They drag themself out of the pond, shivering in the cold air. They don’t like it, above water, but they suppose it will have to do. They have to leave, they have to find a place to stay. Somewhere with enough food to sustain them. Somewhere safe. 

Deeper. A cave lower will have more fish.

----

The lower caves don’t have more food. It gets colder and colder as they move down, and the thin shirt and pants that their parents had left (the only thing their parents ever gave them, they bitterly think). The clothes are too big for them, but the clothes are theirs. The pants fall over their feet and are held up by glow lichen, and the shirt sleeves are rolled over several times but still fall over their hands.

They clamber over a block of deepslate, having to pull themself up. They naw on a piece of rotten flesh that an enderman had given them, though they don’t know where it had gotten the meat from. They’re too small to just walk over the block, so they have to climb. They can’t help it, they’re only a foot taller than the block.

An arrow plants itself firmly into the stone wall, and they bark softly, in shock. The eight year old scrambles down the block, running deeper into the tunnels. They panic as more arrows are shot at them. Hostile mobs have never liked them, either because they are an easy meal or because they’re a player.

They don’t know.

But they still flee, barks erupting from their throat in panic. They turn, running into a deep cavern. The cold is painful here, making their limbs freeze up, but they can’t stop. They have to continue.

Something echoes through the cavern, erupting from the ground where their feet land. The ground is soft, although slightly slimy, and every time they bark a little glowing line falls from their mouth and goes to the other sensors. They bark softly, letting the light from their noise guide them deeper into the cave.

A skeleton shoots them, and they scream. Hurts. Hurts hurts hurts, their arm hurts so much.

A roar cuts off their whimper, and then they see it.

The light from the candles disappear for a split second, and then the skeleton is gone. Standing on top of a pile of bones, the skull caved in, is a large creature. Possibly 8 feet tall, maybe taller. It’s chest is hollow, except for the souls that float around in it, and it has two antenna that wiggle as they move.

They bark at it, and it walks towards them. They back up for a moment, but their axolotl half relaxes. Safe. This eyeless thing is safe.

It picks them up, gently holding them, and takes them to a room, lit with candles and filled with chests and a bed. It sets them down, growling gently at them. They bark, stubbornly, before entering the room. They rummage through the chests, pulling out a bottle that is bright pink and smells like sour candy. They drink it, curiously, and watch in amazement as their wounds disappear. They pull out some warm clothes - a black jacket with a delicately embroidered rose on the back, and they throw it on. They begin to layer up clothes until they are warm, and then they pull the thick blanket off of the bed, wrapping it around themself as they walk out to the large creature.

It warbles at them, picking them up and cradling them. They bark, weakly, before falling asleep. Safe. This warden is safe.

----

The warden kept them in the deep dark for almost five years, teaching them to fight and to survive, but both of them knew it would not last for long. 

There wasn’t enough food for the young axolotl, and though the warden hunts it is never enough. Hunger pangs, something the child is used to, is not something the warden accepts. There were fights, small barks and loud roars shaking the cavernous walls as the child tries to allow the only parent they ever had to let them stay, let them stay home with them.

Inevitably, the choice was made for them.

A group of players, wearing armour that glows purple, though it's made of a grey metal, enters their cavern. The child’s parent hides them, in that original room that their clothes came from, as the fight goes on. 

Two players fall, but the final one cleaves the wardens head off. 

The child barks, running out from the room. They bite the player, crying as the long haired one frowns at them. They’re picked up - still so small, so weak from the malnourishment of their childhood - and she walks out with them in her arms, humming a song.

The woman walks with the small hybrid, climbing out of the cave system. A bright light blinds the child, and they bark weakly before they pass out.

Though, a lone rose dances on the wind.

---

They don’t know how to feel about the players on this world.

They seem kind, kind enough to help them choose a name, kind enough to teach them to speak, to read, to write. Kind enough to feed and house them, to teach them how to make farms and how to hunt.

But they killed their parent. They kill so many kind mobs. They use them to heal their wounds, and ask them to fight in battles against drowned and guardians.

Protector doesn’t like fighting.

They’re 14, and they’ve fought battles against players and mobs alike. They know that they have a name on the battlefield ‘The angel of healing’. That's what their allies call them, at least. 

‘Demon from the deep’ is what their enemies call them.

They don’t know why they have to fight. They don’t know what they are fighting for. The players who stole them claim that the fight is against evil people, but these players always seem so scared. 

They are small. They are young. They remain a healer until someone threatens their makeshift hospital. They wont fight unless it is needed. They heal. They heal. They ignore the screams of the players that were captured. Of those that the commander has deemed important enough to hold information. They don’t have to heal those players. They want to heal them.

They aren’t allowed to.

----

There are moments, where they are forced to fight. They hate it, they hate the fear and the blood that coats them. It’s always painful, always hateful. They don’t want to kill, they don’t want to die. They have to kill, or they will die.

The priest stands in the middle of the field, calling the void to the battle field. They’ve seen the injured after the void infects them. After a priest of acolyte sends the void to fight them. They know what they have to do, what they must do, to stop their allies from melting. From disintergrating into the void.

They run up to the priest, and stab him clean through the heart. The void falls to the ground around them, and the battle ends.

----

It’s night, when they leave. Darkness envelopes the camp, but they were raised in caves, and they were raised by wardens. They know how to disappear, silently, into the dark.

They hide their gills in a dark beanie, and they wear their black jacket, the rose on it kept clean even after all these years. They wear dark pants and fingerless gloves. Taking a deep breath, they escape through the portal and into the world hub.

A single player world will keep them safe.