamato tugs at the straps of his armor, the pieces of nether falling to the ground with a small clatter. Spoke stands up to grab an extra pair of clothes that he doesn’t mind sharing and waits for Jamato to finish shedding all the armor that made him look both a protected warrior and a fleeing soldier.
It’s jarring because Spoke is able to truly see how thin JamatoP’s frame is. His skin almost clings to his bones as if it was canvas over wood. His body doesn’t look well muscled, at least not as toned as before, and Spoke doesn’t miss how obvious the number of scars on Jamato’s skin that he can see have added up.
Jamato, after pulling a clean, dry shirt over his head, catches Spoke staring.
“I’ll save you the trouble and admit it, okay?” He says rhetorically, his voice slightly bitter. “I was wrong and you were right.”
Spoke pauses. “Wait what—”
Jamato only continues without missing a beat.
“I didn’t turn myself in when we parted ways, but I did go back home and it was…” His eyes flash with pain.
Spoke can only assume. “Did they ruin your home?”
JamatoP nods.
“They blew the shit out of my base. No warning, no anything. And then a PrinceZam Empire guard found me shortly after I started running away.” He adds tentatively, “I could only think of one place to go after that.”
Spoke frowns. “Wait, you were chased by a PrinceZam Empire Guard?” His body tenses, a reflex at this point.
Jamato shakes his head furiously. “No! Not anymore. I dived into a forest a few thousand blocks from here before flying away. And trust me, I’ve been making sure that nobody has been following me.”
The reassurance does little to ease that rabid fear gnawing away at Spoke’s insides, but JamatoP came into his base with barely any warmth, his body soaked to the bone, and with enough damage on his armor that suggests he went above and beyond to get away. Jamato could’ve easily led the PrinceZam Empire to his base, but they’ll never trade a thousand of Spoke’s death message ringing through chat to let a person they believe is guilty go.
Mapicc put it best: the PrinceZam Empire is not known for mercy. Spoke would add that the only specialty they have is stalling death’s reaper.
“Well, I’m not going to kick you out.” Spoke says in substitution for the obvious. “Just…make sure you’ll be safe when you want to leave.”
JamatoP opens his mouth, closes it, and his eyes lock into Spoke’s.
“I’ll be here for a while, then.”
Spoke feels a small smile form on his lips. Jamato looks away the moment he does, but it doesn’t matter.
Faintly, Spoke wonders if they’ll both sleep a little better. He wonders if Jamato really does mean what he said: that he’s here to stay. He wonders if he’ll have the courage to tell Jamato that he’s trying to change by going out of his way to get rid of all exploit vaults, righting his wrongs alongside Mapicc.
Spoke doesn’t protest when Jamato reaches into his chest tentatively. After a few minutes, Jamato uses the wool and wood he grabbed and crafts a bed. They didn't bother to kill the bonfire, since its fire was becoming meager.
In the dimming light, Spoke sees Jamato’s laying frame. Judging by the steady rise and fall of his side, he was probably already asleep.
Jamato? He wants to ask, If I kept trying to be a better person, would you forgive me?
The question remains unanswered as the storm lulls Spoke to sleep.