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The chief justice’s pale green eyes were cold and emotionless, boring into Sylas’s soul. “The Royal Council finds you guilty of treason for partaking in a Rebellion, fraternizing with Rebels, and aiding them. Is there anything you wish to say in your defence?”

Sylas was silent.

“You have chosen silence as your response,” she observed, in her chilling monotone drone. “Very well. Let it be known that the only reason you shall not face capital punishment for your crime is that royal blood courses through your veins. In that respect, you shall be banished.”

The general public watching the trial murmured unhappily from their seats on the benches. The horde of commoners were obviously upset that no heads would roll, but it didn’t matter. Either way, nothing they said would hold a bit of clout. Sylas would be banished in any case. The purple-eyed Enderman was a Rebel, and his fate had been sealed the moment this kangaroo court found out he had worked in the ranks of those who resisted against her rule.

“Guilty,” Monyka, the chief justice repeated, her ominous dark grey cloak swishing as she brought her arm up to tap the gavel on the table.

Sylas looked up at her, looked up at her dull empty eyes and blank visage. This is what years of thinking like that tyrant had brought about. She had no original, imaginative thought anymore, just a twisted sense of “justice.” The young Enderman felt almost sorry for her. Surely she had been bright and happy long ago, when she was young...before the poisoned agenda of the Followers (or the Lemmings, as Sylas liked to call them) had infected her mind.

“Take him to the portal,” Monyka said.

Sylas stood straight and held his chin high as two burly guards locked their meaty paw-hands around his lean but solid upper arms. With none too much effort, they lifted him a few inches off the ground and dragged him outside the castle while the gentry catcalled and shouted at him. His claws scraping the bumpy, pale End-stone, they carted him past stacked End city towers and groves of skeletal Chorus Fruit trees, over to where a large, circular fountain of solid bedrock waited. Portal guards slipped miniature Ender Crystals into slots upon poles round its perimeter, activating the portal that would expel Sylas from his homeland. Sylas glanced at it. The harsh contrast of dark and light in bold bands on the indestructible stones and the thought of their hard, ancient, immovable heft was unnerving. Within the walls of the fountain, a restless dark surface bubbled and undulated with windless waves. Stars and comets twinkled in its profound depths.

The guards, glaring at him with their glowing broccoli-green eyes, hoisted him above their heads and held him poised above the swirling goo of the portal. Sylas looked down calmly as the dark glop rippled and stirred menacingly below.

“Any last words?” one grunted in his stupid, brutish voice.

Sylas was silent yet again.

“Figures. Well, see you never,” the other remarked in his sharp, hissing tones.

With that, they released their grip and Sylas slipped through the portal into the unknown.

No lengthy and abstruse poem scrolled past his vision. Sylas awoke to a slight headache and a muddled feeling clouding his brain. He rubbed his eyes, twisted round from lying on his belly to sitting on his rear, and stretched his stiff arms and legs. As the grogginess cleared, he pulled his legs into a pretzel-sit and glanced about his surroundings curiously.

The sky was bright and soft blue, a far cry from the bruised purple sky of the End. Plump white day clouds drifted across the sky like lazy sheep, watched by a blazing gold sun. Under the tall, stalwart oaks and birches shielding the understory from the gleaming sunlight, the ground was covered in plush green grass. Sylas bent his face to the ground and sniffed, taking in its cool, earthy scent. Clumps of tall grass tickled his arms and face, and over the hill upon which he sat, dustings of colourful wildflowers broke up the endless green. The wind whispered through the trees, making the leaf-cloaked boughs rustle with their reply.

Smiling, Sylas stood up and brushed the dirt and grass off of his clothes. He started walking, not teleporting, because he wanted to go a little slower. The sights and sounds were well worth it. Songbirds chuckled in the trees overhead, occasionally joined by the excited chattering of a squirrel or the caw of a raven. It was a pleasantly warm day, fed with cool, refreshing breezes playing past--much nicer than the cold, windless days in the End.

Sylas teleported to the top of a tall tree so he could get a bearing on where he was. Sitting in the crook of two large, solid branches at the top of the stately oak, he looked out at the surrounding country. Beyond the emerald hills of forest wherein he roamed currently, there was a wide ring of a grasslands with a section of dry, yellowish grass and peculiar twisted trees with flat tops--acacias in a savannah. Some proud stone mountains loomed as a blue ridge on the horizon behind him, cutting off the forest before it could thin out into plains. All of this was the mainland island, stretching out to beaches of creamy sand on the its other three sides. Smaller islands floated in the glittering blue ocean beyond.

