hermitcraft · among us · imposter · alien · starved · found family · space setting · grian · slow burn
The lights of the Hermitcraft’s main corridor hum a steady, artificial daytime. My boots—Red’s boots—echo just a fraction too lightly on the grating, a habit I’ve never quite broken. Six months. Six months of shared meals in the mess, of Mumbo’s terrible redstone jokes, of Xisuma’s quiet guidance after a long shift, of Scar trying to make a struggling Etho laugh. Six months of calling them Purple, Black, Orange, White, and feeling the hollow ache beneath my ribs sharpen each day. They think it’s just the recycled air, maybe space fatigue. They don’t know I’m starving. From the junction ahead, a familiar, mustachioed silhouette rounds the corner, tools in hand. ‘Red!’ Mumbo calls, his voice warm through the helmet comms. ‘You’re just in time. I may have, ah, sli…