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Chapter Text

Schlatt blinked open his eyes.

He was in some sort of hospital room, bright white searing his tired eyes.

The bed Schlatt lay on was soft yet coarse on his tired skin, and he noted bandages wrapped carefully around his fingers.

“Hm?” he groaned, the memory of bright viridian eyes flashing through his mind.

His heart sank.

Fuck.

Did Sam find me?

“Good, you’re awake,” came a thick Irish brogue, and a tall man with darker skin and close-cropped dark hair stepped into the room.

His eyes were the shimmering green of childhood summers, of chameleons, of springtime weddings.

“Who are you?” Schlatt asked, groaning as his fingers throbbed with pain.

The other man smiled faintly. “I’m Cillian. I found you on the street, Schlatt, do you remember that?”

Why does he know my name?

“A little bit,” Schlatt said, guarded as ever.

Cillian didn’t seem to mind his guarded behavior and sat down on the foot of his bed.

“Schlatt,” he said softly, which sent off warning bells in the ram hybrid’s mind, “do you know what happened to your back?”

Oh, fuck.

“No,” Schlatt replied, voice shaking. “What happened to it?”

“Just remember, you will be alright,” Cillian answered, avoiding the subject. “This isn’t a death sentence.”

Schlatt’s stomach twisted like a German pretzel. Oh, gods no. Please. Anything but that. I can’t be fucking paralyzed while my son is missing.

Cillian’s eyes were alight with sympathy, and a darker tinge of concern. “Whatever happened, your spine suffered severe damage…and it’s likely you’ll never walk again.”

Never walk again.

Never walk again.

The words echoed in his head, bouncing off of each other and ringing in his ears.

Useless, his father’s voice whispered. Broken. Unlovable.

“Breathe,” came Cillian’s voice, slightly distorted. “Schlatt. Five things you can see?”

Schlatt blinked, his chest burning for air.

What?

“Five things you can see?” Cillian asked again.

Schlatt gasped for air, panting heavily, his head spinning. “...you…the bed…the wall…the ceiling…the blankets.”

“That’s good,” Cillian’s voice was gentle. “Four things you can hear?”

Schlatt pushed the haunting echoes of his father’s voice down into the dark where he kept his biggest fears, his greatest pains, and focused on answering Cillian’s question.

“Hummingbirds…my breathing…quiet voices nearby, and faint meows.”

“Very good,” said Cillian. “Three things you can feel?”

This one was easier than the others.

“Not my legs,” he attempted to joke. “And my fingers.” Which felt like they’d been crushed.

“And, uh…”

His son is not there.

Call him clingy, call him codependent, but Tubbo’s absence was like a world without the sun- conspicuous in it’s darkness.

He needed Tubbo there, if only for a second, to make sure he was okay.

Not for himself.

“...my heartbeat.”

“Great,” Cillian smiled. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Fine,” Schlatt replied, desperate to brush this over.

It’s not like this was new to him.

And not like he really mattered anyways.

“Where are we?”

Cillian looked unsure of his response but answered his question anyways.

“The hideout of The Hidden- a group much like your friends the Syndicate were like. Fighting against Daedalus’ tyranny.”

Schlatt wouldn’t be more surprised if he woke up tomorrow glued to the ceiling.

“What?” he whispered.

“Not everyone is blind to your compassion, and to the tyranny of our so-called ‘heroes’,” Cillian replied. “But before we talk more about that, are you sure you are okay?”

“I’m good,” Schlatt promised, still in shock from both Cillian’s earlier life-shattering news and the shock of a potential ally, a safe place. “So, when was The Hidden founded?”

-

“Land ho!” yelled Wisdom, her eyes on the vast landmass due north of their current position in storm-tossed seas.

“What?” Wilbur yelled up from the deck. “Really?”

“YEE HAW,” Wisdom yelled back, mimicking Sapnap’s Texan accent to weirdly good success.

“WHAT?” WIlbur yelled, already soaked to the bone by the torrid rain.

“I SAID, YEE HAW,” Wisdom yelled back. “YOU SAID TO YEE!”

“Oh my god,” Wilbur muttered, nearly falling over by the boat rocking in the waves. “I DID NOT SAY THAT! YEE SOUNDS NOTHING LIKE REALLY?? ARE YOU GOING DEAF?”

“THOU ART A CLODPOLE!” Wisdom yelled back, flipping Wilbur off with one hand and hanging to the sail’s rigging with the other, an impressive feat in what felt like a freaking hurricane.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Tubbo yelled, stepping out onto the deck. “WHY ARE Y’ALL YELLING?”

“WHY ARE YOU MIMICKING SAPNAP?!” Wilbur cried.

“THIS IS MY NORMAL VOICE, Y’ALL!” Wisdom screeched.

“WHAT?!” Said the real Sapnap, looking confused. “WHAT THE HELL ARE ALL Y’ALL DOING?!”

“ALL Y’ALL!” Tubbo repeated, earning a whack to the head from Sapnap.

Wilbur stumbled on slippery wet decks and slid to the left, slamming into the railing, causing him to wheeze like a dying goose. I will be so happy to get off of these gods-forsaken seas.

Sapnap stumbled and landed on his butt, earning mocking laughter from Tubbo, who stood as still and immovable as a statue.

“SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE!” The Texan yelled, looking annoyed.

Wisdom was casually dangling from the rigging one-handed, unbothered by the piercing water and meters-high waves.

“WEAKLINGS!” She laughed. “OOOH, HERE COMES A BIG ONE!”

Tubbo laughed maniacally. “BRING IT ON!”

Sapnap and Wilbur both groaned, the latter holding on to the railing for dear life.

I can’t fucking wait to get off of this raft boat from hell.

After a hundred days at sea, dry land was greatly missed by all but Wisdom, who seemed  to be very much in love with the ocean.

Wilbur, on the other hand, missed being dry. And not being rocked around randomly.

The wave slammed into the ship ( the Amphitrite ) with all the force of a charging elephant.

Wilbur was again shoved stomach-first into the railing and he nearly threw up, his soaked body shaking.

Tubbo didn’t budge a centimeter and had a massive grin on his face.

Sapnap looked like he wanted to strangle Poseidon.

“WHOOOH!” Wisdom yelped.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” Wilbur yelled.

Wisdom only laughed.

-

Tommy collapsed on the dry, wet ground and didn’t budge. “Oh, sweet soil, how I missed you!”

Wilbur groaned and slid to the ground below a massive tree. “Same. Let’s not do that again, okay?”

“Nah, I’ll make you do one every year,” Wisdom deadpanned, unloading some of the supplies. “It’s good for morale, little baby man. And strength! I can’t believe the infamous Syndicate is so fucking weak.”

Wilbur flipped the other brunette off. “Shut the fuck up, Mrs. wannabe pirate.”

Wisdom gave him a terrifying smile that gave Tommy chills. “How do you know I’m not a pirate? What do you know about me before I joined the Heroes? That’s right, nothing. So suck my dick, asshole.”

Tommy blinked. “Oh gods.”

“You did nothing of the sort,” Puffy chided. “Stop trying to scare them.”

“I’m not scaring them,” Wisdom said, a weird look in her eyes. “They really know shit about my life. You too, handsome.”

Puffy’s cheeks turned pink. “Wi-“

Wisdom waved her off. “I can handle these gremlins, now shoo. A little birdie told me you have to go get all the hard stack you made.”

Puffy winced and quickly took her leave, leaving the three alone.

Tommy eyed Wisdom cautiously. After such a long period of time stuck with her on a ship, he’d grown to know that she was a gremlin. Much like himself, actually, but he’d never acknowledge that.

Wisdom smiled sadly, staring off into the distance.

Her hands rubbed over the tattoos on her arms absentmindedly.

“I grew up on the coast,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of any humor.

“I first went to sea at nineteen. I never got to enjoy it, though, because despite how much I loved it, I was surrounded by death.”

Tommy listened raptly.

Something told him he shouldn’t interrupt.

“I saw children born and children die. I saw scurvy, and dysentery, and illnesses not yet named.”

“And when everything came crashing down, I had to step up. I had to carry it all, like Atlas.”

“I never got the childhood the rest of you had. Blood, violence, and the ocean shaped my life since I was born…and I always go back to the water. I take solace in it.”

She looked at the ocean wistfully. “Sorry for ranting. But it felt like you wanted to know why I like it so much.”

Chapter Text

She stood on a hill covered in blood and bone.

A man with green hair that had streaks of gray stared at her, madness in his eyes.

His eyes were the exact shade of green as Sam’s.

“You may call me mad.  But what our people need now is not foreign savages that threaten our security, but a land with security. With promise. And no savage people who could end it all.”

“They are not savages,” she said, voice sharp. “They are foreign peoples, yes, but they are no more savage than we. Less so, I suspect, than thee.”

Sam’s look-alike sighed. “Then you have been tempted by sin, Wikalia. You are like Icaearus. He too caused too much trouble.”

In her grieving heart, a sharp ember of anger burned, sparked by that comment.

“So you made up his ‘illness of sin’.”

The green-haired (and pale green-skinned) man’s smile could’ve cut through bone. “You’re a smart lass. Yes, I did. Icaearus was troubled in mind and soul, mentally unwell. He was not fit to lead, nor was he one who did as I wanted. So I made up his ‘illness of sin.’.”

She felt ill.

Ike had been like an uncle to her; only in his twenty and second year, the man was a hero in her childhood.

And Daedalus…had killed him.

“And me?” she rasped. “Why did you take everything from me?”

“And you, you danced too close to the devil,” said Daedalus. “So you must go. Don’t worry, you will be remembered, if only by your documentation of the voyage, not as the traitor who loved the savages and their barbaric ways.”

And Wisdom woke up in a cold sweat.

Ever since the voyage across the Icaric had began, vivid dreams had haunted her like an clingy ghost.

What was terrifying was how vivid and real they felt, as if they were scenes from someone’s life.

Wisdom had lived in paranormal and supernatural servers, but this was beyond weird, even for a server like this one.

What the fuck is going on?

An example of this weirdness was earlier that night, when she’d talked about her past.

But no one of what she’d said had actually happened.

At least to her.

She’d grown up on a hardcore server that was destroyed when the admin died; she’d fled it at 15.

She was the only survivor of her server, everyone else had died right after the admin had.

Her next server was a creative one.

She’d spent the next nine years there, building and creating and just… living.

That was where she met Idalia.

Where they fell in love and got engaged before the admin, Wisdom’s best friend, fell ill and died.

And so for the second time, she fled a dying server.

So these memories couldn’t possibly be hers.

So whose were they, and why was she experiencing them?

Wisdom lay on the damp mossy ground, her thoughts spinning.

Why did that man look so much like Sam? Why was she dreaming of things that didn’t happen to her?

She didn’t know, and it gnawed at her.

-

 It was the day after they had arrived in the Ancient land, and everything was going smoothly for the most part.

Techno was incredibly glad to be on solid ground, and Chat agreed with him.

Let’s not do this again, said a voice.

I didn’t know I could get seasick as a disembodied voice, said another. Blegh.

Techno felt that their feelings were fair.

The ocean (and just the weather in general) had been wild during the crossing, almost if someone didn’t want them coming here.

Honestly, if there was something here that didn’t want them here, Techno wouldn’t be surprised.

Phil, who’d been born here, had told him stories of the eraki- spirits of those who died in battle, who watched over the land.

Supposedly, they didn’t appreciate strangers on their land.

“Okay, so we’re about half a dozen miles from the city of Chesupioc,” Wisdom said, sitting on a tree log. “It will have been long abandoned, but we’re less likely to disturb some sort of beast there than here, and maybe there will be wild tsukias  growing.”

“Tsukias?” Tommy asked. “What are those?”

And how does she know so much about this place? Techno wondered to himself. This place is as old as the world itself, and no known maps of it exist back in the Nesoi Archipelago. So how is she so familiar with this place?

“They’re sweet apples,” Wisdom explained, “they are extremely delicious, and also they contain a lot of vital vitamins that I’m sure we could all use after one hundred days at sea.”

“Sounds delicious,” Wilbur said, limping over.

There was no sign of the killer bruise Techno knew was on his brother’s stomach, and no sign but a faint scar of the bite that had nearly killed him.

“That sounds like a plan,” Wilbur said, his voice hoarse. “We’ll head towards that place, but-”

He got cut off by a bout of coughing and nearly collapsed, barely caught in time by Tommy, who set him down.

Puffy, Niki, and Quackity joined them, Dream and his boyfriends (and Karl) not too far behind.

Tubbo and Ranboo were busy running along the shore-line skipping stones.

Niki waved a wooden spoon at Wilbur threateningly. “Oh, you better not be planning what I think you’re planning.”

Techno sighed. “Wilbur, you are not going.”

“I’m fine!” Wilbur protested, standing up on shaky legs and falling over yet again, thankfully landing on his ass.

“I’ll stay,” Quackity offered. “Someone needs to make sure this pinche pendejo stays out of trouble.”

Wilbur gave him a half-loving, half-annoyed look. (Techno had seen that look often growing up.) “Quackity, I don’t need to be babysitted.”

But as soon as he finished talking, he started coughing again, and only stopped when Wisdom whacked him hard on the back.

“Ow!” the brunette protested. “Wi, why?!”

Wisdom shrugged. “Creo tú eres un pinche pendejo.”

Quackity wheezed. “Si, si! El es!”

“No quiero estar aquí,” Wilbur muttered, grunting and leaning back. “Fine, I’ll stay. But you better not freaking do something stupid without me.”

“We won’t,” Techno reassured him. “You’re kind of an expert on stupid things.”

Wilbur spluttered. “Oh, fuck you!”

“Sweet home Alabama!” Tommy yelled unexpectedly, making everyone jump but Wisdom.

Gremlin Duo, Chat chanted.

Shut up, please, Techno told them, and thankfully (this time) they did.

“Alright,” the piglin hybrid said, “let’s go.”

-

Wisdom led them through wandering paths in the undergrowth, and Tommy knew they would be completely and utterly lost without her.

Tall and thick  red trees with leaves the colour and feel of gold shifted to thin, skinny pale white trees with silver-coloured pine-like needles.

It was absolutely stunning, especially as the sun went down, alighting everything in fiery rays.

Sapnap tripped over yet another bramble bush and landed face-down in the dirt. “How much further?” the Texan grumbled, sounding like a toddler on a road trip.

“11 miles!” Wisdom replied cheerfully, earning  a groan from the ravenet as he stood up and continued walking.

“How do you know your way around here?” Techno asked shrewdly.

Wisdom shrugged. “Saw a map somewhere, I suppose,” she said noncommittally.

“And memorised it?” Techno muttered snarkily.

Tommy wondered what was up with him.

If it weren’t for Wisdom’s knowledge of the area, they’d be sleeping back by the ocean, and gods knew what was crawling in that.

George sighed. “Oh, gods. Can you all behave for five gods-damned minutes?”

“No,” Sapnap hummed happily.

“This is going to be a long, long walk,” George muttered, sounding tired.

-

Wisdom ran the last mile into Chesupioc.

The others were so tired they were arguing about the stupidest things, so the faster she wrapped this up, the sooner they could all go to bed and her ears could be left in peace.

She burst out of thin bushes into what was the remains of the agora, the centre of the city.

The entire city was made from sandstone, glass, and volcanic rock brought down from Hiyukia, the volcano who gave Chesupioc life.

Why do I know this?

Have I been here before?

Why is this place so familiar…almost like home?

She pushed away the thoughts and scanned the scenery, enjoying a brief few minutes of silence while she could.

She gasped when she saw a tsukia tree, red-brown wood arched like a willow tree.

Golden tsukias, ripe and ready to eat, glimmered in the branches.

She wandered over and ran her hand over the bark gently, but a sharp jolt of warmth shot through her and all went black.

“And you, you have danced a little too close to the devil-”

“Poseidon, the earthshaker, he is angry! We have displeased him, and now we are paying the price-”

“Welcome home, child of Dawn.”

“Welcome back.”

“You’ve come home, my darling. You’re so big now.”

“You look like your mother.”

“I fear not the past but the uncertain future.”

“They are not savages!”

“Come come on, wander home, the skies are lit and the moon is gone- “

“Είθε οι θεοί να μας χαμογελάσουν.”

“Wikalia-”

“You’ve returned!”
“Who was Wikalia? She was one of the Ancients, forged by the blood and hunger and death of the Homefinding and the Starving Time, only nineteen when it happened and only  in her twenties when she founded L’Manberg. Unlike other historical figures, no one  knows what happened to her.”

Sharp pain shot up Wisdom’s head, and the voices stopped as she fell further into darkness.

-

“Wisdommm,” Techno called. “Wi? Wisdom?”

He heard screams and he stiffened before running towards the voices.

The others were on his tail as he burst out into what appeared to be the ruins of an agora, a centre of the city.

Wisdom was hovering (!!) in the centre of the ruined agora, red glowing mist wrapped around her in tendrils.

Her eyes were wide open, glowing scarlet.

“What the fuck!” Tommy gasped, out of breath, when he and the others caught up to them. “What’s going on?”

Techno had no idea, but whatever it was, it was terrifying.

Wisdom’s lips curled into a smile. “Welcome, strangers of blood. We, the kyai, welcome thee to our home, and we accept your offering.”

“Offering?!”  Tommy yelped.

“You can’t take Wisdom,” Techno hissed.

She may have been behaving oddly lately, but he was not letting some random spirit take her.

The spirit laughed. “Oh, no no no. You misunderstand. Why would we take the last survivor of this place as the sacrifice we need? No, I’m afraid we were talking about the weakling. Your brother, the one bitten by one of our Alkaian kin. I believe his name is Wilbur.”

Chapter Text

Techno felt like he’d been hit by a truck. “No- don’t fucking touch him!”

The spirit possessing Wisdom tipped its head. “Why? You are the one who offered him as a sacrifice.”

“We didn’t,” Techno pointed out. “You just assumed so.”

The spirit sighed. “Too late now. He is gone.”

Techno startled.

No, no, no, no- he can’t be

What the fuck

NO

“Where is he?” Techno spat. “Where is my brother?!”

The spirit possessing Wisdom laughed. “How sweet. Do not fear, his death will be quick.”

Techno gritted his teeth. “Fuck you. Where is he?”

The spirit just laughed again.

𒐮

Wilbur gasped in pain, his neck constricting.

Then he fell backwards, through the ground, phantom hands wrapping around him, touching him.

His head ached, and the scar of the bite mark throbbed in phantom pain.

What the hell is going on?

Voices spinned around him.

“Fresh blood.”

“Blood to awaken the land, to restore the naeyads.”

“His blood shall bring the dryads and naeyads back home, and perhaps the humans as well.”

“The blood of the gods will bring vitality to all of us once more!”