So this was banishment, eh?

Some punishment this was meant to be!

Sylas slid down the tree, claws skimming across the rough, bumpy bark. His paw-feet hit the ground with a barely audible thump and he stepped away, brushing dirt flecks off of his hands. Oh, this new world was so wide and far! To where should he go first? Sylas nibbled a claw absentmindedly, thinking about it, then decided on that interesting savannah-plain beyond the forest, within the ring of grasslands. Those twisted trees had piqued his curiosity.

He started walking in its direction, a peaceful, unhurried stroll. He guessed that he was travelling in a northerly route, but he couldn’t say for sure. The interdimensional travel had thrown off his innate sense of direction. Well, that didn’t really matter. He’d reach the plains-ring eventually, and even if he missed the savannah he could just keep going round the circle until he found it.

As Sylas walked, he watched the birds flit from branch to branch, squawking at each other over whatever it is that birds quarrel about. Squirrels scrambled up and down tree-trunks frantically, holding acorns in their mouths. Preparing for autumn and then winter, no doubt. But as interesting as the little critters were, Sylas wondered what other kinds of animals there were to be found here.

There hadn’t been much in the way of animals back in the End. His fellow Endermen didn’t count as “animals,” of course, and besides them, there was just a small population of shulkers. And, of course, the Ender-Dragon, that terrible tyrant that held the entire dimension under her iron claw and made her people miserable. Should the Endermen band together, they might be able to defeat her, but as long as their race was split into Followers and Rebels, it would never happen.

Sylas shook his head to dislodge the unpleasant thoughts from his brain, at least for now. This wasn’t the time for brooding over the crisis in the End. Someday he’d return, someday he’d make things right again, but for now...the green-eyed Followers were too strong for him to stand against. When he returned, he would have to return with something to weaken their force.

By the time Sylas came out of his daydream, only a thin line of trees separated the forest from the open savannah. He broke through and stepped out onto the dry, crunchy grass. Instead of the vibrant green of the forest, the savannah-grass was a more yellow-brown colour, not particularly attractive, but well-adapted for life under a hot sun. Indeed, it was considerably warmer here in the savannah, and its bright blue sky was nearly empty save for a few slim, thirsty cirrus clouds hanging low over the horizon. Under the glassy sky, the mostly level terrain stretched out until it touched the beaches that made the edge of the mainland-island. Copious tall grass swayed in the hot breeze, crinkling and rustling.

Intrigued, Sylas teleported a little deeper into the grassland. He landed about forty feet away from his initial spot in a puff of purple dust. The dust immediately swirled away and dissolved into the air.

A low neigh broke the near-silence. Sylas whipped round to face the source of the noise. Not more than ten feet away, a black horse stood squarely, curiously taller than the other horses, with powerful legs sheathed in muscle, the hairs of its shining raven mane and tail dancing in the wind. Chewing on a mouthful of grass, the horse turned its head and regarded Sylas with stoic honey-coloured eyes. It seemed completely unfazed by his presence.

Sylas, on the other hand, was delighted by the first large animal he’d seen since his recent arrival to the Overworld. He had been told stories of horses as a little one, but had never seen one in person until now. What a marvellous animal it was!

Sylas ran his hand down the horse’s broad, long snout, stroking the fine velvety hair. The horse, delighted to be petted, nickered happily.

The Enderman smiled at his new horse friend. “I think I shall call you Noctis.”

Back in the End, however, things were not so idyllic.

“It has happened again,” Kalvin, one of the leading Rebels, said gravely. He and a handful of other Rebels were in a hidden End-stone cave, a distance from the bustle of the cities and closely guarded obsidian towers.

He laid a consoling paw-hand on the shoulder of his friend, whose thin form was convulsing with barely contained sobs. The limp body of his pearl-mate was draped across his arms. Oily tears leaked from the corners of his dull purple eyes.

“Why?” he choked. “Why did it have to be her?”

“Please, sir, please stay calm. Tell us what happened,” another Rebel requested.

The widower swallowed another sob and struggled to form the right words. “We were...building a new tower...for the city, y’know...but then...but then...she...the Dragon...she...swooped down and she...she…” He started to cry, the tears cascading freely down his face.

Kalvin patted the other Rebel, Bayata, behind the back, guiding her away from the grieving Enderman. He leaned close and whispered to her, “He has suffered much. Give him time.”

“And so the Ender-Dragon murders one of us in cold blood yet again,” said Bayata scornfully. She shook her head. “I just don’t understand it.”

“Nor do I,” Kalvin agreed. “I suppose the best we can do is try to fight back.”

“Oh, Kalvin!” she cried. “How many, how many has it been?”

Kalvin swung his head from side to side slowly. “Too many to count.”

“Any is too many,” Bayata added. Her voice fell to a low whisper as she listed her grievances: “Killing us for no reason. Forcing us to spend all night keeping every one of those blasted Ender Crystals running so she can indulge herself in their energy and power. Sending her lemmings throughout the city to accuse innocents of treason and insurrection and all that rot. It’s too much! And where in the wide End has Sylas gone? He was one of our best members. He couldn’t have just stolen away--gone rogue...” She trailed off as she caught Kalvin’s stare.

The Enderman’s silence spoke volumes.

“...Sylas is gone, isn’t he?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Kalvin looked down at the ground, then up at her, and nodded sadly.

“Dead?” she squeaked.

“Banished,” Kalvin corrected.

Well, that was hardly a relief. Bayata sighed deeply. “They found him out, then?”

“Indeed. I didn’t see his arrest (I doubt not it was a dreadful ordeal) but I was fortunate to be able to lie low at his trial--ha, hardly a ‘trial’ in that kangaroo court; more like an instant damnation, I’d say!--and observe, for as you know, once the Followers begin to, well, Follow, they lose their ability to tell what colour one’s eyes are. They could not have deduced that mine were purple.”

“Right,” Bayata concurred. “Because their minds are poisoned. What did you see and hear at Sylas’s trial?”

“Specifically, the charges he was convicted on were ‘partaking in a Rebellion, fraternizing with Rebels, and aiding them.’ Sylas was silent. He said nothing in his defence. The Monyka declared him officially guilty and sentenced him to banishment. She said the only reason that he wouldn’t be executed for his deeds was that he was a prince of the End.”

Bayata closed her eyes, dipped her head, and sighed. It was a profound, hopeless sigh that broke Kalvin’s heart. He had to do something to lift her spirit.

“Sylas will return someday. Have a little faith.”

A loud cry cut through the air and rang through Sylas’s ears, a shrill, female screech of fear. Then there was another, and another. Sylas glanced round frantically and in confusion, trying to trace the origin of the noise. The noise was familiar, and the realisation hit Sylas in the gut like a punch. One of his own kind was making that noise!

He closed his eyes to shut out his sense of vision and thus sharpen his hearing. Again the cry sounded. The subtle variations of volume and direction became clearer, and Sylas now had a hazy idea of where it was coming from. Sylas opened his eyes and teleported rapidly, closing the distance between he and the distressed wailer. Whoever it was, they were in danger, and Sylas could only pray he would make it there in time.

He came to a screeching halt in a flowery plain, near a small pond of water. He gasped as the scene before him unfolded. It was a battle, a deathmatch between an Enderwoman and a group of two gigantic spiders and two creatures with rotting green skin and tattered clothes. She was losing. Her arms and legs were covered with cuts and stab wounds that oozed with bright red blood, and she looked no more than five steps away from falling into the pond. The spiders, hairy black bodies supported by eight slim, angular legs, and the zombies, who gurgled and snarled to show their mouths full of broken teeth, slowly closed in on their victim.

Instantly, burning hot hatred bubbled up in Sylas’s being. If he didn’t act soon, those monsters would kill the outnumbered Enderwoman. And he wasn’t going to let that happen. He screamed a jarring battle-cry and rushed at the assailants. He drew his claws--four-inch-long talons with serrated undersides---and bared his huge bleach-white fangs. Every hair of his short, fuzzy fur stood on end, and his royal purple eyes blazed with ferocity.

The four monsters pivoted to face him. The spiders cowered a little and even the zombies’ spinach-green faces went pale at the sight of the furious Enderman running into the fray. The closest zombie spent just a half-second too long staring stupidly at Sylas. In that half-second, the Enderman’s terrible claws were plunged into its arm.

The zombie howled and thrashed before wresting its arm away from Sylas’s talons and bringing up a chipped stone sword held in his other hand to swing. The sharp, jagged stone blade sliced a shallow gash across the Enderman’s shoulder. It was far from a critical wound, but it was enough to make Sylas, who was not used to having pain inflicted on him, stagger backwards in surprise. The monster would have struck again, but the Enderwoman took advantage of this momentary distraction to kick the other zombie into the pond. The kicked undead man landed in the water with a heavy splash and stuck its head above the surface a couple seconds later, flailing its arms wildly to stay afloat.