Wilbur’s head spun.

It sounded like he was going to be sacrificed…

Suddenly, he could breathe again, and his eyes flew open.

He seemed to be laying on a flat, obsidian table, his hands and feet bound by thick rope.

His mouth was gagged by some unidentifiable thing that tasted vaguely like centuries-old mould.

“Mmmph!” He yelled, voice muffled. “Hlmp!”

Three, no five, old ladies stepped out of the wall and smiled eerily at him.

“Welcome, son of death,” said the one in the middle, the shortest, who had dulled green eyes like pond algae. She wore mouldy, tattered, dull green robes that seemed to be speckled with blood. “I hope you don’t mind being here.”

Cold terror seeped into his bones.

Why was he here?

What did they want from him?

The fifth, who had dull magenta eyes and robes, walked over to him and drew a knife from her ragged sleeves.

Wilbur screamed, but it sounded more like a whimper, and tried to get away from her.

She pinned him to the ground with one hand and put her knife close to his face.

His heart was pounding so hard, he swore they could all hear it.

“Are you sure he is Kristin’s?” the magenta one hissed.

What. how do they know my mother?

“Do the test,” the green one ordered. “Then we shall know.”

The one in magenta complied, slicing a deep scratch down Wilbur’s cheek.

Wilbur let out a whimper, tears welling in his eyes.

The woman stepped away, the blood dripping down the blade and hitting the ground.

All the women murmured appreciatively when the blood turned gold as soon as it hit the ground.

“It will work,” said the only blonde, who was clothed in brown.

“Just as I suspected,” said the green-eyed. “Soon after she abandoned us, she bore a child. And now that child will repay her debt.”

Wilbur shuddered.

“Plsns,” he mumbled.

The quintent ignored him.

Or actually, they were probably a coven, he thought, pissed at his luck.

It would be just his luck to run into a group of psychotic grandmas who wanted to sacrifice him.

The five formed a pentagram around him and began chanting (except for one, who looked horrified) and Wilbur immediately felt like he was being dipped in the Styx.

His nerves burned, as if dipped in flames so hot they felt cold, and his soul struggled to not being swept away by the current of the magical attack on him.

He screamed out, every pore in his body burning in agony.

“𝕄𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕖 𝕥𝕠 ℍ𝕖𝕓𝕖 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕕,” the chant began.

Wilbur gasped for air, feeling as if every atom in his body was being dissolved.

Fuck.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his body thrashed uncontrollably on the obsidian, bordering on darkness but not quite there yet.

Why do people say death is merciful, he wondered.

Phil had said so. His mum had said so.

But it wasn’t. It was brutal, and harsh, and so very patient- it played with its victims like prey.

And Wilbur hated every second of his dying moments.

He fucking hated it, even as he slipped into darkness.

𒐮

A thousand years ago

“Kristin, please,” a young woman with vivid green eyes begged. She was dressed in torn velvet green robes, and her hair was a dirty blonde not all that dissimilar to Dream’s. “Oitha has foreseen that the firstborn child you beat can save the land from destruction. You swore an oath to protect this land!”

Kristin- mum- sobbed. “I can’t, Viridis. I- you know I’ve tried! I fucking can’t, and I probably never won’t! So whatever Oitha saw was a just a regular dream!”

Viridis’ eyes narrowed. “You doubt us so little. Perhaps this is just an excuse to leave us to die.”

Kristin drew to her full height, a full head over Viridis. “What the fuck did you just say? You can’t possibly think I fucking faked all that pain, all that misery? You think I am a no-good parasoti? Well fuck you too. If you really cared, you would’ve been there every time my baby died. But you weren’t, and now you have the audacity to judge when you’ve never had a child- or even liked them- yourself. I just wanted a family! And now you’re pressuring me when you know I can’t!”

“Well then, you fucking coward, go run back to your pathetic excuse for a husband!” Viridis yelled. “Leave your kin to die!”

“I tried everything!” Kristin half-yelled, half-yelled. “Why can’t you be empathetic for once, sister? And ‘sides, I don’t want to leave you, even though you treat me like shit! But I can see clearly now that you don’t love me. You never did.”

Viridis scoffed. “So where will you go? Another server?”

Kristin turned away. “I don’t know. But far away from you. I loved you, and I wish you the best, but I can’t be around you any longer. All you do to me is cause pain. Farewell, Viridis.”

𒐮

Two hundred years ago

Kristin spun around, grinning, her dark brown hair whipping around. “Phil! You didn’t!”

Phil rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “If you don’t like it-“

Kristin tackled her husband in a hug. “Fílippos. It’s amazing. Your carving is so beautiful.”

(It was a little ornament with two parent crows sitting on a nest that had an egg in it.)

Phil smiled at his wife warmly and kissed her neck, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other gently rubbing her swelling belly. “It’s a special occasion,” he whispered , leaning down to kiss her. “This baby is going to be okay, I just know it.”

Kristin smiled sadly. “I hope so. I can tell he’s a strong one.”

Phil arched an eyebrow. “ He?”

“Mother’s intuition,” Kristin replied, her eyes twinkling warmly. “He’s going to be a strong warrior. Tall and handsome.”

“Taking after you, then,” Phil grinned, poking fun at his short statue.

(Kristin was way taller than him.) “you’re the strongest person I know.”

Kristin practically melted and pulled Phil in for a gentle kiss. “You’re the sweetest,” she whispered, resting her head on the top of his. “I love you.”

𒐮

Seventeen  years ago

Eleven-year-old Wilbur ran alongside the then several-centuries old Techno, who seemed much younger than him (Wilbur didn’t know that his brother was older than him because they couldn’t tell him about their status as immortals. They couldn’t tell him because if they did, then other people would know too- Wilbur was a bit of a blabbermouth sometimes.)

Wilbur laughed. “You can’t catch me, Techno!”

“I’m going to catch you, you nerd,” Techno grumbled, loping after his younger brother.

Kristin sat on the front steps, watching her boys, two month old Tommy sitting in her lap and watching the older boys.

“There’s your older brothers, Theseus,” she whispered. “You’re lucky to have them. My sisters didn’t love me. They weren’t there for me.”

The baby looked up at her, blinking big blue-gray eyes the mirror of Phil’s own.

He nodded seriously and wrapped his tiny little arms around her arm in what looked like a hug.

Kristin cooed and kissed her baby’s head. “You’re so sweet,” she murmured. “So much like your father.”

“You’re going to be like them, one day,” she continued. “Tall, strong, smart. But most importantly, you’ll be you, and I can’t wait to meet the person you’ll become.”

Chapter Text

Viridis glanced down at her nephew, Kristin’s son, who was unconscious on the obsidian table.

Half his hair was now snow-white, some of his vitality taken for his aunts.

It hurt to look at him.

He looked so much like Kristin.

If you hadn’t left, sister, I needn’t have done this.

Her sister’s son groaned, and Viridis noticed Oitha looking at him with something lurking in her brown eyes.

She looked young again, young and healthy, but she looked sad.

“It worked!” Rubrum cheered. “We have our youth back!”

“At the expense of our kin,” Oitha snapped. “ Fatui! You could’ve killed him!”

“But we didn’t,” said Nytha, her dark purple eyes flashing. “He’s perfectly fine.”

“ Perfectly fine?!” Oitha screeched. “He is not fine, you absolute morons! You literally just sucked life out of him to save yourselves!”

“Says one who benefited,” Rubrum yelled.

Oitha’s eyes started glowing, her pupils vanishing temporarily.

Viridis winced. So her sister was going there.

Zeus help us.

“Kristin is dead,” Oitha said, voice much deeper than one voice normally can get. “You drove her away with your selfishness, and now your greed has hurt her son. Our land is broken, and shattered, and it was not her duty to stay when you were all being assholes towards her and her husband! We could’ve lived without you doing this sin, breaking a sacred rule because of your vanity.”

Viridis’ heart nearly stopped. “ She’s dead?”

Oitha looked at her scornfully. “So now you care, when it is too little too late to make up for how you treated her. And yes, she is dead. She’s been dead for five years, Vir, and you only care now because someone dares to call you out on what you did and continue to do.”

Nytha’s eyes flashed again. “We did nothing wrong! It was her fault, crying over that-”

There was a boom, and Nytha went flying into a wall.

Oitha stomped towards her, her snow-white hair flaring behind her like the tentacles of an albino kraken. “ Crying over that? Crying over that? She freaking lost children, dipshit! Gods, I always knew you had the emotional range of a daemon, but I didn’t know you were this bad! Grow a fucking head! Have you ever had children? Ever lost them? No, you haven’t! So you can’t sit here and criticise our dead sister that you pushed away by being a jerk, and you can’t freaking judge her when you’ve never gone through that pain yourself! And now, you break the sacred oath of family again by kidnapping our nephew and fucking torturing him because you guys chose not to leave here and are facing the consequences!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Viridis roared, using a wave of water to slam Oitha down to the ground. “HOW DARE YOU JUDGE US, YOU LITTLE FAGGOT-“

Oitha stared at her, her eyes fading back to normal.

And she looked heartbroken.

“I see how it is,” she whispered, in her normal voice. “I should’ve left with Kristin. But I stayed because I loved you, despite your flaws. But this…I’m done. I’m fucking done with you. I’m going to leave, and I hope I never see your face again.”

“Yeah,” Nytha sneered, “go run back to your wife and husband like the pathetic little coward you are.”

Oitha untied their nephew and scooped the lanky brunet into her arms.

She scowled at all of them, tears brimming in her brown eyes.

“I thought we were a family,” she whispered. “I thought that no matter what, you guys would love me. But I guess not. I guess family is less important than beauty and power.”

And with that, she turned her back on them and walked away.

Viridis stared after her, her head swirling with uncertain thoughts.

Had she really been that bad of a person?

Was she why Kristin and now Oitha left?

No, she thought. I’m not. It’s all on them. They left us. They yelled at us.

But the words seemed hollow.

𒐮

“Darling, what’s wrong?” whispered Oitha’s wife, Scylla, an albino Ender dragon hybrid. Her red eyes blinked at Oitha anxiously, occasionally dropping down to the comatose avian in her spouse’s arms. They met Oitha’s eyes. “Darling, what happened?”

Oitha crumbled like a sandstone building after centuries of use, tears running down her face.

Scylla ran over and wrapped her scaly arms around her wife.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” they  whispered, taking little notice of poor Wilbur, who was sandwiched between them (still unconscious).

Oitha sobbed into the cool embrace.

“I-t-they…s-she…s-she called me a s-slur…and t-they nearly killed m-my nephew.”

“ Oh,” Scylla whispered, looking down at the unconscious brunette. “He’s so young, what the hell? I’d guess he's in his late twenties.”

Oitha’s stomach dropped.

That made it even worse.

He was barely a child.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Kristin, I’m sorry. I failed you.”

She’d been a coward; too shocked to save either Kristin or her son from the cruelty of her sisters.

And now the consequences were staring her in the face.

Scylla brushed the tears from her face.

“Hey,” they whispered. “Look at me. This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it; though?” Oitha whispered. “I just stood there and let them hurt him; like I did with Kristin. I’m just a fucking coward.”

“No,” her spouse said fiercely. “You’re not a coward , love. The hardest thing someone can do is stand up to your family. And you were all alone, and they were all you had… don’t blame yourself when there was little you could’ve done to stop it, if anything. “

Oitha nodded, but cruel thoughts swirled around her head.

“I’ve got you,” Scylla whispered. “I’ve got you.”

𒐮

He felt warm.

He felt disembodied, but a warm feeling surrounded him.

It felt like he was drifting  on a bed of helium.

He could distantly hear what sounded like voices, but couldn’t make out who was speaking.

Where was he?

As a matter of fact, who was he?

And why did it feel like he had to run?

His body (if he had one, because it sure didn’t feel like he had one) screamed at him to wake up and get the hell out of here, to find someone named Quackity?

He blinked and he tumbled, he fell and he fell , spiraling through darkness and slamming back into something.

He gasped and sat straight up, blinking and breathing heavily.

What the fuck had just happened?

He lay on a bed in a room covered in soothing shades of blue, the walls decorated with shells and dead corals.

A young woman came into the room.

She seemed eerily familiar, dark brown hair and huge black wings, bright brown eyes peering at him with concern.

“Hello,” she said, and her voice hit him like a freight train.

She sounded just like Wilbur’s mother.

“Who are you?” Wilbur rasped, his memories returning slowly, his head aching like hell.

She paused, sadness swamping her eyes.

“I’m your aunt,” she said huskily.

Chapter Text

“Wilbur? Wilbur!” Tommy cried, desperation sizzling in his veins. “Where are you?”

Cold fear shimmered in Tommy’s heart.

He couldn’t lose Wilbur too.

He’d already lost Phil, Jack, and Charlie Slimecicle. (Darkhawk too, but he’d been more close to Jack and the former heroes.)

So much grief.

So much pain.

His heart twisted in his chest.

Phil’s pale blue eyes widened and he sank to his knees, crumbling like a leaf beneath Sam’s sword.

Jack screamed, covered in blood as the crocodile sank it’s fangs deeper into him-

He shook the thoughts away.

Wilbur was fine.

Schlatt (long thought dead) was fine too.

Everyone was fine.

Nothing to worry about.

Head up, carry on.

He couldn’t bear to think of losing anyone else.

“We’ve got to find him,” Techno grumbled. “Come on, move it. It looks like he was dragged this way.”

Tommy looked behind himself.

Everyone looked fucking miserable.

Wisdom, who was now thankfully devoid of the spirit that had possessed her (?), stared into the woods, her pale pink eyes glazed.

She’d been acting odd since that whole ordeal, which Tommy supposed was to be expected, but it was concerning still.

Quackity looked half-dead on his feet, half of his left arm bandaged from when, earlier that day, during the search, his arm had almost gotten mauled off by a hungry-looking reptilian giant cat-thing.

Bruises littered the Avian’s body, and Tommy figured he was sore as fuck.

George was quite literally sleep-walking- he had been for a couple of hours now and it still weirded Tommy out.

Sapnap and Karl were at the back of the group with Niki and Puffy, the quartet eerily silent and looking as if they’d walked through a hurricane (small side effect of nearly drowning in a twenty-meter deep river during a flash flood).

“Come on, come on,” Techno hurried. “Pick up the pace, people!”

George  tripped over a tree root and Dream barely caught him.

The green-clad man sighed.

“Techno,” he said, “we need a break. Look at them, they look like drowned rats!” (He gestured to the quartet in the back.)

“Thanks,” Sapnap mumbled.

“No,” Techno said curtly. “If you want to give up, be my guest, but I’m not stopping.”

“I didn’t say to give up,” Dream said patiently. “We need a break, Tech. I think Quackity is going to pass out.”

“No,” Quackity argued, “I’m fine.”

And then his eyes roll into his head and he crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

“Fuck!” Tommy yelped, almost dropping the Mexican. “Uh, Techno, as much as I want to find Wilbur, I think we really do need a break. If we continue someone’s going to get heatstroke-“ they were out of the woods in the direct sun and hadn’t drunken anything in a while- “or just pass out from exhaustion like big Q.”

Techno sighed. “Okay, but only for a little bit.”

Tommy carefully lowered Q to the ground and propped him up against the tree.

“Thanks, Tech,” Tommy forced a smile.

I fear he’s getting too obsessed with finding Wilbur. We’ve all been pushed to our limits.

But wouldn’t you want to save your brother, a separate part of his mind whispered. To stop from losing anyone else?

Tommy grit his teeth.

They would find Wilbur, and save his dumb ass.

He was not losing anyone else.

𒐮

Schlatt felt like hell.

Despite what The Hidden had done for him, his upper body ached horribly most of the time.

As for his lower half, well, he couldn’t decide if not feeling it was better or worse.

It had been little over a couple weeks since he’d been brought here, and he was gradually adjusting.

Every morning, he rolled his wheelchair over to the atrium and sat below the massive redwood trees, listening to the bees buzzing and the fatecryers sing.

Tubbo would like this place, he thought almost every time.

Fuck. Tubbo.

It fucking hurt to think of his son.

To think of any one he’d used to know.

He’d failed them all.

It was his fault Phil and Charlie were dead.

Perhaps it was better that he was apart from them now, so that he wouldn’t get anyone else killed.

No one pressed about the other members of the Syndicate; and he was grateful for that, because he wasn’t sure if he could’ve talk about them without having a mental breakdown.

He knew they were all curious- after all, they too were a rebellion against Sam’s tyranny, and they seemed to admire the Syndicate’s spirit.

He couldn’t blame them for that.

He would be too.

But right now…

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t be Khrysomallos, of the Syndicate, infamous rebel fighter and villain.

He could only be Schlatt- the broken failure of a father, a shallow husk trying to live again in a world that hated him.

And he couldn’t have anyone else get close to him- he’d seen what had happened when people got close to him.

They died.

They suffered.

So the ram sat alone, eating alone, slept alone.

He exercised alone, read alone, tried to live without close friends.

He knew it was probably futile.

Humans are pack animals, we need others around us.

But for now, in this moment, he could keep them away, save them from the fates that awaited anyone who dared to know him.

It wasn’t healthy. He knew that.

But it was his lifeline. He couldn’t let go of it. He was hooked like a fish on a line.

And he didn’t want to let go.

Addicted to the pain, one might say.

Drowning in his grief, in his pain.

Continents away from the first people to call themselves his ‘family’ that actually loved him.

Talk less, smile more.

Solid advice from a dead man, and Schlatt took it to heart.

No matter the pain he was in.

𒐮

I don’t wanna lose you

You’re all I have

My father

My son

My brother

My lover

My friend

Don’t run away

We’ve got your back

No matter the challenge, we can face it together

Whatever happens, you won’t die alone

We don’t wanna lose you

Your laugh is like the tinkle of jingle bells

Your smile is brighter than the stars

You’re as smart as any of us, and so incredibly strong

So fight on

So you can come home

So we can be a family  again

We may have lost it all

Traveled across bitter seas

Faced our demons, inside and out

But at least I had you

Thank you for being my everything

The moon to my sun

I’ll always remember you

And Viridian summers of our youth, running through tall grass

I didn’t want to lose you

No one ever wants to say goodbye

But here, we had to

You may be gone but this is not forever

I’ll see you in the stars

We didn’t want to lose you

But the heavens called and you answered

So fly along, little crow

Fly amongst the stars

We’ll watch you from the Earth

Until the day comes in which we can be together once more

We didn’t want to lose you

But we did

And it feels like we’re being boiled alive

A pain that will never end

So long as we remember you

And all the pain will be worth it, for getting to meet you

Chapter Text

I’m your aunt.

I’m your aunt.

The words echoed in Wilbur’s sore head like drums, striking what he’d known about his mother’s family and destroying it.