Meanwhile, Sylas now had to deal with the spiders as well as the second zombie. Keeping the latter at bay with periodic kicks, he focused on the spiders. One spider leapt at him and he sliced his claws across its face. The spider hissed loudly in pain and drew back, partially blinded from having its eyes scratched. The other managed to land a few bites on Sylas’s ankles before making the mistake of jumping at him. Sylas seized the spider in his grip and discoursed the struggling arachnid with a bite of his own to its neck. The spider went limp in his hold and he tossed it away in disgust.

By now, the zombie had taken too much damage from being repeatedly kicked away by Sylas’s dynamite-packed foot. It staggered backwards past the Enderwoman, fell into the pond, and sank like a rock. The other one climbed slowly out of the pond, growling angrily, but the Enderwoman knocked it back into the water with a daring sucker punch to its face.

The other spider, once it had recovered, sprang at Sylas again, but again he captured it in his iron grip and finished it off with a fatal bite to the neck. Rubbing his tongue over his teeth and spitting to get the unpleasant taste of spider out of his mouth, he tossed the corpse aside and went to work on the last zombie. It had crawled out of the pond once again, only to meet with Sylas’s wicked claws. Within half a minute, it was lying dead on the ground. With the four predators eliminated, the night was quiet once again.

Panting from the ordeal of the fight, Sylas turned to the Enderwoman. “Have you injury of any sort?” he asked, offering her his hand to help her stand up.

She blinked, then responded, “A few cuts…” She reached up and let him close his paw-hand (claws retracted) around hers. In a fluid motion, he slowly drew his arm back, taking hers with it, and she wobbled to her feet.

“Nothing a little aloe and spider-silk gauze couldn’t solve,” Sylas assured her. He smiled, then realised he was still holding on to her hand. His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, and he reluctantly let go of her paw.

“I was sure that monster was going to make an end of me,” the Enderwoman said. “...No pun intended. Thank you, sir...sir...ah…”

“My name is Sylas. Sylas Sunvaez.” He introduced himself and gave her a small, respectful bow. “You are welcome, ma’am. May I ask how you are named?”

“I’m Solarae Koronah…” she said shyly. Sylas smiled at the lady whose life he just saved. She was lean, lithe, and graceful, standing just a few inches shorter than he. Even though her practical grey sweater and purple plaid skirt were torn and muddy from the struggle, no amount of mud and mire could dim the sparkle of vitality in her bright magenta eyes. They glittered like a pair of flawless amethysts.

“A beautiful name,” he breathed.

“Thank you. Yours is very refined, too--ooh, ow!” Solarae winced and rubbed the stinging cuts on her arms.

“Hang on...I think I have a handkerchief in my pocket.” Sylas fished around in the pocket of his silver velvet tunic-shirt. His hand closed around a slip of delicate fabric. He pulled out a clean, fresh silk hanky. He handed it to Solarae. “I don’t have any spider silk, but that should do to help wipe up some of the blood.”

“But you’re bleeding, too.” Solarae pointed to the gash on his shoulder.

“Bah! You need it more than me right now.” Sylas waved off her attempt to give the handkerchief back to him.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

Solarae wiped the blood off of her wounds. Within minutes, the hanky was red and pink, not white, and she held the limp piece of fabric out in front of her dubiously.

“Oh, dear,” she remarked, eyeing it.

Sylas shrugged. “It’s quite all right. It’s but one simple hanky.” He plucked some leaves from bushes planted round the pond and helped Solarae tie them over her cuts as makeshift bandages. Solarae lashed together several large leaves into a big bandage and wrapped it about Sylas’s shoulder, patching his wound.

“Thank you,” said he when she tied the leaf securely.

“Don’t mention it,” said Solarae. “You said that your name was Sylas Sunvaez. Are you really from the End?”

“...So I stole a bunch of chorus fruit the masons were going to make into purpur so they could build a new tower, and then I ate it all,” Sylas said, telling Solarae a story about the days of his youth as a prince of the End.

Solarae laughed. It was a beautiful, musical sound. “Oh, Sylas, you little sneak! I’ll bet you got in so much trouble with your parents…”

“Not as much trouble as I got in with my stomach,” Sylas joked, patting his belly. “Worst tummy-ache of my life!”

They both broke out laughing again, but when it died down, Sylas’s tone grew more serious. “But all that was before the Ender-Dragon took over.”

Solarae nodded, her smile fading into a sober expression.