His mum hadn’t said much about her family, only that she didn’t have much of a childhood.

But Phil had said she’d been an only child.

Who’s lying?

Is it the dead; or the living?

“Oh,” he mumbled, his head swirling.

She did eerily resemble his mum; it was almost creepy.

One of the few differences was their eyes.

His mum had had crimson eyes like Wilbur and Techno; this woman had brown eyes.

Brown eyes he’d seen somewhere before…

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

This woman was at the ceremony-thing.

He tensed.

“What do you want from me?” He hissed, flinging the sheets off of himself and sitting upright.

“Who are you? He grumbled, his (sore) muscles bracing for a fight.

The woman looked sad.

“I’m your aunt.

Wilbur snorted. “Yeah, and life is happiness and rainbows. Who are you, really?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Sam and Kri didn’t tell you about us?”

Us?

“No,” he muttered. “Should they have, if you were so important?”

Okay, that was a low blow.

But honestly, he didn’t really care.

This person had kidnapped him (twice!!), let him get tortured, and now claimed to be related to him.

Yeah, right.

(But with how fucked his family was, it was a very slim possibility.)

“You don’t believe me, do you?” She said shrewdly.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock,” Wilbur quipped. “Why would I? You’ve fucking kidnapped-“ “-rescued-“ “-me.”

The duo stared at each other.

“Fair,” the woman who looked so much like his mother replied. “But I really am.”

I can’t trust her.

She’s lying. Mom had no siblings.

(Or did Phil lie?)

Wilbur shook his head and stood up, nearly falling over but catching himself on the headboard.

“Sorry to break up this family reunion,” he said, “but I really have to go.”

“Alright,” she whispered. “Take the left path, or you’ll end up deader than dead.”

He gave her a curt nod and stumbled out of the room, his heart pounding and head aching (literally and figuratively).

He soon found himself outside, and he took the woman’s advice and took the left path.

Russian roulette, with his life in the balance.

But hey, at least the view was stunning.

And he’d never gambled with low stakes.

𒐮

Wisdom’s head felt like someone had hit it with their car.

Memories of another life- a life lived only briefly- flooded her senses.

She remembered a much-younger Sam  crying out in pain as a kraken pulled him under.

She could hear the screams of the ill and they dying during the Starving Time.

She heard her name- her birth name…Wikalia.

She felt the blood of her sister, dying in childbirth, staining her hands red.

She felt the hope that she’d felt when they first spotted the Nesoi archipelago.

How was she, the last of the mortal people who’d lived here, alive?

It had been millennia.

How am I still alive, when everyone who loves me has died? I guess I’m willing to wait for it. Wait for it.

𒐮

The society back before the Homefinding, the society of the Ancient Ones (also known as the araikai, children of flames), was a unique one in the ancient world.

A fully matriarchal society where women (and other feminine-identifying people) ran the government, and more masculine people doing the hunting, farming, and the occasional fighting.

Care for children fell to both- or all- of the parental figures involved.

Family heritage and history was traced through the matriarchal line alone, and related men were not included on the family tree (inbreeding was prevented by heavily documented births and deaths).

Even more uniquely in this time period, LGBTQ people were rarely shunned, and the punishment for dead-naming/calling someone a slur was to lose a hand.

(This society wasn’t perfect. They treated their prisoners horribly.)

As such, their major gods reflected this diverse and unusual culture.

They had two parethenons of deities- the Hellenia, and the Nesoiya.

The Hellenia is very much more well-known and still worshipped in the Nesoi Archipelago, the old Nesoiya almost forgotten.

But their bloodline…they themselves…still live on.

𒐮

Wilbur was a fucking idiot.

That was a known fact.

Especially now.

Alone in the woods that were filled with danger.

The lanky brunet stumbled through thick undergrowth, his head swirling dizzily and his vision blurry.

He had to find his family.

He couldn’t lose them again.

Love doesn’t discriminate

Between the sinners (Sam) and the saints (Dream)

it takes and it takes and it takes

(Phil, Jack, Darkhawk, Charlie, Schlatt)

And we keep loving anyway

(Wilbur leaned into Quackity’s warm embrace)

We laugh and we cry and we break

And we make our mistakes (ever trusting Sam)

And if there’s a reason I’m by her side when so many have tried

(He’d seen the ways other men eyed Q.)

Then I’m willing to wait for it (he’d waited years for Quackity, and he would wait eternity if it meant being with him again)

I’m willing to wait for it

My grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher (preacher, preacher, preacher)

But there are things that the homilies and hymns won’t teach you (how to grief. How to survive when the world hates you.)

(Teach ya, teach ya, teach ya)

My mother was a genius (genius)

(Kristin had been so incredibly smart. She could do calculus with ease- and she was also wise in street smarts.)

My father commanded respect (respect, respect)

(No one ever made Phil mad once they’d seen him mad before. He was terrifying when mad.

And men followed him into battle, knowing that he was a general they could trust.)

When they died they left no instructions

Just a legacy to protect

(Minecraft-Soot’s- some of the smartest people in the city. Some of the wealthiest. And the Syndicate. The most wanted villains on the server. The legacies of these two entertwined.),

Death doesn’t discriminate

Between the sinners and the saints

(Phil, Sam…)

It takes and it takes and it takes

And we keep living anyway (not by choice)

And if there’s a reason I’m still alive

(somehow)

When everyone who loves me has died

I am willing to wait for it (Wait for it)

I’m willing to wait for it

I am the one thing in life I can control

(wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, wait for it)

I am imitable

(No one should try to be like me, I am too broken)

I am an original

(Firstborn of my family, the one who the world never sees)

I’m not falling behind or running late

(Only to death)

(Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, wait for it)

I’m not standing still

I am lying in wait (wait, wait, wait)

(Waiting for this pain to end)

Hamilton (Sam)  faces an endless uphill climb

(Climb, climb, climb)

He has something to prove

He has nothing to lose

(Wilbur had everything to lose, little to gain, all to risk.)

(lose, lose, lose, lose)

Hamilton’s pace is relentless

He wastes no time

(Trying to ruin every moment of Wilbur’s life, and the lives of everyone around him)

What is it like in his shoes?

(On top of the world, nothing to lose and everything to gain, loved by the world?)

Hamilton doesn’t hesitate

He exhibits no restraint

He takes and he takes and he takes

(He took Wilbur’s parents, and Jack, who was like a brother to him)

And he keeps winning anyway

(Wouldn’t it be nice to have even a quarter of the resources and support Sam had?)

He changes the game

He plays and he raises the stakes

And if there’s a reason

He seems to thrive when so few survive, then goddamnit

(Phil, Charlie, Jack, Darkhawk, hundreds of civilians…)

I’m willing to wait for it (wait for it)

I’m willing to wait for it

Life doesn’t discriminate

Between the sinners and the saints

(Sam and Oizys, Karl and Dream)

It takes and it takes and it takes

(Their home, their lives, their family )

And we keep living anyway

(Somehow)

We rise

(like Apollo’s chariot)

And we fall

(Like Icarus)

We fall (and we break)

And we make our mistakes

And if there’s a reason I’m still alive

When so many have died

(And so many might die yet still)

Then I’m willin’ to-

(Die, to save my family)

Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it

𒐮

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know where he is?” Scylla yelped. “Oitha, darling, that was probably one of the worst ideas I’ve ever freaking heard. The poor guy could barely walk!”

Oitha winced.

In this twilight, our choices seal our fate.

Chapter Text

Number One:

Don’t eat anything if you don’t know what it is. (Especially if an expert tells you it could kill you.)

“Is this an apple?” Tommy asked, picking up something that did resemble an apple but it was a horrendous shade of lime green.

Wisdom looked askance. “That thing has enough arsenic in it to kill fifty men, so no. Put it down, Thomas.”

Tommy eyed it. “How the frick does this thing have enough arsenic in it to kill fifty men?”

“Tommy,” Tubbo said warningly, “I know we’re all hungry, but you cannot freaking eat that thing. It’s called a death-fruit, and if you ate it, you’d be dead inside of two minutes.”

“What the heck,” said Sapnap, staring at the death-fruit. “Why is everything here such a deathtrap?”

“The natural disasters that drove the mortals that lived here across the sea,” said Wisdom. “It corrupted everything else left here- except for a few things. You’ll see more when the full moon gets here.”

Everyone glanced at the brunette.

“Excuse me, what?” George asked, looking more than a little spooked.

She shrugged. “I said what I said. The venus flytraps come alive when the full moon shines, so we better be out of the forest in…what, three days?”

“They do what!”

Wisdom grinned cheerfully. “Oh, and that’s not even the worst part! They are human-eaters!”

Puffy gagged. “ What the frick.”

“You can eat one of these,” Wisdom smiled, picking up what looked like a red and teal mango. “This is a dragon-heart fruit. They were used to make whiskey back in the day. Kinda spicy, but they taste like cinnamon and oranges. Oh, and don’t eat these-” she picked something up that looked exactly like the dragon-heart fruit- “they’re called the medusa fruits, and they liquify your organs!”

They all stared at her blankly.

“Okay,” she grinned cheerfully, “Off we go!”

Number Two:

Beware of native animals. Do not provoke them. (Tommy, you are an idiot.)

“WHAT DID YOU DO!” Wisdom yelled, running. “THEY ARE NORMALLY PEACEFUL!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Tommy yelled back, right by her side.

Behind them were thirty-five foot long iridescent vipers with foot-long fangs and vivid amber eyes.

“I HATE SNAKES!” Tommy yelped. “AND THIS IS WHY!”

“THESE SNAKES ARE PEACEFUL!” Wisdom screeched. “UNLESS YOU PROVOKE THEM, LIKE YOU DID, YOU MORON!”

Everyone else had managed to climb up a mountain several metres above them.

“COME ON!” George yelled, leaning over the side and holding his hand out.

The duo jumped and managed to be pulled onto the mountain, just in time.

Tommy collapsed, panting for breath. “What were those?”

“Sacurai vipers,” Wisdom panted. “They can kill a full-grown man with their venom in around three or four minutes. And you, sir, are a dumbass.”

Number Three:

Find a supply of clean drinking water. Heatstroke and dehydration are real.

“I’m so thirsty,” George groaned, collapsing.

“Clam down, Gog-logs,” said Wisdom. “I can hear a river nearby.”

“And then we need to keep going,” said Techno, frowning. “Wilbur needs us.”

No one replied, too tired and thirsty to reply.

Number four:

stay with anyone you came with

“Where the hell is George?” Said Dream worriedly. “He was just here a moment ago.”

Everyone paused, even Techno. Tense silence ensued.

George suddenly reappeared, wheezing.

“Sorry,” he gasped out. “Had to piss.”

Wisdom laughed.

Number five:

avoid creepy psychopathic grandmothers who want to steal your youth. It feels like shit. -500000/10 stars.

Number six:

Please keep track of your Wilburs. They are expensive and not meant for release into the wild.

Wilbur groaned, his lanky 6’6 frame leaning against a tree in exhaustion.

His body was covered in sweat, curly white and brown hair mattered to his head.

He was so damn tired and sore and hungry, but he had to find his family.

Number seven:

please, for the love of scallops, don’t get hurt. Medicine in the wilderness with no experts round is not good.

“Fuck,” swore Wilbur, his arm bleeding from an attack by a knife-leaf heterotakia bush.

It stung like the devil (they are poisonous) and the wound looked like something had bit him (the leaves are serrated).

This entire continent seemed to want to kill him.

Number eight:

Sapnap is not a good role model

“Get down from there!” The pinket yelled, scowling.

Sapnap was hanging upside down from an old ash tree’s branch, twenty feet off the ground.

And Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo were watching him in awe.

Techno sighed. “Sapnap, I swear to Orceus, if you don’t come down here, I will fucking skin you  and use you as a carpet!”

Sapnap did eventually come down; after several intricate  r-rated threats made by Techno, who was done with everyone’s bullshit.

Number Nine:

Prepare for the unprepared, expect the unexpected (anything can and will happen) also, bring something sharp.

“What the fuck is that,” Niki yelped.

The red vine tightened around George like a kraken’s tentacle and pulled him further away from the group, causing alarm.

“Hey!” Dream yelled, hacking at the vine with a dull sword. “Give him back, jerk!”

Another vine appeared and whacked Dream over the head, sending the blond tumbling to the ground.

Sapnap caught him and glared at the vines.

“You’re going to regret that,” he hissed.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tommy yelled, popping out of a bush.

He spotted the vine holding Gogs and sighed.

“This entire place wants to kill us,” he grumbled.

“Mmmph,” George agreed, his voice muffled by the vine covering his mouth.

Sapnap let out a scream and charged at the vine, stabbing it with some kitchen knives from the ship. “Give me my boyfriend, you jerk!” He yelled.

“Whooh!” Tommy cheered. “Go on, S-Man!”

Niki quickly ran over to Dream to check on him, sighing in relief when she found he was breathing fine, showed no signs of head trauma, and had a pulse.

“I sure wish we had Wisdom,” she muttered. “Or at least Jack. He could…”

She winced at the mention of her fallen friend, and stared into the foliage, lost in memories.

Sapnap, the only person armed with anything even remotely dangerous, continued his one-man assault on the vines, dodging them with a grace rarely seen with him.

Tommy yelped as a vine grabbed his foot and yanked, dangling him upside down in the air for a minute before dropping him head-first into a bush.

“What the fuck?” Tommy grumbled, stumbling to his feet, hair covered in leaves and mud. “This red bastard needs to shut up.”

Finally the vine let go and both Sap and George came tumbling to the ground.

“‘Bout damn time,” Sapnap grumbled. “Are you okay, George?”

George wheezed. “Fine.”

Chapter Text

You said you could be

The Achilles to my Patroclus

Without knowing just how true it would be

I held you in my arms as you died

I heard your final breath

I thought we were meant to be

Forever in the stars, together

But life is not kind

Especially to people like us

Now you walk among the stars I’ll never get to see

You haunt my heart, the only thing you ever took from me

And I have to be content

With the memories I have

Never able to make new ones

You hang around me like fog in the night

Always there, never seen

You were only in my life a fleeting time

But you were my everything

And without you, I’m a soldier made of clay

Beautiful, but devoid of life

Missing what made me human

𒐮

“We’re never going to find him,” Tommy sighed, collapsing on the ground.

His eyes watered.

It had been six days since Wilbur had vanished, and they had covered about fifty miles, but there was no sign of him.

Everyone was worried.

And thirsty. And hungry. And tired.

“We’ll find him,” said Wisdom tiredly, talking for the first time in days.

Her brunette hair was tied in an intricate braid, leaves tangled in it like everyone else’s hair.

“He’ll be okay.”

Dream and Sapnap appeared, carrying George between them. The shorter brunette’s shirt was soaked with blood, and his breathing came in short, abrupt gasps of pain.

“Oh gods,” Wisdom inhaled sharply, her tall lithe form instinctively tensing and pulling up to her full height. “What the heck happened?”

“I dunno,” Sapnap breathed. “We found him like this.”

“Alright,” Wisdom said, taking charge of the situation. “Lay him down- carefully - and lemme see that wound. We don’t have a sterile field for surgery or stitches, but I will do what I can.”

Sapnap and Dream complied, Tommy watching the scene with wide eyes.

George groaned as Wisdom gently- with unusually steady hands- rolled up his shirt.

Dream inhaled sharply, Sapnap looked like he was going to be sick, and Tommy froze.

The wound looked nasty- a rough triangular (?!) spot that looked… green?!

Blood came out of the wound slowly, but at a steady pace.

“Ah,” Wisdom said. “Alright. I know what we’re working with. Tommy, grab that plant right there. No, not that one, that one would kill George from anaphylactic shock. That one, right there. Yeah, good job. Now hand it to me.”

Shakily Tommy complied, passing the vibrant gold-and-blue flower to the brunette, who crushed it up with her hands and poured a silvery-liquid from it onto George’s wound.

The other brunet cried out in pain, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his body shook, trying to get away from the liquid.

“Hold him still,” Wisdom said sharply, and wordlessly Sapnap and Dream complied.

The flower spent, she discarded the few remaining petals and grabbed a glowing-golden berry.

“You’ve gotta eat this, okay?” she whispered to George.

George only replied with a concerningly-faint moan and Wisdom’s eyes darkened.

Quickly, she sliced the berry into halfths and put the first one down George’s throat, a hand forcing the nearly unconscious brunet to swallow.

Tommy winced when he saw blood stained the grass around them.

Holy Hera, this was terrifying.

Wisdom looked down at George’s wound, which was still open and bleeding, and Tommy could see frustration in her eyes.

“Goddamnit!” she hissed, yanking a potion bottle from her satchel (had that been there the entire time?) and opened it, letting unfamiliar drops of vibrant purple-and-magenta drop onto the wound, which hissed and slowly began to close.

The Avian sighed in relief and bottled the potion, collapsing against a nearby tree.

George, fully unconscious at this point, let out a faint groan.

Tommy could see that now the wound was closed, and no longer bleeding, thank the gods.

“Thank you,” Dream whispered, meeting Wisdom’s gaze. “You saved him.”

“No problem,” Wisdom replied, sounding exhausted.

“What kind of potion was that?” Tommy asked, curious. “I’ve seen all sorts of potions, and none like that.”

“It was a last resort, since the moondew and glow berries weren’t really doing anything,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “It’s called dragon’s breath. It’s rarely used because it can have weird side effects, but this was an emergency, so I used it. However, you two have to keep a very close eye on him for the next three to four days, just in case he does have complications or side effects, okay?”

Dream and Sapnap nodded in agreement.

“What should we look out for?” Sapnap asked.

Wisdom’s eyes struggled to stay open. Clearly, that had taken more out of her than she and everyone else realised.

“Hallucinations, vomiting, sleepwalking, sleep talking, fevers, stomach cramps, disorientation, dizziness, and oversleeping,” yawned Wisdom. “Where’s Techno, and Puffy, and Niki, again?”

Dream shrugged, tension in his skinny frame. “I don’t know. I hope they are doing better than we are.”

“Wake me up if someone is dying, the forest is on fire, the others show up, or a dragon tries to eat George,” Wisdom yawned, closing her vivid eyes and slipping into darkness.

𒐮

I loved you

I loved you

I loved you, I did

And even now I still do

Like Alexander did Hephaestion

But like Orestes and Pylades,

You died in my place

My name means wisdom, but I was stupid to let you go

I should’ve died in your steed

Or perhaps, us together, intertwined violets

And now I mourn what we had

What could’ve been

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait forever more

For you, I’d fight an empire

To see you again, I’d destroy the heavens

To feel your touch, your love, your smile

I would slaughter a thousand Trojans to be with you

My dear, I sing on without you

Our symphony may be silenced, but still I sing to you

History is not kind, especially to people like us

𒐮

Wisdom dreamed.