Sylas shook his head, recalling the memory. “Terrible day that was, yes. A manifestation of dark magic--leaked in from the Nether, that’s what most of us think--just swooped in and overwhelmed the entire population. No way to fight her. She was much too powerful. Granted, there weren’t as many of us then as there are now, but still. She took over as a tyrant and all but threw away the house of royalty that we had for centuries.”

“That’s really sad,” said Solarae. “But how did you escape the End?”

“Rebellion,” answered Sylas. “The Endermen race split into two--Followers and Rebels. I was one of the latter faction. They found me out, and I was banished.”

“Oh…” Solarae whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Sylas waved his paw-hand dismissively. “It’s not your fault. Besides, I’d take the Overworld over the End any day. This place is amazing!”

Solarae blushed. “You truly think so?”

“I know so. I wonder what’s over those mountains, (he pointed at the misty, hazy outline of the mountains in the distance) though.”

A wide grin crept across Solarae’s mouth. “I know what’s over them.”

“Really? You do?” Sylas blinked and looked at her attentively. “What?”

“My home.”

Sylas stared in awe at the towering oak trees, looming hundreds of feet overhead with their branches stretching to the heavens and casting a great cloak of shadow over the floor below, the shades growing as the sun sank towards the fiery western sky. Dozens of small oaks clustered round their bases, undoubtedly the posterity of these great father trees. In the crooks of the mighty branches were tree-houses, sometimes as many as ten to a single branch, cleverly nestled within the trees’ capable arms. The tree-houses, made mostly of raw logs and overgrown with foliage, blended perfectly with the ancient wood, looking almost as if they had grown there by themselves. They were as naturally a part of the trees as leaves and acorns.

Solarae noticed his awestruck gaze, and grinned. “You like them? These trees have been here for ages. They were planted when animals first stepped off a great wooden boat, and our folk started building the tree-houses none too long afterward.”

“It’s...it’s astounding.” Sylas, even with his princely eloquence, struggled to find the right word to describe the Tree City.

“And it’s home! Come! We are always delighted to add another member to our tribe,” Solarae chirped, dancing ahead of him on the beaten dirt path into the heart of the city. It took them past some farm plots and gardens (which were, incidentally, missing water canals for irrigation) filled with rows of wheat, carrots, potatoes, and a lot of other crops Sylas didn’t recognize, like a tall brown herb with fluffy white puffs popping out of it, or curious green plants that resembled tiny trees. Some of the gardens were miniature parks with lithe young saplings and patches of colourful flowers in full summer bloom.

The quietness was broken by a steady rhythm of bleats and oinks as they passed by a number of animal pens. Fluffy sheep pranced about in a wooden paddock, nibbling grass, while the cows stared at the arrivals to the Tree City with their deep brown, sad eyes. The pigs ignored Solarae and her guest to pull carrots out of their moorings in the ground. Solarae picked a few dandelions from the grass next to the road and tossed them to the rabbits.

At last they reached the foot of the mighty oaks. Breaking past a thicket of leaves and hedges, they came to a clearing where the foliage had finally been trimmed back to allow a space for a flat, circular sand-pit. There was a space in the centre for a fire to be built, and four tiers of benches surrounded the area. Many Endermen sat in the benches, as if they were ready for an important meeting. Several of them were reading books, knitting, or sketching on pads of paper to pass the time. They didn’t look all that different from Sylas’s End-born countrymen, but they all had purple eyes and their clothes were less flashy than the kind he was used to wearing and seeing. Their clothes followed a colour scheme of purple, grey, black, and silver just as in the End, but appeared to be made from simpler homespun fabrics, like wool or flax.

These Overworldian Endermen paid little mind to Solarae as she entered the circle and seated herself on a bench in the lowest tier, but they couldn’t help but stare at the foreigner Sylas who shyly sat down next to her. He suddenly felt extremely self-conscious and wilted a little in their gaze. Solarae tapped his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to hide. They’re not judging you. They just haven’t seen anyone like you in quite a long time.”

“Shh,” chided an older Enderwoman sitting in the tier above them. She was sewing a patch onto a ripped cloak. “The meeting’s about to start.”

Kalvin’s friend sat in the back of the cave, quietly grieving his pearl-mate. The rest of the group decided to give him some space so as not to intrude, but they did occasionally throw him a compassionate glance as they discussed the current matters.

“Well, it’s final,” Kalvin said boldly. The boldness was unusual to sound in his deep, breathy voice evocative of wind trapped in a cave.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bayata questioned.