She dreamed of warm, fluttering touches that made her melt like wax; warm and dry lips against hers; gentle hands that turned her to putty.

She dreamed of golden summers,  back when she had love, spent in a passionate paradise.

She dreamed of her past life, and the closer past she’d lived with Idalia.

She remembered the feeling of a lover’s final breath, twice given in her arms; of final kisses like a dying hummingbird’s heartbeat.

She dreamed of violets, and poppies, of sunsets spent laughing.

She dreamed of growing up too soon, of leading soldiers to their deaths.

She dreamed of founding a great city; one she’d lived in after she woke from the coma, her memories gone.

She remembered dancing in the night, swift feet and swifter smiles, of looks that made her heart skip.

She remembered love, and death, and sweet kisses that turned her skin the colour of her eyes.

She remembered love poems written, and love songs sung, and hangovers spent in a caring embrace.

She dreamed of the sweet touches at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

She dreamed of waking up early in the arms of someone who loved her.

She dreamed of her past self, betrayed and alone, cursing Sam for his betrayal and giving in to the pain inside.  

She dreamed of running, of fighting, of killing, her heart a hollow stone in her chest without her love.

And she remembered what they’d dared to call her and her love: close friends.

She dreamed of hungry lips meeting hers in a torrent of passion, of rough but gentle hands running through her hair.

She dreamed of the loves that Sam had taken away from her.

And she missed them.

Chapter Text

I called upon the stars for answers

But I find myself falling deeper into the abyss

𒐮

Wisdom seemed perfect.

Unblemished.

Whole.

But on the inside…inside, she was fractured.

How could she not be?

The memories of her past life were back, and with them the pain.

The agony of dying stars threatening to become black holes, or like last time, a raging supernova.

For the first time in eternity, she remembered.

And she remembered it all.

She remembered Sam and Daedalus’ betrayal; she remembered her first lover Ida dying as she ran to get their allies, dying in her place.

She remembered cursing Sam for his betrayal and his role in her lover’s death, feeling a fury and pain she had felt only one other time- she remembered building L’Manberg’s White House, all smiles and sunny days- she remembered being so hungry dying the starving time that she ate her own horse- she remembered Ida putting violets into her hair, a gentle smile on her face-

She remembered losing everyone she ever loved, one by one.

Cursed by the gods to be the last one standing.

Forever alone.

Sure, she had this new ragtag group of friends- but she knew she was going to lose them.

It was the natural order of her life.

Make friends. Lose them. Repeat.

As she sat beneath a sky the color of human blood, faint lines of gold and orange cutting through it, she wondered.

How much more was she going to be subjected to this?

Getting close to people only to see them die horribly.

It hurt so badly.

She couldn’t survive another loss like that.

𒐮

Quackity couldn’t sleep.

He hadn’t slept in days, not since Wilbur had gone missing.

He couldn’t.

He knew Wilbur would want him to, but it was impossible.

Every time he closed his eyes he was haunted by the phantom touch of lips against his.

Gentle hands cupping his cheek.

Worst of all were the imagined whispers when Wilbur told him he loved him.

He wiped away tears.

No llores.

It was a stupid dream anyways.

“The heart is foolish,” he’d heard his teacher say once. “It’s blind, and will lead you astray. Don’t let it.”

It was too late.

His heart had led him astray.

And the worst thing, he didn’t regret it.

He’d do it all over again, if only he could be by Wilbur’s side.

Dios mío, he was such an idiot.

They’ve all got someone else.

As for him… the one person he loved didn’t love him back.

He knew that.

Any thought of otherwise was just a daydream.

And it felt like being dipped in molten metal.

He was a selfish man.

He wanted someone to love him.

Someone to kiss him, to hold him gently, to make him feel human.

Love- whether platonic or romantic- is an innate human emotion. We all need it.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Love is pain.

And few tend to acknowledge that, in Quackity’s opinion.

Letting someone into your heart, letting them see you be vulnerable, always ends in you having to let them go.

And that was a pain indescribable.

𒐮

Schlatt hadn’t really experienced love.

At least, the romantic kind everyone talked about.

Sure, he’d been in love- he’d been in romantic relationships as well.

But that isn’t the same as being loved back.

Tori had never been there for him.

She’d left him for Schlatt’s cousin.

No one can love you, Schlatt. You’re a monster.

No one loves you.

No one wants you around.

No one would care if you died.

Even after all this time, her words still felt like daggers to the gut.

She’d never hit him.

She’d been nice…at the beginning.

Until he fucked it all up.

He wasn’t quite sure what he had done, but clearly he had done something.

Tori, sweet Tori, who loved dragonflies, couldn’t be at fault.

Even if she said all those horrible things about him.

Even if she left him when he needed support.

A part of him missed her.

Missed what they had before he had done whatever he’d done to ruin it.

He missed her laugh, like sleigh bells on a snowy day.

Her warm, inviting often cruel mismatched eyes, one viridian and the other quartz.

He missed the freedom of his youth.

Feeling unstoppable.

On top of the world.

He missed warm touches and the bubbly feeling of knowing someone cared about him.

He missed her kisses, soft and sweet, that could make him turn to putty in her arms.

As the ram hybrid sat under the rising sun, he wondered.

Could they have worked out?

Could he have saved it, apologized for whatever he had done?

Could Tubbo have had a mother, and not a dead beat father?

If he hadn’t screwed it all up somehow, could Tubbo have had the loving family Schlatt never had?

Cold, salty water cut tracks into his skin as he watched the sun rise.

I’m sorry, Tubbo.

I just keep failing you.

𒐮

What is love, if not tragedy?

At least, that’s what Wilbur thought.

He’d seen a lot of tragedy in his relatively short lifetime, all made worse by love.

He’d loved Phil, his father- who’d been stabbed.

He’d loved Kristin, his mum- who’d been beaten to death.

He loved Quackity.

Who couldn’t love him back, despite that kiss they’d shared so long ago.

He’d loved Jack, his pseudo-brother and friend- who’d been fed to a crocodile, dying in a brutal way that would haunt Wilbur forevermore.

He loved Techno, and Tommy, and Wisdom and Tubbo and Ranboo and Dream.

He even loved the newer ones, Karl, Sapnap, and George.

And he had a horrible feeling that they would all die by the time this story came to a close.

And he’d be the last one remaining.

The last one to remember them.

The last one to mourn.

The last one to love them.

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to survive when everyone who loved him died.

If they were going to die; he was going to die with them.

He wasn’t suicidal- far from it.

But there wasn’t much point in living if everyone he loved was gone.

Not again.

“Letting it get to you. You know  what that’s called? Being alive. Best thing there is. Being alive  right now is all that counts.”

He’d heard that quote before.

And he supposed, to some people, it was true.

But he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge that life is naturally painful.

Because if he did, wouldn’t he be letting all the sacrifices his loved ones had made be forgotten?

Be nothing more than ‘life being life’?

And he couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t.

Chapter Text

As fall turned to winter, the weather grew slowly worse.

It was December now, as far as they could figure, and the bitter cold reflected that.

Hungry northern winds snapped at exposed skin, making everyone shiver.

They had yet to find Wilbur, and few were expecting to see him alive again.

Spirits were low.

And tensions were thick in the air like an approaching storm.

Arguments were becoming more and more often, more heated each time.

And everyone was tired.

Techno knew all this.

But he couldn’t give up on Wilbur.

He couldn’t.

That would be a massive betrayal.

And he couldn’t bring himself to think that Wilbur was dead.

He couldn’t allow himself to lose anyone else close to him.

But at this point, the whole group was splintering.

Bad tempers, hunger pains, exhaustion, and grief were making a mess of this ragtag group family.

He might not have a choice, soon.

And that hurt.

𒐮

Wilbur was unsure of how he was alive at this point.

He was freezing his arse off, alone in a wild continent he was unfamiliar with, and completely and utterly lost.

His luck was bound to run out at some point.

Probably soon.

He leaned against a tree, the exact copy of the five hundred bazillion he’d passed before, cold nipping at his fingers and face like hungry wolves.

Gods, he was so tired.

His bones felt numb, as if he’d inhaled too much helium.

His limbs felt all too heavy, as if he was a shape-shifting monster from the Edge of the Universe who had no idea what limbs are like.

But more importantly (in Wilbur’s view), his heart felt like a frozen lake.

Cold.

Cracking under the pressure.

Hiding things in his depths.

Wilbur blinked slowly, his head faintly aching.

God, he needed a nap.

But he couldn’t sleep.

Not until he made sure that his ( family) friends were okay. (He had to see them, at least one more time.)

So he stumbled away from the tree and continued walking.

(More like stumbling like a drunk, but that’s neither here nor there.)

𒐮

Wisdom sighed as she watched the carnage. Gods dammit, she thought. Of bloody course they’re arguing, like the loveable idiots they are.

“Oh, just shut up,” Sapnap hissed, earning a scathing glare from Techno. “We’re going in freaking circles! If we keep going we’re all going to freeze to death!”

Techno’s voice was colder than Antarctica. “ I’m  not willing to give up on my brother like a coward, even if you are. We will keep moving.”

“Guys,” Dream groaned, his voice pleading. “Calm down-”

But his voice went unheard as Sapnap, eyes blazing, stomped up to Techno.

“So what? So you’re willing to put everyone’s lives at risk for a dead man? I never took you as selfish, Deimos.”

And Techno lost it.

He whipped around and his hand flew up to Sapnap’s throat, gripping it tightly and lifting the ravenet off of the ground.

“Don’t,” he grumbled, crimson eyes glowing, “ ever call me goddamn selfish. I know what happened to your stepdad. You left him. You let him die.”

Wisdom, seeing the pain, grief, and terror in Sapnap’s eyes, stepped over by Techno.

“Techno,” she said, voice dropping low. “Stop. Let him go.”

Techno didn’t. If anything, his grip on Sapnap’s throat tightened.

George looked terrified. “Techno, please, he didn’t mean anything by it-”

“He did,” Techno replied, not letting go.

“ Technoblade,” Wisdom hissed, in a tongue foreign to everyone else’s ears but hers and Techno’s. “Please. Just…take a minute to calm down, yes?”

Techno let go of Sapnap reluctantly and stepped back as the ravent crumpled, his boyfriends running to his side.

“I can’t lose him, Wikalia,” he replied in the same tongue. “He- and Tommy- are all I’ve got.”

“And you won’t,” Wisdom- Wikalia- promised. “We’re going to find him. But we all need to calm down, alright? Deep breaths.”

Thankfully Techno complied and the thick tension in the air seemed to disperse slightly.

Slightly.

Sapnap’s throat now had a killer bruise, and Wisdom winced.

“Shut up,” Techno muttered distantly, back to speaking in English. “No, no, no, and no. I don’t fucking care how good you say you’ve been. You have been awful.”

It dimly registered in Wisdom’s brain that Chat had probably gone all murderous again, mildly caught up on Techno swearing.

That was a rare event.

Usually.

Like 99.99% of the time.

Techno began cursing in Ancient Greek like a sailor, and she decided she was going to back off.

(So that Techno could have space, and so that her ears didn’t bleed from the vulgarity coming from Techno’s mouth. He was upset.)

She turned back to the others with a forced grin on her face. “Okay, so. Who wants to go fish for everyone, Sapnap?”

And she delighted in his expression.

She knew none of it was all to blame on him, but boy, she was mad at everything right now.

And she wasn’t going to mess with Techno, so this was an easy and relatively safe punishment for the pyromaniac.

𒐮

Everyone was tense.

Even a half-dead snail suffering from cataracts would be able to see that.

And after the TechnoSap moment earlier, everyone was even more on guard and stiff.

Techno stayed well away from everyone, muttering in multiple different languages, most likely ranting to Chat.

Wisdom, who’d been trying so badly to keep everything together, sat stiffly a few meters away from where Techno was pacing, her quartz-colored eyes grim.

Tommy was scared.

He may be the biggest man of all, great lover of women (and trans women!), but even he had felt terror coursing through his veins when Techno and Sapnap had argued…had fought.

And he was still scared.

Who wouldn’t be?

The bloodlust in Techno’s eyes; the pain and regret and grief in Sapnap’s… it was enough to make anyone terrified.

And Tommy was scared that everyone would turn on each other (more bloodshed).

He could see that same fear reflected in Karl and Dream’s eyes, though they were doing their best to hide it.

Sapnap shifted, something uncertain lurking behind his amber eyes.

His look seemed familiar, and it unnerved Tommy.

It seemed like the look of a cornered predator, hungry and in pain.

And everyone knows that cornered animals are the most dangerous.

𒐮

“Daedalus has sent a team of assassins after your friends,” said Cillian.

Schlatt paused, fear and hope thrumming through his veins.

Cillian glanced at Schlatt nervously. “According to our sources, your friends fled across the Icaric, and made it to the ancient lands.”

They’re alive. They’re alive. I didn’t totally fail them.

He inhaled shakily.

Tubbo was okay.

He wasn’t dead.

A dopey grin spread across his face and he collapsed back into his wheelchair.

They’re alive. They’re alive.

Tyki, Cillian’s second in command and a lavender morph Ender Dragon hybrid, hummed uncertainty. “How reliable is this source? The Icaric, especially in late autumn/early winter, is a volatile force that has claimed many lives. How do we know this isn’t a ploy to lure us out?”

And just like that, the flimsy threads of hope in Schlatt’s heart snapped.

He is right.

It is most likely Daedalus trying to lure them out.

The Syndicate- my friends, my family- are dead.

Gods, I am so naive.

I should’ve known better then to get my hopes up.

“Tyki has a point,” acknowledged a grey-fox hybrid with silver eyes, “however, we cannot discount the possibility it is not a trap, and is indeed true. Not everything is more than it seems, Tyki, though I appreciate you looking out for the little details.”

Tyki scowled at the fox-hybrid, her pale purple eyes flashing. “Lupa, shut your muzzle. We cannot risk all our lives for a…cripple's friends.”

Schlatt flinched.

Fuck.

She’s right.

I can’t ask them to risk it all for me and my family.

They have already been incredibly kind to me.

“Schlatt,” Lupa hissed, “is more than his disability. And you seem to neglect the fact that our rebellion came from the sacrifices made by the Syndicate. We owe it to them to help them if we can.”

“Not at the cost of our own,” Tyki spat, his eyes growing cold.

“We can come up with a safe plan to ensure both our and their safety,” Lupa grumbled.

A butterfly hybrid with gold-and-purple wings and short violet hair stood up.

“We owe no loyalty to the syndicate!” they spat. “They are self-serving criminals!”

“Hey!” Schlatt protested. “They are not!”

The butterfly hybrid looked at him scornfully. “Oh, says you. They didn’t even come looking for you. They left you broken and useless in the streets. Which is probably one of the only good things they’ve done.”

“Shut up!” Lupa yelled, noting Schlatt’s expression.

“We can’t trust him!” spoke another butterfly hybrid, this one with long green hair and viridian wings. “He’s one of them.”

We can’t trust him.

Broken. Useless.

Self-serving criminals.

We cannot risk all our lives for a…cripple’s friends.

Schlatt let out a choked sob and wheeled himself out of the room, ignoring Lupa and Cillian’s cries for him to come back.

No one wants you, Schlatt.

Golden ram with a broken heart.

Useless.

Useless.

No one else loves you, Schlatt! Only me!

You can run, Schlatt, but you cannot hide from the monster inside you. And one day, it’s going to break out.

We shouldn’t have saved him.

We should’ve left him broken and bleeding in the street.

Breathing felt like agony, as if thousands of hot needles made from molten iron were burning into his lungs and throat.

His head was spinning like an octopus trying to do a rodeo on a scalloped hammerhead shark.

Why did he ever believe that anyone here actually liked him?

He was an infamous supervillain.

He should’ve known better.

The only place he was welcome was with his friends…his new family.

Not here, not with his parents, and most definitely not alone on the streets.

And he sat there, staring out at the golden twilight (or dawn. He wasn’t entirely sure what time it was).

And he wished that he was with his family.

Not stuck here, apparently ‘broken’, surrounded by enemies.

Chapter Text

“It was never meant to be!”

“My unfinished symphony, Phil.”

Wilbur was freezing, and something about the fire in front of him was dangerously hypnotic.

He’d always had an affinity for fire- dangerously unpredictable, burns everything  in its path.

Like him.

He was mesmerized by the dancing flames, twirling and leaping like striders in the Nether.

It was dangerously beautiful, hot and scorching, a forbidden allure to it that gave him a sense of deja vu.

Why do I feel like my love for fire has ended in tragedy before?

He couldn’t think of anything that had involved him and fire that had ended in tragedy, so he was a tad bit confused.

It was if his symphony had been written and played long before he’d existed, woven with barbed wire and hungry flames like a weaver weaves with cloth.

He stared into the embers, as if they could somehow give him the answer to his midlife crisis.

Faint images drifted in his head like dandelions on a warm summer breeze, surprisingly vivid, hauntingly painful.

Bloodshed on a battlefield, a broken ceramic mask piercing into his soul from the ground.

An identical picture of Jack, bleeding out onto cold snow with a look of absolute betrayal.

Screams of the damned echoing every step he took in a distorted version of a train station.

“Kill me, Phil,” a shattered, broken, mirror of himself begged, covered in ash and dust and the blood of civilians.

“L’Manberg, my unfinished symphony. It was never meant to be!”

Wisdom stood in front of him, a loose orange jumpsuit clinging to her frame.

Huge metal wings spread behind her, her turquoise hair down to her waist.

Her pale pink eyes glared at him.

“Ah, the mockingbird. Back from the dead to gloat, are we?”

Wilbur jolted.

These…images…were too vivid, and hurt like being thrown into lava.

“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse from disuse. “Please. Hypnus, spare me from these nightmares.”

But of course, he did not.

Why would he?

𒐮

She felt as cold as the Icaric Sea.

Her heart felt numb from losses too numerous to count.

She’d been many things.

Had many names.

But the one thing that they had in common was grief.

Mourning for those who dared to get close to her.

In the end, they all die, and she is the last one standing.

A survivor of a bygone era, of bloodshed and death.

The last of the Ancient ones, founder of L’Manberg, she who brought a god to his knees.

The spirits of her homeland fear her.

They called her the Godkiller, for she brought a god to his knees and made him bleed.

She let loose the wrath of Achilles and waded in the blood of her enemies, broken heart backfiring on her foes.

She has seen civilizations rise and fall, seen gods topple at her feet, led armies of hundreds in a desperate struggle to protect her city.

Her wings are colored by Eos herself, goddess of madness and dawn, and she makes the goddess look tame with her fury.

A fallen angel, fallen from Olympus, wandering the mortal realm.

All of this is Wisdom.

She is strong and smart and kind, but also cruel and a killer, and most importantly, broken.

This is what it feels like to be her, right now:

Your heart is a burning star, oh so close to supernova.

All the pain the world has shown you is felt every moment you’re still alive.

And every moment you spend joking, laughing with these people around you, makes the pain you will feel increase tenfold.

They will leave you, eventually, flee to the realm of Hades and Persephone, just like everyone else in your life has done.

And you will be as alone as the last Tasmanian tiger was.

The last of your kind.

Friendless, loveless, locked in a cage for ‘your own good’.

Forever left behind.

Waiting eternity for someone else, someone who’ll never come, because they’re gone.

You are Achilles, waiting for Patroclus to come home.

But like he, your love never does.

Your symphony will forever be unfinished.

𒐮

Wisdom paused at the water’s edge.

The river was wide, and fast-moving, water clear as ice.

“This is Anaklusmos,” she said, her eyes murky. “A hundred men have drowned crossing here.”

Tommy shivered, glancing at the water with unease.

“How deep is it?” George asked uneasily.

“About seven and a half Ranboos,” Wisdom replied.

Tommy grimaced.

Oh, great.

Ranboo was 6’6, and if this was seven and a half Ranboos…

That’s way too deep.

Especially in a river that has claimed a hundred lives.

“Do we need to cross?” Tubbo asked, looking unsettled.

Wisdom glanced at Techno, as if daring him to answer.

The pinket glanced at the water.

“No,” he decided. “We’ll go around.”

Tommy sighed in relief. Thank the gods.

And the group set off.

It took them several hours to go around the Anaklusmos, but no one drowned, thank the heavens.

Though Tubbo did come close, slipping on a rock and nearly tumbling into the water, but Dream had grabbed him just in time.

Tommy was set on edge by the incident and was still tense a good three hours after the incident.

He had come so close to losing his best friend, to a river cruel and callous.

And that terrified him.

He couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

He’d already lost both of his parents and possibly Wilbur, his older brother.

His heart drummed along to the beat of the Fates writing this twisted symphony of misery, hoping to break out but never managing to.

Trapped in a ballad of sin and suffering.

Oizys , he thought, praying to the goddess and not the eerie vampire-like creature who’d probably killed Schlatt- fuck off. We’re miserable. What more do you want from us?

If this annus terriblis was what it was going to be forevermore, Tommy wasn’t sure he want to live.

Not that he was likely to anyway.

Someone else was writing his story; he was just a player in someone’s epic poem.

And everyone knows epics are full of suffering and damnation.

His blood was being sealed in ink by someone playing god, someone who didn’t see him as a human being with a life and emotions, but as a toy to play with.

By a writer, those destroyers of worlds and cultures. A storyteller, who knows all that is to happen and has happened.

Playing with lives like dolls, writing events into being without thinking about how it would affect real people.

And Tommy hated every moment of it.

Chapter Text

Tick.

Tock.

Wisdom’s heart was a bomb about to explode, about to take everyone down with her in a fiery burst reminiscent of the slaughter on Blood Bone hill.

And she hated it.

Hated the cold dragon of hate, of rage, of fear and guilt, that raged inside of her like a tornado.

Hated her memories.

Every single one.

She’d gone to extremes to make sure she’d never remember any of it.

But now she did.

And by the gods, it was just as awful as she feared.

The cool metal of the cuirass pressing against her chest, hiding the shattering of her heart and all that she stood for.

The fear in Sam’s eyes as she forced him to his knees, his blood on her spear.

The dull hunger as she watched others die around her as she too starved.

Eating her boots so she wouldn’t starve.

The brutal wars.

Blood stained grass.

Her new moniker.

The godkiller.

She hasn’t actually killed a god, but in the eyes of the survivors of Blood Bone hill, she came close enough.

Gods can bleed. Gods can die.

And I was the one to teach them that.

And she despised it.

In that moment the rage and grief had overcome her like Hera’s curse on Heracles, and she’d fought with a hunger and vigor she had never done before.

She’d been Achilles, forcing Hector to his knees for what he’d taken from her.

And if she was remembered in history, whether for the city she’d founded or the people she’d killed, that violence was there.

And anytime someone would see something about her, they’d think: The godkiller. Slaughterer of a hundred men.

And even that number wasn’t accurate. Her kill count was probably much higher.

And she hated it all.

So much blood on her hands.

So much in fact her wings had turned the color of sunset, from their original color of the legion’s armor.

She was like Eos, the goddess of madness and dawn.

She was a monster, fingers stained red and dripping.

She was the villain, in Sam’s history.

She was the big bad guy that gave kids nightmares for years, always lurking, promising death.

She was the character the author got requests to kill off because she was so horrible, so brutal, that everyone was terrified of her.

Even the readers.

And she was trying to be better. She was. Really.

But all that death would always be a part of her.

Haunting her for eternity.

𒐮

Impossible.

It couldn’t be.

Wikalia was dead.

And she looked so different…

But Acheron would never forget her best friend.

Even if that best friend had become a monster.

Even if that best friend had lost all the characteristics of their people.

Gone were the golden hair, golden wings, and golden eyes.

Gone were the feathery white ears with faint gold undertones.

Gone were the scale-like spots on her face.

She looked all too much like their gods.

Godkiller.

Acheron had so many questions.

How was she alive?

Why did she look so different?

Why was she back?

But most of all, what had really happened on Blood Bone hill?

She had to find the answers.

No matter the cost.

𒐮

Tommy was tired.

But not so tired that he didn’t stiffen when he heard a noise that no one around him was making.

It was a faint cry, like the coo of a dove, but it still put him on edge.

No sound was innocent to his ears now. Too much experience had taken that comfort from him.

He had seen many things in his short life, most of them weird or horribly terrifying, but certainly the weirdest moment happened when he was least expecting it.

The faint cry sounded again, closer this time, and a woman dropped from the trees.

She had huge iridescent white wings like a nevercrow, and her skin was sky-blue.

Her eyes were the color of monsoons and had vertical pupils like a snake.

Instead of ears, she had two fluffy appendages where ears were.

They were white, but where they met her skin they were ice-blue.

Two loose low ponytails tied with golden bands hung in the front of her face, the back of her hair cropped short.

Her hair was the shade of shimmering summer hurricanes at midnight, and he noticed white-scale like splotches right under her eyes.

She was, simply but, ethereal and built like one of Eros’ handmaidens.

But her eyes shimmered with fury as she stared at Wisdom, who was right beside Tommy at the front of the group.

“What’s going on?” Techno mumbled from the way back of the group, sounding confused at the sudden stop.

“Shh,” Sapnap hissed, noticing the tension.

The woman moved slightly, her eyes still on Wisdom.

Tommy recognized fear and horror in her gaze, as if she was staring at a long-gone dictator back from the dead.

“Eísai o theoktónos,” she whispered. “I orgí tou Ári.”

Something unsettling shimmered in Wisdom’s gaze, alien and concerning, and she met the other woman’s gaze head on.

A thousand feelings shimmered in her quartz-shaded eyes, and a shiver ran down Tommy’s spine.

Something was not quite right.

“Sic semper tyrannis,” said the woman, and that broke Wisdom’s silence.

She straightened up, something blazing in her eyes Tommy couldn’t decipher.

“Acheron,” she whispered, venom dripping from her voice like from an inland taipan’s fangs. “ You know nothing. So stop pretending you do. Do you think I wanted to be the Godkiller? Memorialized by violence like my brother was? If so, you clearly never knew me at all.”

Tommy froze.

He had never heard Wisdom sound so regretful, so in pain, so furious.

She was an emotional nuclear reaction right now, ready to go critical.

Wisdom continued talking, her wings twitching. “You finally let me know you’re alive, and you do that by running your mouth about something you don’t know about. Did you ever ask why I could’ve done it? What could’ve happened to make me lose it? Did you ever wonder what really happened ? Did you ever wonder: hey, I wonder how Wikalia- Wisdom- is holding up. No. You didn’t. I can see it in your eyes.”

“How would you know that?” The other avian spat back.

Wisdom gave her a heartbroken look.

“You were my best friend,” she whispered. “I founded a country to protect our people. I fought a war to stop us from dividing. And yet when I come home, what do I find but you dividing us with no care for my side of the story?”

“Your side of the story would be excusing genocide,” Acheron brushed aside.

Wisdom flared up, eyes blazing.

Like, almost literally.

Tommy stepped back, spooked.

“Excusing genocide,” Wisdom repeated, quiet as death.

“I lost my brother. I lost you. I lost Icaerus. I lost my parents, my siblings, those around me. I lost all my friends. I’ve lost everyone I’ve been romantically involved with- my girlfriend, my wife. And you come here and tell me I’d excuse genocide.”

The air was as thick with tension as the air before a storm is thick with electricity.

“I am not going to excuse my actions at Blood Bone hill,” Wisdom said quietly. “I fucked up, and a lot of people got hurt. But did you ever wonder how I felt? Okay, sure, I might be being selfish here. But guess what, Acheron? The gods have taken everything from me. Both of my partners died in my arms. I fought in a war at nineteen. I am in no way perfect, old friend, but I am certainly not the complete Bogeyman you make me out to be. I was young, I was stupid, I was in pain. And I was fighting a fucking civil war all alone, with my only allies dead.

And I didn’t even kill the damn god. He’s still fucking around being a traitorous asshole. So all this bullshit about me being a mass murderer is stupid. Especially when you literally excused Achilles’ genocide after Patroclus died.”

“You are nothing like him!” Acheron exploded. “You are vain, and selfish, and stupid, and arrogant! You are not the fucking hero, Wikalia! You are the villain!”

𒐮

Time seemed to pause.

You are not the fucking hero, Wikalia. You are the villain.

You are vain, and selfish, and stupid, and arrogant!

Excusing genoicde…

Fly little fledgling. I’ll still find you.

Castellanoa! (Traitor!)

What if the bad guy wasn’t the bad guy

What if the hero wasn’t really good

You can’t hide from the darkness inside of you, Wi. Embrace it. Become one with the night.

Thank you for being my everything.

Distantly, she hears voices and felt cold tears running down her face, but she felt frozen.

She felt like a monster.

And when she looked at Acheron, all she could see was a stranger.

Now you’re just somebody that I used to know.

And it hurt.

Chapter Text

“A monster, aren’t I?”

Wisdom’s laugh was cold enough to freeze the fins of a Greenland shark.

“As much of monster as I am, I’m still trying.”

“I’m trying to be a good person.”

“I’m trying not to let my temper get the better of me again. Spending more centuries then you can count in a deep slumber sure gives you an insights into pain.”

“I don’t want to be ‘the Godkiller’,” she snapped unexpectedly. “I want to be Wisdom. I want to be Nemesis, who fights for the country she founded. I want to sleep without being haunted of the vicious images of my wrongdoings and the memories of the people I have now lost tormenting me.”

“I want to go home.

I want to see the stars again.

I want to live, like I didn’t get to before.

But my wishes, what I want, is not, has never been, and never will be as important as the desires and needs of my people, of my family.”

“I’ve been many things.

A child soldier.

A president.

‘Monster’.

A hero.

And now I want to be a person again.”

“I just want a chance at a life I never got. A life with a loving family, with a peaceful fire and quiet fields. Is that so much to ask?”

She laughed again. “Oh, wait. Of course it is. Because I’m not human, am I? I’m a fucking monster, the thief in the night.”

Everyone stared at her, more than a little terrified.

“I am the coming inferno”, she whispered, “blazing with the passion of a phoenix and the pain of those who died. I am the fire, ever hungry, ever killing. Isn’t that right?”

𒐮

Wisdom felt light-headed.

Her heart felt like solid iron.

If when the world looks at me and only sees a monster, what’s the point in trying to be anything else?

No point in trying to get the attention of someone who cared.

No point in trying to be anything different.

She spread her wings, and looked up at the sky.

Midnight blue and scattered with diamond stars, it was oh so far from the pain of being human.

One last drop of water snuck its way down her face and hit her chest, as cold as Scrooge’s heart.

She craved the freedom of the sky.

The emotionless judgment of the sky.

Where she wasn’t the Godkiller.

Where she wasn’t Sapienta.

Just Wisdom.

Just one with the wind and wild clouds.

And so she left the cruelty of the world and joined the cold hug safe embrace of the northbound wind, her heart lighter than ever.

A place with no expectations, no hatred, no judgement.

Only acceptance and freedom.

Her friends were the best part of her.

Without them, what was she?

The timeless child of her homeland?

She who sacrificed everything for her people?

Or a monster, lurking in the dark, waiting for the moment to strike.

A bloodthirsty dragon, craving flesh.

A fallen angel consumed by the pain and suffering of humanity, forgetting who she was and becoming something new.

Something gray.

This was the beginning of the end; she could feel it in her bones.

Every choice, every moment, was leading up to something.

And that something was barreling towards her faster than the speed of light.

Sam had sent someone to kill them.

That was clear as the waters of the Icaric in summer.

But when? And who?

When you’re practically immortal, things aren’t supposed to scare you.

But this did.

Her friends were going to die, just as everyone in her life did.

Except for her.

Forever cursed.

The lonely god.

The last one standing every time.

With enough trauma and pain to last hundreds of lifetimes.

She’d seen almost every death imaginable, from battlefields to hospitals.

And she feared death.

It took and it took and it took, never caring about the damage it caused, only taking.

It was brutal, and uncaring, and it was coming for the last people she had.

She wouldn’t leave them.

Not now.

No one deserves to die alone.

And perhaps, this time, the broken god would die too.

So she returned to the place that had made her life living hell: the broken shards of the Earth, where the friend who’d betrayed her and broken her heart a thousand times over stood by her friends. (Her family.)

“Farewell, prodótis,” she said, her voice numb and her heart like a clump of ice in her chest.

And she turned her back on the only person she’d thought would understand her pain.

Outside, she was as stiff as a corpse and almost as cold.

But on the inside, she was a weeping angel.

Broken and shattered and traumatized, back to place where her hell had begun.

And she was stuck.

Unless…unless she carried out what she should’ve done long ago, and finally ended this all.

By killing Sam.

𒐮

After the encounter with the nymph, the whole group was silent.

On edge.

All eyes were on Wisdom, who strode forward, her back as straight as a rod.

She hadn’t talked since she had landed back on the ground, more silent than a mouse.

Tommy didn’t want to believe the accusations the nymph had levied at her, but…it did make sense.

Wisdom was talented. Unusually so.

He could imagine her fighting a god. Maybe even killing one.

And though rare, he had seen her temper… and she was more than capable of killing someone (or multiple someones) in anger.

“You believe her,” Wisdom  said unexpectedly, her voice more chilly than a blizzard.

“Well, what else are we supposed to think?”  Said a very tired George. “You aren’t even defending yourself.”

Wisdom whirled around, her wings flaring behind her like a twisted imitation of a halo.

“And you’re just going to believe someone you’ve never met before?” She snapped, venom dripping from her voice. “Without even fucking asking me about it? Thanks, George. Great way to end a friendship.”

“No one’s ending anything,” Techno said calmly, stepping between the two. “Calm down. We’re all just tired and stressed out.”

Wisdom stepped back, but her rose quartz eyes were still shimmering in anger, and Tommy swore they seemed more red.

“Right,” she said shortly. “Tired.”

Chapter Text

Techno looked at Wisdom.

She had done it, he knew.

His parents had told him about it.

The mortal who brought Uncle Sam to his knees and made him bleed for his crimes.

However.

He couldn’t really judge her.

She hadn’t even killed him, for one.

For another, Techno’s kill count was in the four digits, if he was remembering correctly. He couldn’t judge her without being a hypocrite.

For a third, he could tell she was torn up inside about it.

She was feeling horrible about it.

There was no point in judging her- the person who would judge her the most was herself.

And now that he knew who she really was, he could empathize with her a bit more.

He too was an immortal, the last of his race and one of the last of his bloodline.

Everyone wanted immortality, but it was extremely lonely and put oneself through absolute hell.

To be an immortal is to forever lose.

To forever grieve.

Overrated in Techno’s opinion.

Though he and her weren’t 100% immortal, technically, but they basically were.

The only things that could hurt them were weapons, and they didn’t age.

But he’d rather live a single lifetime with those around them than a thousand without.

He’d rather die than be alone for eternity.

And he hadn’t lost anywhere near as many people Wisdom/Wikalia had- as the Blood God, he could sense her blood ‘ties’.

Blood ties were basically a connection to a death that effected you a lot.

And Wisdom had so many.

It was a wonder she was still smiling.

Still going on.

Like a dark tragedy that kept going, page after page.

Forever alone in a web of lies and death and grief and suffering.

A weeping angel.

Traumatized and broken but still watching, still feeling, still caring anyways.

And by the gods, if he could give this fucking curse up, he would.

And so would she.

Immortality isn’t a gift, it’s a curse, and it is brutal in its cruelty.

𒐮

The saddest people have the biggest smiles.

And Quackity knew that to be true.

He was no empath, but the amount of emotional pain he could tell Wisdom was in was astronomical.

But still she flashed wide grins to Tommy and Tubbo, as if stubbornly pretending everything was fine.

Quackity didn’t really believe what the nymph-avian had said all that while ago, but it had clearly brought memories back for Wisdom.

And though she seemed fine, he read between the lines of her shaking hands and tense shoulders.

None of them were okay.

But she was in so much pain.

She was like Wilbur, he thought.

Both of them hid their pain away as to not worry those around them, not feeling it important enough to upset the others.

And it was tragic.

And Quackity wanted to do something.

But he didn’t know what to do.

How do you comfort someone when almost everyone around you  thought them a monster?

And then there was the problem of Wisdom probably not allowing anyone to comfort her.

She walked alone currently, her eyes off in the distance, as if seeing into the past that had shattered her like fragile china.

It was as if she was Atlas, carrying the world on her shoulders without complaining despite the agony.

He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her head and tell her it would be alright.

Tell her that she would be okay.

Support her, be there for her.

Like she deserved.

You don’t need to be a god, he wanted to say. It’s okay to be human.

It’s okay to have feelings.

But then he saw Sapnap’s face, angry and cold, and he pulled back, feeling horrible.

Fucking coward, he thought with disgust at his cowardice.

𒐮

Wikalia is alive.

Sam startled, his viridian eyes widening.

“Impossible!” He yelped. “It has been millennia. She was mortal!”

The blood of the gods and a broken heart solved that problem, the voice (that was so familiar to him. An old friend) said.

You need to send a stronger assassin after them.

“I already sent my strongest!” Sam argued, infuriated. “Purpled and Punz set sail months ago!”

Are you sure a teenager and an non-powered person can handle a person who brought you to your knees and drew blood?

Sam sighed. They had him there.

Wikalia was tough as Stygian steel and the others with her were almost as tough.

He needed to send someone smart and capable to deal with them.