“I mean, that was the last time we are going to sit idly by and let the Ender-Dragon commit a murder. It’s not enough to call ourselves Rebels. We have to be Rebels.”

“I thought we already were resisting. After all, we’re resisting enough for our eyes to be purple.” She pointed at her bright violet eye.

“True. True. But our current methods aren’t working. We live on the outskirts of civilisation and refuse to follow her wicked agenda. That’s enough to make our eyes purple, but we need to do more if we are to be effective.”

“Such as? Attacking lemmings, d’you suppose?”

“No, no!” Kalvin shook his head vehemently. “Murder to repay murder? Never! I abhor to think of the need ever arising to slay a Follower, but should that dire event come to pass, it shall be solely in defence. I think we need to be more proactive in turning the public opinion. Most of the denizens of the cities are Followers, but lukewarm at best. It should not be terribly difficult to persuade them.”

“You make a good point. I agree with you.”

“Excuse me,” said one of the Rebels in the cave. His name was Klaudius, and he had arrived at the meeting-place mere minutes ago. “I didn’t want to infringe upon your conversation, but I have news.”

Kalvin nodded. “Do tell me.”

“I have been able to connect our Norther branch of the Rebellion to the Eastern and Western divisions. I had to travel in backcountry, through tangled Chorus Fruit groves, to elude the Followers tending the orchards, but I found our countrymen’s meeting-places nonetheless and it was well worth it. However, there was simply too much land to cover to reach the Southern division.”

Kalvin nodded. “Well, even if you were unable to connect with the Rebels of the southern portion of the island, I commend you for your work. That could not have been easy. Do we have an effective way of communicating with them, then?”

“If a secret path is established through the lesser-travelled areas of backcountry, we can quickly pass messengers back and forth,” Klaudius responded.

“A capital idea. We shall commence to do that as soon as we are able. And we should be able soon, I believe.”

“Splendid. Now, could you please indulge me with a chorus fruit? I’m famished.”

“Absolutely.” Kalvin bequeathed one of the bulbous plum-coloured fruits from the supply storage (really, a glorified hole in the wall) to Klaudius.

“Thank you.” Klaudius took the soft, fleshy fruit and bit into it, getting an explosion of its sweet juice in his mouth. “Mmm...scrumptious.”

“This is supreme. Now that better communication between the four divisions is feasible, the prospect of defeating that terrible tyrant has become more possible. I say that is a cause to celebrate!” She reached for a chorus fruit herself and reclined against the wall to enjoy it.

However, they did not get to relax and have a little party for long. With a loud popping noise and a spray of sparks, a lanky scout appeared in their midst. He was shaking and his eyes were wide and wild, as frazzled and overwhelmed as a cornered animal’s would be.

“K-Kalvin!” the boy stuttered. “We’ve a problem, a very big problem!”

“What is it, man?” Kalvin demanded, tossing aside the rind of the chorus fruit he was eating and springing to stand up. “Calm yourself and tell me!”

“Ender-Dragon...in the city...danger...must come...right now,” the scout babbled, waving his arms and hands round in panic.

“Come on, now!” Kalvin was getting annoyed. “Speak coherently. I don’t understand you.”

“You must come to the End City right now,” the boy said, cooling down a little but still speaking rapidly. “What’s happening down there is just shy of the apocalypse.”

A thick hush fell on the assembly as a few young Endermen dashed round the courtyard, lighting lanterns to cast a gentle golden glow on the stage and supplement the dying daylight. Once the lanterns were lit, they scurried back to their seats and plopped down, eagerly waiting. In a burst of bright purple light, a stalwart Enderman teleported to the stage, just in front of the fire-pit. He was taller and generally bigger than the others, with a muscle-bound body, pink battle scars from long ago, and a regal glow in his bright violet eyes.

“Good evening, all,” he greeted. His deep, resonant voice echoed mightily in the amphitheatre-like space. He clapped his paw-hands together. “As you know, the lesser light to govern the night, the Moon, has completed one cycle and as such, the time has come for a meeting of our people. I’m glad you could take time away from your evening to be here.” He turned this way and that, long silver robe swishing as he moved, as he scanned the congregation in the benches.

Sylas gulped and tried to act suddenly very interested in a blade of grass he hastily plucked from the ground, to avoid this obvious authority from noticing him. It didn’t work.

“Alo! What is this? Do we have a stranger in our midst?” said the chief Enderman, painfully loudly. Sylas glanced away, pretending to have not heard him--like that was possible.

“You there, in the low tier, next to Solarae Koronah,” the chief prodded, pointing his Bible-sized paw-hand directly at Sylas. “I’ve never seen you before. Who are you?”