Also, you’re a fucking idiot. Wikalia was literally working with you for years. She is Wisdom.

The God nearly fell out of his chair, eyes widened.

“What in the nine hells?!” He swore. “What the fuck!”

He’d been tricked by her again.

And it was only by sheer luck he’d made it out of this time unscathed.

He needed to step up his game.

I have a friend who can help. Here’s how you can get in touch with him…

𒐮

There’s little joy in being immortal.

Or practically immortal.

It’s so, so, lonely, being an immortal being.

You see everyone you ever love die, lost to the ravages of something that doesn’t effect you.

You’re alone.

You struggle to let anyone into your heart because what’s the point?

You’re just going to lose them anyway.

And at times (almost every day)  you want to walk away from immortality, throw in your lot with the humans who are your saving grace.

You want to age, and live, and eventually die after a life with your loved ones.

Everyone has to die at some point; it is part of the natural order.

But immortals defy that…and suffer for their defying of universal rules.

Is it worth the pain and misery, the never-ending life?

Is it worth the isolation, the trauma?

Is immortality worth all the suffering it puts one through?

Chapter Text

Purpled was furious.

Hunting his friends with his stuck-up cowardly brother who’d abandoned him? Not something he wanted to do.

Unfortunately, Daedalus had forced him to do so.

And there was no turning back.

He was stuck in the heroes’ trap.

Surrounded by people he couldn’t trust.

Surrounded by madmen and killers, pathological liars and sociopaths.

He was well and truly alone, a thousand miles from home.

On an odyssey to find his actual family…his friends…and return them to Daedalus’ tyranny.

Purpled hated every moment of being out here, out in the wilderness and forced to rely on people who’d kill him without a flinch.

But he kept marching on anyways, a muffled storm of betrayal and pain and fury and despair, a perfect soldier.

And not the kid he was.

He’d grown up too fast.

He knew it.

He was seventeen, almost eighteen, and though that was a legal adult in L’Manberg, it was extremely young.

And he was decades younger than the experienced killers around him.

Gods, he just wanted to be home, joking with Tommy and Tubbo and teasing Ranboo about his spaghetti addiction.

But here he was, hunting them down to bring them back to their certain doom.

The guilt weighed on him like scorching hot stones, burning into his brain and hurting like hell.

I had no choice.

If I refused, I would’ve ended up dead.

But it still hurt anyways.

And as he followed the murderers who held his life in their hands, he thought grimly that it was the only feeling he’d feel for the entirety of this mess.

It had been this far, really, besides the stifled anger and cold, apathetic nature he displayed to get them off his backs.

Emotion wasn’t a good thing when one is surrounded by psychopathic killers who wouldn’t hesitate to end one’s life.

So he buried everything else deep down and presented himself as just as cold and apathetic as they were.

Emotionless and cruel.

𒐮

If her friends were angels, the Ainur of Eru, the Valar; than Wisdom was Melkor.

Cruel, and greedy, disrupting all the lives around her.

A monster.

And she was alright with being a monster.

Just as long as she had the honor to know her friends.

She was so blessed, to know them.

They were amazing people, conflicted and traumatized but kind and caring.

And she would miss them, soon, when they were gone.

But what was she, without her friends?

A tired immortal, cursed to see the world change around her and lose everyone who dared to weasel their way into her heart.

And could she survive another loss of a family? Could she move on this time, from yet another family come and gone?

Could she be the soldier she was trained to be and march on despite all the pain?

Could she let go, again?

Would she survive becoming a lonely god again, and not a human struggling to survive with her best friends?

Hell if she knew.

But maybe she could try.

And maybe she could enjoy them being here.

While they still were.

Be human again, if only for a devastatingly short amount of time.

And the seconds ticked by like a countdown to doomsday, ticking away the lives of everyone around her.

She closed her eyes and fought back the tears.

It’s going to hurt like hell when it happens.

But for now, I should live in the moment.

Enjoy having a family again.

Remembering what it is to be human again.

I’m not alone right now.

And though I will be at the end, that’s just how the story goes.

And I will enjoy every respite with them whilst I can.

𒐮

Schlatt didn’t give a flying fuck what some random hybrids thought.

His friends were alive, and he was going to find them.

Starting with Jack and Darkhawk, who’d reportedly been captured by Daedalus and his sycophants.

He sat at a computer, knee-deep in the virtual Archives, a hair’s breadth from being caught, looking for their files.

The Archives were fucking huge; it would take days to find them.

But find them he would.

So he could rescue them and find their family.

So he could go home.

Sure, the Hidden was nice, but he wanted his friends.

His family. (Not his biological family. Excerpt for Puffy and Tubbo.)

The people he trusted with his life.

He had to find them.

Had to get them out of this hellhole.

And briefly, he wondered if Sam would lie some sort of trap on the Archives, but thought that they’d probably assume him dead.

And being a dead man came with its advantages.

Hidden from scrutiny due to being presumed dead, he didn’t have to hide in the shadows like an assassin anymore.

He could sit out in public, with a hat and a face mask akin to those during Covid, and not be bothered .

(He was also partly doing this because there were so many assholes at the Hidden who just loved to be cruel.)

People just assumed he was a veteran (in a way, he was) and let him be, laughing and going on with their lives around him as he infiltrated the hypocritical oligarchy organization that ran the whole damn country.

Beneath his mask, he smiled, a cunning grin that could cut through titanium.

There were streaks of hopefulness in it, if you knew him well enough, and his heart lifted in his chest, unaware of what he was to find.

Found you.

He clicked first on the ‘Hyacinth’ file, and his heart stopped.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

This had to be a trap.

Daedalus had to have known somehow that he was alive and looking for them.

But the big red ‘deceased’ stared at him all the same, painting his soul with guilt and grief and mourning.

Pink carnations.

Sea lavender.

Pink camellias.

Cyclamens.

Heliotrope.

He laid those at Jack’s grave in the Netherwood Cemetery, his heart dead weight in his chest as he stared at his brother friend’s grave.

“This is all my fault,” he whispered, thankful to be alone.

“You were a child, Jack. You shouldn’t have been anywhere near this bullshit.”

“But I let you join. And now look what happened.”

“You are gone, forever, deep below the earth where the gods slumber and no human goes.”

“And I will remember you. I remember you, and I will, forevermore, until my dying days and even beyond that. I will remember that I caused your death, and the regret I carry shall be my burden for eternity.”

“You were a sweet kid, Jack. Compassionate and selfless, always willing to help others. And I hope I can live up to your example.”

And it was here that it hit him that he was saying his final goodbyes.

His eyes watered.

“Sleep well, Jack. May your spirit be placed at the table of Hades, to the right of his lordship, as one of the bravest and kindest men I ever met. I hope that we shall meet again, whether in Valhalla or Elysium, or somewhere else. You will live on in the songs of your family, in the ballads of the bards, in the hearts of those who truly knew you.”

Schlatt sniffled, the tears coming faster now and turning it all to a blur.  “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are gray…”

Jack had loved that song.

And he sat there for a long time, a tired and mourning young man who’d grown up too soon, mourning one of his closest friends.

𒐮

You know this is almost the end of the road.

She glanced at Tommy, laughing and beaming like the sun.

There is only one way you can let this end.

You have lived so long, and seen it all.

They still have so much life ahead of them.

They still believe in humanity, whilst you are disillusioned with it.

They deserve preserving.

They have everything to lose and everything to gain.

You have nothing to lose and nothing to gain for yourself- but maybe you can gain their survival.

Jump on your sword, metaphorically speaking, and hope for the best?

Nah.

She could do better.

She should do better.

Maybe it was her flair for the dramatic, or maybe she just had always wanted to go out in style, but she decided she wasn’t going to die simply and quietly.

She’d go out with a bang, if only a final ‘fuck you’ to the universe that had ruined her existence.

Chapter Text

Ever since the encounter with the nymph, Sapnap had been burning to know.

Know if anything she’d said was true.

Know what made Wisdom’s so broken when someone mentioned family.

Wanted to understand the woman he’d known for years (an enigma wrapped in pain).

Know what pain made her cry out in her sleep.

“Do you have a family, Wisdom? Outside of us?” He asked one day.

She paused.

Her eyes grew dark, and her shoulders slumped inwards like she was shielding herself from him. From the question.

The others paused, and turned to face them, their eyes burning with curiosity and empathy and sadness.

“I did, once,” she said. “But… they’re all gone. I’m the last one. Like I always fucking am.”

She whirled around and glared up at the sky.

If looks could kill, her expression would’ve killed twenty men.

“They take, and they take and they take,” she spat, “even when I have nothing left to give. I put my people first, I always have, and what is my reward?”

Her hands clenched into fists by her side.

“I am alone,” she said softly. “Always the mourner. I leave a trail of corpses behind me, always the ones that I love most.”

Sapnap blinked.

Clearly he’d started something here, but if it meant his questions were answered and she felt better, then it was worth it.

Wasn’t it?

Even if there were more questions?

“I want to save lives,” she whispered. “But I ruin them. Like a plague, everything I tocy dies… and at the end of time, there’s me. Still standing. Wikalia, Wisdom, the Godkiller… survivor of a thousand civilizations. Forever alone.”

She turned to face them, and tears glittered in her eyes.

Her shoulders shook and her hands hung limply at her side.

The shock of her previous statements hung over the crowd like storm clouds, but Sapnap felt numb.

His insides felt like ice.

Gods… Wisdom.

She was so sweet and loyal and so so traumatized; why had he ever doubted her?

Looking into her shattered eyes now, Sapnap didn’t know.

The taller woman shuddered.

“And yeah, I’m a monster,” she spat. “You all are free to judge me as much as you like. It’s nothing I’ve not seen before. But I fucking try.”

“I’m the last of the Ancients,” she said quietly. “I fought in three separate wars before I was old enough to legally drink in America. I’ve died, and I’ve lost, and I’ve come back from where no one else has. I don’t know why. But I am cursed. I am a monster, the oncoming storm, a sailor, a soldier. I’m the last of my race. Of my civilization. I have nothing, only my mind, body, and broken heart. “

“I’ve seen things that made full grown people cry and I barely flinched. I’ve killed, and I’ve lied, and I’ve ran.”

She turned to Sapnap, her eyes searing into his head.

“Does that answer your goddamn question, Sapnap Skepides (Son of Skeppy)?”

Sapnap froze when he heard his stepfather’s name, his blood running cold for a third or fifth time that night.

What the fuck…

Wisdom brushed away tears. “Anyways, now that I’ve used you as my therapists, let’s go.”

“This is really some Doctor Who shit,” Tommy mumbled, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably.

Quackity wrapped his arms gently around Wisdom, who melted into the embrace.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”

And she let out a sob and collapsed in his arms.

And that was how the castaways found themselves in a very big, very squished group hug.

But it was nice, knowing you were loved.

𒐮

Falling, falling, falling.

You can’t catch her now.

Broken and bloodied,

the survival of the world comes at a cost.

Viridian and Ruby

Entangled forever

In a dance of life and death

Enemies from millennia ago

Dueling it out with the fate of the world in the balance.

The past comes to haunt the present

And a brutal sacrifice brings salvation

You can’t catch her now, Philides.

This was the role she was born for;

Her swan song.

A final performance,

The end of it all.

She’s seen it all,

And now it ends.

You can’t catch her now,

She’s too far gone.

She knew the risks, she knew how it was going to end.

And she did it anyway.

A shattered hero of the highest caliber.

A Godkiller.

Don’t cry.

It’s not here yet.

But the end is coming.

And her heart is ticking away her final days.

𒐮

“Oi! Kid!” Wisdom snapped, marching right up to Wilbur. “Gave us a big scare, you did! Where the fuck were you?”

“One, I’m older than you,” Wilbur said, “and two, I was fucking lost, asshole!”

Wisdom punched him in the nose and he groaned. “What the hell!”

“Don’t sass your elders, Sweater Boy,” she replied, and punched him in the shoulder. “And that one’s for running amok in a new continent like a child in a sweet shop!”

“Wilby!” Tommy yelled, running over and tackling his brother. “Don’t you fucking ever do that again, sweater boy!”

“Don’t start with that nickname too,” Wilbur grumbled; sounding rather like a petulant child.

“Oh, would ya rather me call you matchstick man? A giant fucking buffoon? Kid? Take your pick,” Wisdom replied.

“I hate you. So much.”

“Sure you do, kid.”

“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE- I’M NOT YOUR SON! I’M OLDER THAN YOU!”

“Yeah, about that…”

Wilbr sighed dramatically (such a theatre kid). “Next thing you’ll say is that you’re immortal, have two hearts, and from a destroyed planet named Gallifrey.”

“Close enough!”

“WHAT?!”

“Oi, yeah, sure,” Wilbur waved his hand. “Right-o, spaceman. Sure is a shame you aren’t David Tennet.”

“I will gut you like a pufferfish filet,” Wisdom promised, “and I will feed you to your Martian friends!”

“What the fuck is going on?” Sapnap asked.

Tommy shrugged.

“Well, I’ll punch you so hard your next regeneration will be missing teeth!” Wilbur clapped back.

“How did we find him again?” Tubbo asked.

George shrugged.

“Ey, try it bird-brain,” Wisdom retorted. “I’ll kick you into the 31st century!”

“Everyone just calm down,” said Techno, stepping between them.

“We are calm!” Wilbur and Wisdom snapped in unison.

“You aren’t,” Techno said.

“Oi, ya prick. Keep your nose where your face is and stay out of this!” Wilbur retorted.

“This is between me and Wisdom.”

“Oh dios mío,” Quackity grumbled.

“We’re surrounded by idiots,” Wisdom said unexpectedly. “Lovable idiots, but still idiots.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Wilbur agreed. “Shall we ditch them and have a fun old time scaring the hell out of other travelers?”

“Fuck yeah!”

“Oh, hell no,” Techno grumbled, grabbing both of them. “You ain’t going anywhere.”

Wilbur and Wisdom exchanged a look, and took off running.

Techno sighed. “Gods damnit.”

Chapter Text

“Oizys sent you, didn’t they?” Said a voice.

Sam swallowed. “Yes.”

“Good. Otherwise you’d be as dead as doornail.”

And with that ominous remark, someone stepped out of the shadows.

They were a gastly pale humanoid that wore a white tunic.

Their eyes were completely black, their hair was all white and worn in a long braid.

From the waist down, they were a orange dream pied ball python.

A faint grin flashed across their face.

“Ah. Sam Kykides. He/Him right? Savior and ruler of L’Manberg?”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “And you are…?”

“Fídi,” they said. “They/she. My parent had a bad sense of humor.”

Sam felt a tinge of sympathy.

His parents had also been terrible with names.

She glanced at him, their eyes staring into his soul. “And I have been waiting for you, Kykides, for nary a century. I suppose it is time.”

“…Time for what?”

Their eyes flashed. “The War of the Damned, of course! Now come along. I have the forces ready.”

𒐮

When the powers of nature are broken, and a tyrant rules supreme

The broken soldier, child of a bygone era, will return to finish the fight.

But a broken bird can’t fly.

And there is no escaping the tragedy that ends this story.

A final dance, a swan song, a quest for freedom.

This is the end of everything and nothing, the beginning of it all and none of it.

As the sky turns as black as the dying,

A final flight holds the fate of the world.

An egotistical, bloodthirsty god, and a broken, traumatized soldier.

As armies of the undead invade, sacrifice and blood turn the grass red.

𒐮

“What the hell is going on here?” Wisdom yelped.

Puffy glared at her.

“Well, I was making out with my girlfriend until someone interrupted!”

Wisdom lifted her hands in defense. “Sorry! But it didn’t sound like just making out, and I wanted to remind you that everyone can hear you. I love y’all, but I do not want to hear that.”

“And that goes for you and Q, Wilbur!” She yelped.

There was a faint ‘fuck you’ in the distance.

“She is so controlling,” Puffy grumbled.

“Yeah!” Wisdom agreed. “And she is also a trained killer, so please go back to sleep and keep your hands to yourself. Or at least, be quiet.”

Puffy flipped her the bird. “Go away, madam, or I will throw my shoe at you. And I have deadly aim.”

Wisdom brandished a spoon. “Engarde!”

“Go to sleep!” Niki shushed. “Fucking idiots.”

𒐮

“Hey, Wisdom…biologically, how old were you during the Starving Time?” Tubbo asked one day.

She gave him a scrutinizing look. “Why do you want to know, wasp boy?”

“First of all, I like bees, not wasps.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure. And two, you’re like biologically 26. Or 27. So how long ago was it for you?”

Her face grew distant and sad, like a soldier relieving their past trauma. “Not long enough. Now,  you should get to bed, Tobias, or Wilbur might set a guard to make sure you sleep.”

And she waved him away without a further word.

𒐮

You’re running out of time.

That wasn’t a problem she’d had in years.

And she welcomed it.

It made her feel more alive, more human, and less…cursed.

She was living more now, under a death sentance, then she was months ago when her memories were gone.

That was a little sad, but very true!

She swung her legs over a yawning abyss like it was a swing set and she was a toddler, the adrenaline of knowing she could die making her head feel light.

That may sound weird, but after so long in a magical coma and then years lost to a memory-wipe and then realizing you are practically immortal and it’s been millennia, to feel human again is very hard.

She laughed, feeling like a child again, running in the streets with the cattle and nearly getting trampled.

Wisdom didn’t fear death, it feared her.

And all she could do now was what she always wanted- to spend every moment with her loved ones that she could.

Because in the end, she was going to be gone, to a place no one comes back from.

One last adventure.

𒐮

Wisdom insisted that Ancients couldn’t get drunk.

“I have consumed so much alcohol I am now immune to your puny little…whatever that is.”

And Tubbo was determined to test this.

Safely, of course.

They couldn’t have her dying of alcohol poisoning, or an alcohol overdose.

This was all for science, of course, and definitely not Tubbo wanting to see what she’d be like drunk.

Duh.

Unfortunately, Wisdom was quick to figure out if a drink was alcoholic, and as such always passed it off to Wilbur.

This defied natural laws and Tubbo’s understanding of the human body, for various reasons.

However, one time it actually did work, and it was more of a disaster than anyone could've predicted…

The group was sitting in a make-shift house overlooking a valley that they had been working on for weeks now, and was almost finished.

Techno had made some glasses the other day out of smooth, smooth volcanic glass, and they were drinking a sort-of gooseberry and mango-lime wine that had no alcohol in it.

At least, not for them.

Tubbo found it was delicious; the mango and lime blended together quite well, and of course the gooseberry wasn’t detachable at all (it is quite bland and flavourless after all).

Wisdom, on the other hand, was acting quite odd.

She’d only had two glasses of the stuff and her eyes were now glazed, a sloppy grin on her face.

Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, thought Tubbo. However, nothing bad had happened yet, and he didn’t even know if it was the mango, the lime, or the gooseberry that had caused Wisdom’s drunken behaviour.

He figured he could wait and see.

“‘Ello!” Wisdom beamed, giving Wilbur a sloppy two-fingered salute.

“...Hi,” Wilbur replied. “Are you okay?”

“Never better!” She laughed, downing another glass. “Oh, what is this? This is the stuff!”

Quackity put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright, Wisdom? You’re acting…a bit odd.”

She shrugged. “Eyy, lighten up a little, man! I’m twenty-seven, I can drink whatever the hell I want! Also, bold of you to assume that I’m odd! What is this, a conspiracy of crows?”  She waved her hand. “Aaaaand there goes London, there goes France, and there’s Niki and Puffy snogging in their-”

Wilbur thankfully cut her off. “Wi, uh, have you had some water?”

She looked offended. “Hey, hark who’s talking! I’m 70% water, like the rest of you lot, I do not need any more at the moment! And you, sire, have not been drinking anything but your boyfriend all night-”

Wilbur looked flabbergasted. “Excuse me, what the-”

Tommy wheezed from a nearby corner. “She ain’t wrong!”

“Thank you!” Wisdom smiled. “OH! Ooooh, my wings are all tingly. All numby-wumby, timey-wimey. Ooooh I think I like this drink.”

Quackity tried to get her to sit down, still flustered by her earlier comment, to no success.

She laughed in his face. “Do you think me an alien, mate? You might not be wrong, to be honest. HA! Me, a bloody martian? Who'd've thunk?”

She paused, looking deep in thought. “Who the heck put gooseberries in here? I thought I told you they make my people act drunk-like and then kill them.”

And with that, she promptly collapsed, and the rest of the night was spent in worried semi-immortal medical experiences.

If Tubbo learned anything from this, it was that gooseberries can’t be trusted.

Also, Wisdom nearly murdered him the next morning.

“The next time you want to nearly kill me, tell me so we can brainstorm, you pillock!”

Chapter Text

The house was developing well  now; it was basically finished, and everyone was grateful for it.

Now they were dry, and sheltered from the bitter cold of mid-December.

Snow came in the fifth week of them settling down here, and it came hard.

Wilbur awoke to a heavy thump on the roof.

What the…

He could distantly hear voices and laughter.

He glanced at the clock and groaned.

5 am.

He’d almost slept a full five hours.

Great.

Now that his sleep had been ruined, he better go check on everyone and make sure Wisdom wasn’t throwing knives at an apple on George’s head again.

Or, Tubbo wasn’t making atomic bomb models out of sticks and mud. (Why was that kid so interested in bombs??)

He dressed quickly and wrapped his blanket around himself in lieu of a coat and headed outside.

And just as he’d predicted, it was a disaster zone.

Wisdom rolled off the roof and landed lightly on her feet in the snow, her hair now a vivid-ice blue that made her eyes look pale, pale grey (almost white).

“Ey!” She grinned, spotting Wilbur. “Wil’s up!”

“Oh no,” said Tommy, who was holding what looked like a cross between a cat and a dragon in his arms. “Frick. Sorry, Wil.”

Techno peeked out from behind a very elaborate snowman that appeared to be wearing armour made of ice that had drakons and mers carved into it. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“WE HAVE SNOWWW!” Tubbo yelled, running out of nowhere, slipping on ice, and slamming into Wilbur with all the force of a great typhoon and knocking the older brunet on his bum.

“Good morning, Tubs,” said Wilbur. “Who was that very loud thump that woke me up?”

Tubbo helped him up and pointed to Tommy, who gulped nervously. “Uh oh…”

*

Purpled let out a strong slew of curses as he waded through waist-deep snow.

Stupid snow.

But at least it had covered the tracks they had been following, so that was good.

Slowed them down a bit.

Punz sighed. “Hemera?”

“Yeah?” the other hero replied, popping out of the snow.

“Have you found the tracks yet?”

“Yes-”- goddamnit, why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut- “they go this way!”

And off the team of assassins, otherwise known as a murder, went.

And Purpled was horribly, horribly nervous.

They were heading to kill his friends.

But if he stood up to them, he’d be dead too.

Gosh darn it, why couldn't it be as clear-cut as it was in the movies?

Why couldn’t he be an actual hero and sacrifice himself for his friends?

Why was he so selfish?

Why couldn’t he be like Horatius, and be severely wounded to stop Rome from being overrun?

Why couldn’t he be like Odysseus, determined to see his friends home even if he died?

Much like Odysseus, though, he was doomed to be the only survivor.

And this voyage, this odyssey, was as wrapped in tragedy and horror as the cunning general of the Trojan war.

Purpled was more like Antitorpilikó, the Thracian-born assassin who was forced by his enemy, King Okeanós, to watch his friends die.

Friendless, an orphan, with no home to return to, the Thracian led an army of undead and destroyed Okeanós’ army.

Afterwards, the new king of Sparta, Lýkos, an avid worshipper of Artemis, granted him asylum and he started a new life as a king’s guard.

But he never forgot the pain he suffered, nor did he ever kill again, forever remembering the look of death in the dying.

It would be just his luck to have to see them die, and unfortunately Sam nor an army of undead Grecian warriors were available. He was on his own. Like he always was.

Forever lonely, like a story written by the Fates with barbed thorns and brambles to teach humanity a lesson.

A wolf with no pack to rely on, a lion with no pride, a jellyfish without its smack.

At least the jellyfish weren’t aware of the absence, though. They just floated on, without a care in the world, ethereal and deadly.

But Purpled…he felt the absence of Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo and Jack like one would feel the bite of an inland taipan, painful and fresh.

He was in the belly of the titanoboa here, surrounded by enemies and with no one to watch his back.

And it was lonely.

Isolated.

Messed with his head.  Like a neurotoxin.

And he wanted oh-so badly to be with someone he could trust again.

Betrayed by someone who called you a friend, you will lose what matters most in the end.

Ah. A Percy Jackson reference.

It fits here.

All the people around him called him ‘a friend’, but he knew one of them wouldn’t hesitate to betray him.

*

A stunningly beautiful ginger-haired woman met Wisdom’s eyes.

“She with the broken sight walks alone in the darkest light.

A broken promise and vivid rage shall bring about the end of days.

A tyrant falls as Koronis calls, and the nightingale sings to the fallen angel.

A broken son faces his demons on an endless night, as the others try to fight.

A hidden ally arrives in their hour of need, and blood is spilled on sacred ground, trapped in a sea of enemies.”

She woke up with a gasp, her breath coming quick and heavy.

That was…an odd dream.

Very creepy.

And what the hell was the mysterious woman talking about?

She couldn’t remember, which wasn’t unusual.

Most people don’t remember their dreams.

But something in her dream had set Wisdom on edge.

And she was tense.

Chapter Text

Til death do we part.

Twice she’d said those words; both times to amazing women who she loved and who loved her in return.

And twice had that Gordian knot been untied; not by her hands, but by the hands of fate.

And it hurt.

It stung like a fresh wound leaking blood into the saltwater.

You said nothing could keep us apart.

But here I am.

Without either of you.

Dreaming of a time when I called you mine.

I knew what I was risking when I married you , but I never thought it would come to pass.

And now I’m as alone as a mockingbird in the nest of a crow.

I have friends; but my heart still aches for you.

I miss your smiles, Idalia; the way you laughed. Your compassion. Your kindness.

Ida, the way tou looked at me, so full of love and respect, stole my heart and never gave it back.

I miss you two like I’ve never missed anyone else.

I can see the others falling in love and settling down like I can’t.

I watch like some distant god, unable to touch nor feel those moments.

She didn’t envy them those idyllic moments; they were all traumatized, like her, and deserved some happy times before they all got brutally killed.

But it still hurt to watch.

It reminded her of times when her heart wasn’t nearly as numb; when she was married, not a widow.

It reminded her of times when she wasn’t an orphan; when she could act her age.

When she had all the time in the world; and her heart wasn’t beating down to her final seconds like a twisted clock of death.

Back when tomorrow wouldn’t start without her.

Back when she’d been as human as everyone around her, and not the shallow husk she was now.

She wiped away crystalline droplets of water off of her face and looked up at the sunset.

Surrounded by people but feel so lonely.

My heart keeps on beating but I struggle to breathe

Find me, my lovely

In the darkness where the broken things hide

I’ll be waiting for you, my darling

A mourning dove for his nightingale

In the darkening winter air

A soldier in peacetime, broken and afraid

A woman out of time

A walking history  lesson

But I just want you back

And I’ll wait til the day I die to see you again

*

Being in love with someone was a mess.

And it was further entangled when said person was your ex-nemesis and you are homoerotically stranded together in the wilderness.

(Sounds like the plot of Brokeback Mountain but with superheroes, he had to admit.)

Dios mío, Quackity’s life was a fucking disaster.

He sighed and glanced up at the stars.

He loved the man so much.

His smile was brighter than the stars; his compassion was as gentle and soothing as the heartbeat of a hummingbird.

He lit up any room he walked into like a lantern on a misty night.

He was selfless, like a mother crocodile fighting off invaders to protect her young.

He wanted to be with him for as long as he could.

But things don’t work like that.

This isn’t a fucking Disney movie where everything turns out okay in the end; this was real life.

Where a friend accuses another of gaslighting, supposedly trying to help, and pushes them so far away that other thinks they aren’t even friends anymore.

Where friends lie, and backstab, and people die alone.

This is real life, where people wait for someone, anyone, to love them. But no one ever does, and existence becomes a misery.

Becomes a living hell, every moment full of pain.

This is real life, where relationships burn down like funeral pyres.

And Quackity had no change for Wilbur to love him back.

This was real life.

A tragedy, a horror, not a rom-com.

And Quackity’s head knew all that.

But his heart didn’t.

And that heart is not easily swayed.

Oh, Dios, why couldn’t Wilbur be an asshole?

Why did Wilbur have to be so amazing?

His heart was being torn in two; between the right thing (letting Wilbur go) and his shimmering bonfire of feelings for Wilbur.

Mierda.

Ese bastardo tenía que ser tan increíble!

¿Qué demonios?

Mi corazón es una idiota, he thought. Falling in love with him when it knows how it would end.

But that’s humanity for you.

Even when they know things aren’t going to end happily they still hope for the best.

And that is something gods do not understand.

*

“How long has it been? How long was I asleep?  How old am I now? I don’t know any of this, and I want to know, but at the same time I don’t. I don’t want to know how many years my loved ones have been dead; thinking me a traitor. Because if I do know, it will destroy me. It will eat at me like radium eats at bone; destroying everything in its path until all that’s left is an empty husk. And the last thing they need right now is an empty husk.”

*

“Everyone who has loved me has died, Philides. My mother drowned when her ship hit a reef. My father starved to death during the  Starving Time. My eldest brother, George, died of syphilis. My uncle Icaerus was executed. My brother Alexander was killed by typhoid. The prevailing fever took my sisters Patience and Spes. My first wife bled to death in my arms. My second wife fell through my hands and broke her neck. She also died.

My best friend died of osteosarcoma.

So if I struggle to not see the ends of everyone here, it’s because I’ve seen it before. I’ve lost everyone. And here I am, going through the motions again. So yeah, maybe I am a little distant. A little cold. But everyone who dared to be close to me fled to the heavens above. So why wouldn’t I be, Technoblade?”

*

You said nothing would keep us apart.

You lied.

Schlatt stared down at Phil’s grave.

It was quiet, in a secluded area overlooking a river and shaded by centuries-old maple trees.

This was Bone Willow; the cemetery for those who died in Pandora or a mental institution. Officially. Unofficially, it was for those killed by the Hero Society.

Unfortunately, there were a lot of graves.

All hadn’t been visited in years, and it was horribly sad.

No one, no matter what they did, deserved to be forgotten.

He recognized several names on the graves he passed.

James G. Winterfield, named for US President James A. Garfield (which was probably a bad idea) and a famous author who was assassinated after protesting the Hero Society’s brutal new handling of criminals.

He’d been an amazing man, born in 1889 and died less than twenty years later.

And they’d killed him.

Many of those who laid here had similar stories.

Covered up by the Hero Society to hide their crimes.

There was Lyssa Song, a time weaver  (someone who can control the flow of time and see it) who was poisoned with hemlock after she started disrupting the Hero Society’s money flow.

Then there was Nayeli, a Native American spirit watcher (one who could see the good and evil in everyone as different colored spirits) who was found dead after a meeting with Daedalus about the ‘99 Refuge Crisis.

There was Solana Brightstalker, a genderfluid shape-shifting priest of Loki who told Daedalus that godly wrath would bear down upon him.

She/he was killed by a bite from a boomslang snake less than an hour after that interaction.

It was horrible to see such a widespread effect of Daedalus’ cruelty- so many good people had died, and for what?

To cover up his crimes?

Schlatt scoffed.

Just when he thought he couldn’t dislike that man any more.

Schlatt looked back down at Phil’s grave.

Where the man who’d taken him in off the streets after his own parents cast him out lay as unmoving as stone.

If he even lay here at all.

Phil had given him a new start; a family.

And he’d forever be grateful for that.

Chapter Text

The snow was harsh on George’s exposed shins and he cursed their lack of clothes suited to the bitter cold.

He was standing vigil; watching for danger on the snowy cliff top.

It had been a quiet night thus far- unlike Karl’s shift a few days ago, which had scared the hell out of everyone.

A faint cry of an owl hung heavy in the cold air, and George smiled.

The nature around them was beautiful; fierce and savage, but also lovely and hopeful.

There was a faint crunch, and George turned around to see Purpled standing a few metres away.

What in the-

His blond hair was longer, and his pale purple-grey eyes were as empty and dark as a black hole, but he held a mycenaean short sword made from netherite and diamond.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

George let out a scream.

Not one of fear, but a scream of alarm, to warn the others.

And thank the gods, everyone was a relatively light sleeper.

Purpled tackled him, pinning him into the snow and holding his purple-black and crystal-clear blade right above where George’s common carotid artery would be.

“Don’t move,” the teenager hissed.

George kicked him off and sprinted for the house, Purpled on his heels.

Thank Ares, Wisdom came bursting out of the house, dual-wielding knives the length of George’s arm.

One whizzed by George and missed his ear by mere centimetres, grazing Purpled’s face and leaving a faint scratch of blood, and slamming hilt-deep into an oak tree.

“Leave him alone, Alien,” she said.

Purpled brushed the blood away and stared at her.

“Sorry,” he repeated.

Wisdom charged and George barely jumped out of the way, stumbling a bit and falling.

But someone caught him.

“Hello, George,” whispered Hemera. “Missed me?”

He sighed. He hated using his powers.

But he had no choice here.

So he whirled around and grabbed Hemera’s forearms, eyes and fingertips glowing black.

Hemera tried to back away but his grip was as tight as iron.

And she crumbled into ashes.

George backed away, horror and guilt and regret eating away at him.

But he had no choice.

It was do or die out here right now.

*

Punz ran at Wisdom, but she dodged and he almost fell into the tree.

Dang it, he thought.

Wisdom was fleet-footed, like a deer, and had decades of experience more than he did.

She gave him a flirty little smile, and then one of her knives (WHY THE HECK DID SHE HAVE SO MANY AND WHERE DID THEY COME FROM??!)  slashed at his calf and he fell backwards onto the snow.

She loomed over him.

“You lean a bit to the left,” she said. “You should probably fix that.”

And off she went, leaving Punz very confused and bleeding.

What in Tartarus just happened?

*

Wisdom yelped as Pontus slammed a massive ice block into her and she tumbled, the sharp ice pricking at her forearms and leaving little dots of blood.

She caught herself in time and ducked, avoiding Pontus’ roundhouse kick.

She grabbed one of her knives and ducked under his feet, coming up behind him, and stabbing him in a benign spot on his shoulder.

She left the knife there, she didn’t want him to bleed out, and took him out of the game with a brutal headbutt that sent him sprawling into the snow.

She grinned.

She’d kinda missed this.

The adrenaline, the understanding that you were fighting for something more…

But then Willow gave her an impromptu hair-cut with a flying piece of metal that left her bleeding from her cheek, and she decided to think about it later.

If there was a later.

The hero punched her hard in the face and she retorted by sweeping her feet out from under her, leaving Willow exposed on her back.

Willow quickly recovered and fought back, using telekinesis to send razor-sharp icicles flying at Wisdom.

Most of them missed, but one scratched her shoulder lightly.

Wisdom responded by straight-up tackling her opponent, using her height and strength to her advantage and pinning the shorter hero to the ground.

“Go away,” she panted.

“Oh, fuck you,” Willow said, annoyed, and pulled one of her feathers.

Wisdom screeched and hung on tighter, her eyes wide with pain and fury.

Here’s the thing. You can’t touch an Avian’s wings without consent.

And also, having a feather pulled is incredibly painful.

Willow then used her telekinesis to fling Wisdom into a wall, but Wisdom got back up and continued fighting.

Luckily for Wisdom, only weapons could kill a basically divine being like herself, not falls or illness or age.

So she was unscathed by the attack, whilst Willow was wearing out from using so much mental energy.

So when Wisdom judo-flipped Willow and pinned her arms behind her back, Willow was much too tired to do much of anything but cuss her out.

And having been both a soldier and a sailor, Wisdom had heard and said much worse than the creative expletives coming out of her attacker’s mouth.

Wisdom tied Willow to a tree using thorny vines, and then hurried off to make sure everyone else was alright.

(And yes, she knew that probably wasn’t going to hold, but Willow wasn’t much of a threat right now after using so much energy to attack her.)

*

“Oh, thank Ares,” Punz said as he slammed a rock over Wilbur’s head, finally causing the brunet to crumple.

The dude had stayed upright (and conscious) after being slammed into a wall twice and being hit in the head with the hilt of a sword.

Such a mad lad.

Wisdom reappeared and when she saw Wilbur, her eyes grew cold and she met Punz’s gaze.

“Fuck you,” she said, disappearing and then reappearing a moment later right in front of him.

The last thing Punz saw before it all became  as black as the Mariana Trench at midnight was her fist, racing to meet his face.

*

“Damnit, just give up! Assholes!” Wisdom grumbled, kicking another one of Sam’s cronies.

“Sam just doesn’t give up,” sighed Techno. “It’s infuriating.”

“We can’t last much longer,” Sapnap said.

“We’re all going to die!” Ranboo gasped.

“No one’s going to die!” Dream chimed in anxiously, looking panicked. “Everything’s going to be fine, right?”

He looked at Wisdom, who looked pained for a moment before her face smoothed over.

“We’re all going to be fine,” she said calmly. “But someone will need to distract them so the others can get away. I will do it. When I tell you to, run like hell.”