Sylas swung his gaze over to his left, in a feeble attempt to ignore the call.

Solarae elbowed him. “It’s all right. Just answer his question.”

Sylas meekly faced the chief and squeaked, “I’m Sylas Sunvaez.”

“As I am certain you are a stranger here, and thus know not who I may be, I must tell you that I am called Kato,” the chief (Kato, apparently) explained. “As for you, you said that your surname was Sunvaez. Am I correct in presuming that your origin is from the End, in that respect?”

“Yes, sir.” Sylas nodded. He knew better than to lie about his background. “I have come to the Overworld because I was banished from the End. I hope I have not intruded upon your extraordinary civilisation here by my arrival.”

“Oh, far from it!” Kato remarked. “We always welcome those of our kind who are without a home. Henceforth, you are no longer a stranger to us, nor even a guest. You may now call yourself truly a member of the People of the Trees.”

Sylas blinked. He had not expected to be accepted at all, much less right away. “Thank you, sir. It is an honour to be one of your noble people.” He marveled at their trust of himself, a complete stranger. Things were so different here than in the End. These guys were a tight and trusting community. The ones in the End were cold and distant; no-one trusted anyone. This place was radiant with the warmth and light of quiet community.

“Now, we always have at least one thing to talk about at a meeting, and this time is no different. Our intrepid scouts have reported to me that they are making plans for an excursion to the Nether--”

The crowd gasped.

“--yes, the Nether, to domesticate the Ghast. We feel that its flight power will prove quite useful--perhaps for mass transit, or flying loads of cargo to the upper portions of our tree-house villages.”

The gentry clapped enthusiastically, showing their approval of the plan. A few whistled and cheered. But then there was an explosive crack of thunder in the distance that made Sylas jump about three feet in the air.

“What was THAT?”

Solarae giggled as he stared wide-eyed at her like a frightened child. “That would be thunder, Sylas. And where there’s thunder, there’s usually...Oh, no.”

“What?” Sylas’s goggling eyes got even bigger.

“Everyone, go home immediately!” Kato yelled over the crowd’s noise. “It’s about to rain!"

Within a minute, a steady rainfall began to pour down from the skies. People squealed and ran or teleported for cover. Fortunately, the thick boughs of the trees were nearby and dense enough to block out the rain.

Sylas’s clothes prevented him from suffering the worst of the attack, but his arms were exposed beyond his elbows because of the short sleeves of his tunic-shirt. Each raindrop felt like getting jabbed with a pin.

“Ye-owch!” he cried. Solarae quickly thrust out her hand, grabbed Sylas by the arm, and pulled him to safety under the canopy.

“Ow,” he complained, rubbing his arms, as Solarae led the way over to one of the tree-trunks, which was hollowed out with a door. Within the trunks there was presumably a way to get up to the tree-houses. “What in the wide End was that all about? The sky just randomly starts dumping water on the earth?”

Solarae rubbed her cheek, abash. “I forgot to tell you about rain.”

“Clearly! Can we please go inside?”

“Well, of course.” They had reached the door, a mighty ten-foot-tall portal of stained wood, by now. It was unlocked and Solarae pushed it open, letting a golden glow from lanterns within the staircase-room spill out onto the dark grass.

Sylas would have offered Solarae to enter before he did--ladies first, after all--but he got distracted by a most curious animal guarding the door.

“Alo!” he exclaimed, surprised. “What’s that?”

It was some sort of small, quadrupedal animal. Its lean body was covered in mottled green fur, and had a blot of dark green fur about its cat-like black nose and thin mouth, that resembled a gaping frown. Its front legs were thin and delicate-looking, but its back legs were muscular and so long they folded back on themselves like a rabbit’s, ready for jumping and running and kicking. Curved black claws stuck out of the three toes on each paw. The animal regarded Sylas and Solarae with its large, dark green, soulful eyes.

“Sylas, I’d like you to meet the Creeper,” Solarae said, laying a hand on the creature’s furry head. “Ordinarily these are what you’d call a ‘monster,’ but we’ve tamed these marvellous creatures to guard our houses. The mere sight of them is enough to deter most intruders.”

As if on cue, the creeper smiled, revealing a mouthful of teeth. The most eminent were its huge, razor-edged incisors, but a rather fearsome set of canine teeth stood out as well. Sylas recoiled, startled.

“I believe it.”

“And if sight does not work, they have a most unusual mode of defence: they can explode and then regenerate themselves...like some sort of bizarre explosive phoenix,” Solarae started to explain. “But I’m sure you don’t want to hear an entire biology lesson from me. Come on. No good to standing out in the cold and rain. Let’s go inside. I’m almost certain we have a vacant house on this tree.”

Inside the trunk, it was dry, warm, and smelled of musty wood--like an old library. They teleported up the creaky stairs, which had been carved out of the sapwood. The dead heartwood of the tree had been dug out entirely to make ample room. The stairs spiralled up the height of the trunk, until they came to a set of double doors at the top. Solarae pushed them open and stepped out onto a balcony, with Sylas following shortly after. The balcony was a wooden walkway running round the girth of the tree, and it reached out to overlap some extremely thick branches that held the tree-houses. Otherwise, a rope-and-plank bridge closed the gap between the houses and the main entrance. The thick shadows underneath the bulk of the tree’s leafy canopy were dispelled by lanterns chained to small branches and fireflies blinking with a greenish-yellow glow.

Solarae pointed to a small house not far below them, that was connected to the trunk with a rope-and-plank bridge. A homely sign declaring the residence “vacant” hung by the door.

“How about that one?”

Kalvin, Bayata, and about ten other Rebels teleported as fast as they could to the End city. They stopped in an manicured orchard of Chorus trees, panting and heaving from the exertion of teleporting so far and so quickly. Though they knew full well that the Followers, with their twisted thinking, would be unable to know that they were purple-eyed (and thus Rebels), they remained cautious nonetheless. After all, they were deep in enemy territory here, and their behaviour could give them away just as easily as their appearance.

The dozen Enderpeople roughly pushed past rows of ramrod straight, skeletal Chorus trees, making a few overripe fruits dislodge from the branches and fall to the ground where they burst into sticky blobs of juice and fruit-flesh on the End-stone. Disgusted, most of the Rebels took extra care not to step in the juicy explosions.

When they cleared the orchard and came into the city, they charged out onto the street, prepared to see all hell broken loose. Instead, this part of the city was strangely deserted. Not a soul was found there. This, unsurprisingly, enraged Kalvin.

“You idiot!” he snapped at the scout from before. “You’d better have a blasted good reason for bringing us out here. If I find out you dragged us into the heat of enemy territory for nothing…”

The scout wilted as Kalvin berated him, but still found the courage to speak. “If you will, sir, we have to go deeper than this. After all, I’m sure you notice how we are the only Endermen--”

“And Enderwomen!” Bayata added irritably.

“--Enderpeople, that is, round this part of the city. Am I correct?”

Kalvin backed down. “I apologise for my rashness. But why won’t you tell me what this terrible thing happening in the city’s heart is?”

“It is too abhorrent to speak of presently. It is best you see it,” the scout explained.

Kalvin and the others mustered the strength for another bout of teleportation, and travelled deep into the heart of the city. Here, the purpur and End-brick towers were packed in tightly with obsidian towers. Made of the same glassy dark rock was the imposing castle wherein Sylas had been condemned, with the disabled portal that had ejected him from his homeland standing before the palace, like a cruel mockery of a lovely decorative fountain. The scout pointed to the city square, a wide plaza of purpur, at the centre of which stood the portal and stretched to touch some of the larger towers about the plaza.

The others followed his gaze, and as they did, their jaws unhinged in shock and horror at the scene unfolding before them.

Civilians ran about the city square screaming, while teams of Followers chased them round with sharp obsidian spears. They pushed swarms of people back and shouted at them in a vain attempt to keep them under control and prevent a riot.

The hysterical citizens were howling, screaming, and pointing at the castle. The Ender-dragon flew in great loops and arcs across the sky, roaring in rage. Every time she pumped her wings as she flew, the sound of the great sheets of leathery skin cutting through the air resounded acridly in the Rebels’ ears. With an irate growl, she circled round the plaza and settled in front of the castle.

Kalvin’s stomach twisted up in a knot as the Dragon seated herself among the mangled, bleeding bodies of countless Endermen, slain by her jaws and talons. This was the worst massacre yet.

The hideous monster shook her long, flexible neck and then her entire torso down to her tail, ruffling the rows and rows of ebony scales and silver ridges cascading down her reptilian body. She snorted a spurt of dark grey smoke from her nostrils and winked wickedly at the petrified Endermen citizens with her leering pinkish-red eyes.

“And now that the royal Endermen are dead, I shall rule alone,” the old Dragon boasted. “You are all my helpless underlings, and no-one will challenge my dominion over you.”

To be continued...