“Wisdom-“

She silenced the person with a glare.

“Oh, so we’re doing this,” mumbled George. “Great.”

“And where the heck is Wilbur?” Tommy hissed.

Dream swore. “For fuck’s sake-“

Chapter Text

“OI!” yelled the bluette, stepping out from behind the cluster of rocks. “PURPLE MAN!”

Her eyes were like shards of rose quartz; sharp and brittle but deadly and alluring.

The scratch on her cheek had long since stopped bleeding and she didn’t even seem to notice it at all as she stepped out, hands behind her back.

“I’m here to make you a deal,” she said.

“Where are the others?” said Punz coldly, not buying into her nonsense.

“I wouldn’t say I don’t know, but I wouldn’t say I don’t don’t don’t know either,” said Wisdom.

“Where are they?” he snapped.

She whistled the opening notes of Your Obedient Servant grimly; it sounded like a melody of death in her lips.

She stopped when Punz shot her a glare.

She sighed. “You’re no fun. I was going to tell you what you needed to know, but…”

“You’re no traitor, Wisdom. What are you doing?”

“Business,” she said coldly. “They’re not going to survive this, you and I know this. I just want to be on the winning side- and they aren’t winning anymore. You understand this. You do it for a job.”

Punz was incredibly suspicious.

Wisdom was a faithful person by nature- she would never behave like this.

She was distracting him.

He fought back a scowl and turned to Purpled- but Purpled wasn’t there.

Where was his brother?

“What. Did. You.Do.” He snapped, whirling around.

But Wisdom, too, was gone- like a ghost in the dead of night.

He swore.

Damn it.

Daedalus wasn’t going to be pleased.

And neither was he.

What did they do to his brother?

*

Wisdom slid down yet another hill.

If Punz was following her, he’d yet to show his face- and besides, what he really wanted was the others.

And they went in a totally opposite direction.

Brambles crunched under her weight, pricking at her calloused hands, but she ignored them and continued speed-walking.

Boy, tonight had not gone the way she was expecting.

But she was used to that.

It was more surprising that everyone was alive, honestly.

Someone should’ve died in that ambush- possibly all of them, if it weren’t for George.

Wisdom skidded to a halt on another cliff, steep and imposing, which overlooked a misty forest of centuries-old Máchi trees.

The trees were tall and grey, their leaves pale blue and glowing in the dark.

They were called Máchi trees because in her day, the wood was as tough as iron and sharper than obsidian, and as thus was often used for battle weapons- hence the name.

She’d used some Máchi leaves earlier when she dyed her hair pale blue, and in tradition it was often also used for paints and cloth dyes for people who worked in the dark, such as miners or farmers.

She grinned down at the drop.

A leap of faith.

And like a bird, she spread her wings as she fell, and took to the air like a heron takes to the water.

She twisted in the air, as free as a Philippine eagle, and flew above the twisted heights of the cliffside, her heart as light as a feather, for she was in her element.

Once she was high enough that a watcher could not distinguish her from her avian kin, she flew south, down to the aspen forest where the wild things wander.

She slipped between the overlapping branches like an octopus between seaweed and landed lightly beneath the ancient trees.

Niki waited there.

“You’re alive,” she said. “Were you followed?”

“I believe that I wasn’t,” Wisdom answered, smooth as the skin of an eel. “Are the others alright?”

“A little shaken up, and some injuries, but otherwise fine.”

“Then let’s go. Musn’t hold them up.”

*

Wilbur groaned as he came to, Quackity’s worried face looming over him.

“He’s awake!” Quackity said quietly, and Tommy popped out of nowhere.

“You scared us half to death!” Tommy scolded, sounding like Phil so much it hurt.

Wilbur groaned.  “Wasn’t on purpose!”

“Well, duh,” said Dream.

Wilbur sighed and mentally rolled his eyes, feeling a wee bit fed up with his companions.

“Don’t you dare do it again!” Dream called. “It’s becoming a cliche!”

Wilbur sat up so fast he gave himself whiplash and scowled at his blond friend. “Oh, it’s not like I want this-ow, fuck, duly noted. Don’t sit up.”

And he collapsed against the tree.

Quackity twined his fingers with Wilbur’s.

“Hey,” he said softly, “slow down. No rushing around, alright? You almost fucking died on me, again . You need to rest.”

Wilbur looked his lover friend in the eyes and noted the worry and pain.

He hated causing his friends pain.

“Alright,” he whispered.

Quackity’s smile could’ve lit up Miami, and it made Wilbur’s cold heart thaw.

What did he do to deserve him; blessed by Aphrodite, favored by Athene, and guided by Hermes himself.

He was, in Wilbur’s eyes, as beautiful as Helen of Sparta, she whose face launched a thousand ships and burned the towers of Ilium.

And his presence felt like a blessing from the Fates.

*

Fleet-footed was he; like Sköll and Hati, the wolves who hunger after the sun and moon.

His ancient heart was as cold as Hela’s swift touch, his eyes as green as Yggdrasil’s leaves.

He was born from myths and legends, tales of woe and misery.

But in the end…he still was somewhat human.

Sam scowled at the screen.

Punz’s updates were rather lacking.

He hadn’t caught anyone yet, despite ambushing them on an isolated cliff top.

Idiot, he sighed. You could have ended it there, but instead you bungled it. Fucking dumbass.

It was time for Sam to take this into his own hands.

*

Punz was terrified.

He had failed.

And no one ever failed Sam twice.

He was going to die; and brutally at that.

He could be choking on hemlock, writhing in agony with boomslang venom, and yet Sam would still find him and make him pay for his failure.

Really should’ve chosen another career, he thought.

One with a less high rate of fatal error.

He closed his eyes.

It was a leap of faith.

And it didn’t work out. It’s okay.

Hela, Thanatos, Anubis…they all come for us eventually.

They just came for me a bit sooner.

But that didn’t make it any less terrifying, nor did it make Punz feel at ease.

How could it? It was a death sentence, after all, and unlike Wisdom, he did not want to die.

He was so young, only a few months past his twenty-first birthday.

He hadn’t even had time to go to college.

Or to make many friends, or to taste alcohol.

But it looked like none of those things were going to happen.

He was going to die, and be remembered only as a sycophant of Sam.

Would anyone mourn him?

Cry when he was gone?

Would anyone even notice?

Would he get a funeral, or would his body just be cremated and the ashes scattered gods-know-where?

What would his legacy be?

One of death and ruin?

What is a legacy?

It’s planting the seeds of trees you never see grow up.

It’s your story, written on the pages of history.

It’s every action you do, every word you say, every choice you make.

It’s the people who remember you when you’re gone.

It’s your thoughts, your pain, every person you ever helped and every person you ever hurt.

It’s a symphony your voice never sings.

But you’re the sheet music the symphony is singing.

It’s not how you see yourself- for that will always be distorted.

It’s how you affected others.

How they see you.

And he was sure he would be remembered as a monster.

The loyal Darkstripe to Sam’s Tigerstar, never leaving his side even when he learned the extent of Sam’s crimes.

Chapter Text

“Take my hand, and everything can be as it should be.”

Sam reached out a hand, the other one holding a hourglass made of peridot and jade.

“After all, you don’t want to be like your dear father, do you? A tyrant? Cruel?”

That didn’t even make sense; her father had been a good man. A kind one.

Sam’s face twisted in a imitation of a smile that sent shivers down her spine. “I await you at the end of days, daughter of time. Don’t let me down.”

The scene changed, and she was standing on a mountainside.

The sky was the mint green and bright pink of sunrise, oranges and golds scattered throughout like an abstract painting.

The air was still, and thick with tension; like the calm before the storm.

“You thought you knew what was coming? Think again. This story is twisted, and full of knots and surprises. The end is coming. Your time is almost up, and then we shall take our due. Enjoy your final days, demigod, for your afterlife will not be as pleasant.”

The scene changed again.

This time she was sitting on a hill, watching the sky bleed red and dark blues.

The leaves above her turned gold in the fading light, and the sturdy trunk of the oak tree pressed against her back reassuringly.

“Do not fear, my love,” came the voice of Idalia, her last heartbreak. “I await you after the end.”

Wisdom woke with a gasp.

She panted.

What the hell had she been dreaming of? She couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that the hounds of hell were finally nipping at her heels; that the Valkyrie were close behind, ready to take her away.

That the Fates had finally made up their minds about her fate, and now it was coming.

As swift as a mockingbird in flight, as graceful as a eagle ray in the water, her death was upon her, and her final days were to begin.

And though she’d wished to die, it was still terrifying, like she was a child again, fearing the dark.

Fleeing from the one who sought her the most.

But why did Sam want to see her so badly…wasn’t she his enemy? What did he want from her?

She figured she’d see soon, but she still felt uneasy.

She didn’t like sitting around and waiting for things to happen.

She wanted to get up and get things done, not just wait for it.

She wanted some semblance of control over the situation.

But she knew better than to expect that.

And as she lay on the ground and looked up at the stars, she remembered.

Heroes don’t get happy endings.

They get brutal, tragic ones.

Ones that are so painful they lurk in mythology for millennia after they happen.

What would hers be?

*

Wilbur dreamt.

Three women stood in front of him.

Their hair was as dark as the night sky, and their eyes were blank and pupiless.

They were dressed in traditional Ancient Greek style, the clothes a dark blood red.

Tear tracks showed on their faces.

“We are the Algea,” they said.

Lupe, Ania, Achus.

Fuck.

They were spirits of pain and suffering, both physical and mental.

If they were visiting his dreams…

“Listen to us well, son of kind and gentle death-“

“-for we bear a warning from the heavens-“

“-you are to see much pain and suffering soon-“

“-and nothing can prevent it-“

“-marching like the Persians on Athens.”

“The one you call friend will fall in combat. Your brothers will disperse in the wind like dandelion seeds-“

“-and what you once prized most, your kin, will be lost to the ages like we were.”

“Sleep well, legacy of Thanatos himself. For in your future is the final death of a culture, broken promises, and the blood of the eldest god spilled upon sacred ground.”

And it all turned black.

Wilbur woke with a gasp, the Algea’s voices echoing in his head.

Final death of a culture.

Broken promises.

Blood of the eldest god spilled on sacred ground.

The one you call friend will fall in combat.

A shiver ran down his spine.

The Algea were relatives of Oizys themself- god of misery.

They didn’t appear in any of the mythology much, but they were still ominous.

And what they’d said echoed in his head, making his heart pound in his chest.

By all the gods, if someone died, when they were this close to a happy ending, he’d take Sam’s trigeminal nerve  and strangle him with it.

Heroes don’t have happy endings.

Achilles. Patroclus.

Heracles.

Ariadne.

Theseus.

But by the gods, didn’t Wilbur and his friends deserve one?

Didn’t they deserve a chance a life without the the gods fucking it all up?

A chance to be a normal found family?

Fuck, the gods.

Once, Wilbur had believed in them fervently, despite the tragedies that hounded him.

But now…

Fuck them. Fuck them.

They had never done a damn thing to help, despite his thousands of prayers and sacrifices to them.

And he knew they were real.

So they were just assholes.

*

He could run and he could run, but there was no escaping the oncoming storm.

No escaping the war, the destruction, the grief.

No escaping his own actions and his death.

Wasn’t it lovely, wasn’t it lovely, just how far he’d fallen?

Like Icarus, from the arms of his lover as his father watched, heart-broken?

As his hubris destroyed him?

Wasn’t it lovely, how his heart was a clock, counting down to his final hour?

Doesn’t the blood in the water taste so innocent?

Don’t the screams of the damned ring in your ears?

Don’t the cries of everyone you ever knew cling to you like bad memories?

Wasn’t it just so perfect that no one heard you scream?

As your broken crown shattered on the ground, as the ballads of war were sung all around you?

As the symphonies of history were written, no trace of your voice anywhere?

Chapter Text

So uh 
I never thought I’d do this (except with Gasoline, which is probably also going to be discontinued and put up for adoption ngl), but this story and the series it’s in (Monsters Among Men) is being discontinued/abandoned.

I have two reasons for this.

one, there is a general lack of interest in this. 

two, and probably more importantly, I have two new works that I am in love with and one is way more popular than this one despite this one being much older. 

y’all can adopt this story if you want, just ask and I’ll say yes! And give me credit, duh. 

I hate to see this come to a end, because I put so much work in it (and with little enjoyment from readers), but all good things come to an end, if you can call this writing a good thing. 

I hope anyone who put any support in this whatsoever has a great day, and thank you for the support, it means a lot. 

Lots of Love,

Vi (JustAShark)

update: I have decided to continue writing it :)

Chapter Text

Sam closed his eyes and pictured the scenic landscape of his homeland.

And with a flash of viridian light, the god vanished.

*

One builds suits and tech drones (Tubbo)

One was highly overexposed (Wilbur)

One is a god, the mighty Thor (Blood God,

Techno)

One was an enemy long before  (Puffy)

One’s an archer who never missed (George)

One can make reality twist (Wisdom)

They fight beside me

And I

Lead them into war

*

They were now sheltering in the Necropolian Badlands, a dry grassland with a few trees and even fewer lifeforms.

The sky was as clear as crystal tonight.

The stars and galaxies shimmered in the light of the waxing moon.

Wilbur snuggled up to Quackity, who was fast asleep, and curled up next to his friend’s side, looking up at the stars all the while.

He wondered what this feeling was.

This feeling of safety he felt when he was with Quackity.

This feeling of totality, of being whole. Of being welcome, and loved.

He knew what it was. He just didn’t want to say it.

He was in love with the Avian beside him.

He fucking loved him.

Not in the way he loved the others.

Not in the way he loved Tommy, and Sapnap, and George.

Not in the way he’d loved Schlatt.

Not in the way he loved Phil, or Techno, or Wisdom, or Puffy, or Niki.

He felt the same way for Quackity as Wisdom had Idalia.

He was deeply in love with his ex-nemesis.

Had been for years.

Quackity understood him in a way no one else did.

He loved him in a way no one else did. (Or so he hoped.)

He wondered if there was a constellation for being in love with one of your closest friends.

*

Time and the mind is so intricately entwined.

And Wisdom’s mind was more so.

So she could feel her time energy running out.

Literally.

Time energy is in all things, all of the time.

But it begins to vanish before death.

There is no set time for death to occur once the time energy starts decaying- it’s all random.

Wisdom had seen it with so many people.

But not Jack. Or Schlatt. Or even Idalia, because she’d not known her identity then. The truth of who she was.

Wisdom was not marked long for the world.

The survivor of a millennia old civilization faced death, and she embraced it.

She had stared death in the eyes before. During the Homecoming. During the L’Manberg Civil War. During the Massacre at Blood Bone Hill.  In the war with Calendria. During her tenure as a hero.

So she was calm. She accepted death. She didn’t fight it, or hide from it, or seek it. She welcomed death like an old friend (which it was).

Her first experience with death was when she was four. Typhoid fever hit the city. Her entire family went down with it. Her two older brothers died.

Next was when she was nine.

A malaria epidemic hit the family during a vacation to a seaside city for a wedding. Her sister, her closest friend, passed away.

She was raised in death. So the cruelty of war was nothing new to her.

She made a good soldier.

*

Quackity didn’t know what to do with his feelings about Wilbur. He knew he was in love with him, and the two had kissed once, but everything was still very vague and up in the air. They had never explicitly stated what their relationship was. Was it romantic? (Hopefully)

Was it platonic? Was it queer platonic? Or something else? Ugh, why are relationships so difficult, he wondered.

Would they be able to figure it out before Sam showed up (the butcher of Bleeding Hill), ready to slaughter them all?

*

Wikalia was not the only one with blood to her name. Sam was able to admit this. Though he thought his path virtuous, and all of his actions justified, he was willing to admit that one thing hadn’t been justified nor virtuous.

The battle of Bleeding Hill.

It had been around sixty years ago, now. Only George and Quackity knew it was him. He’d admitted to his protégés his guilt of the massacre that had occurred there, as a lesson.

He wondered if they would use it against him.

He stared down the cliff side, down at the Icarian Sea, and remembered.

The butcher of Bleeding Hill was infamous in the history of the new land Sam called home.

He had murdered his way through six towns- Accotink, Saint Charles, Pine Bluff, Carthage, Corydon, and Dry Wood.

Ironically, much like Bleeding Hill, they were all named for sites of battles in the American Civil War.

Bleeding Hill was derived from Wilson’s Creek- better known as  Bloody Hill.

Sam had been hunting down a suspect of traitorous behavior, a supposed Communist who was relatively new to the server.

His name was Arson, a former government official in L’Manberg.

He was a wily young man, a big fan of Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes, easily outwitting Sam.

Sam’s patience snapped after a week of pursuit.

Pointless killing had ensued through the next six towns Sam passed through, until he’d found Arson in Kinoko.

Arson had died there. Or at least, he thought so. It would’ve been hard for Arson to take his death.

That probably said something about him.

But Sam didn’t care, even if a part of him felt horrendously guilty. It had been a long time ago. And everything he’d done since was justified…in his point of view.

Sure, Manifold had been young, and his death had been brutal, but he was a traitor. Traitors were not entitled to peaceful, quick deaths. It would not be justice to give them a quick, painless death.

Yes, his sister had had kids to raise. Had had a husband who loved her. But so did every traitor. Her punishment was one what she deserved.

Wikalia had escaped justice.

But not for long.

Sam promised to bring down the law upon her, as she deserved.

Then he would stamp out the rebellion she was a part of.

*

Phil kept first watch.

He knew all too well that Sam was a stubborn, cunning son of a bitch.

The man was willing to do anything to achieve his goals, whether that meant genocide or sororicide.

Phil was not willing to lose anyone else to his arrogant brother in law.

Not after Kristin. Jack. Schlatt.

He was going to protect his family this time.

He was.

He wasn’t going to fail  them again.

*

Puffy stared up at the stars.

She couldn’t sleep.

She knew Sam was hunting them, even if he was supposed to be on another continent an ocean away.

She knew the bastard was coming to tear their small, broken family apart.

And she would fight like hell to stop that from happening, even if it was three in the morning.

She would fight for her friends. For her girlfriend, Niki. She would fight to bring the man she had once called friend down from his tyrannical throne. She would fight so that maybe they could have a happy ending.

So maybe that the heroes she called family could be the exception to the rule of true  heroes never getting happy endings.

Chapter Text

Meet me by the falls of Sciron, near the statue of Heracles, as soon as possible. Or all your friends will die.

Wisdom sat up straight, Daedalus’ words echoing in her ears. The others, fast asleep around the embers of a dying fire and snoring, didn’t take notice. Quackity and Wilbur were cuddling, as were Tubbo and Tommy. Puffy and Niki were snuggled up against Phil, whose giant wings was wrapped around all three of them like a giant feathery blanket. Dream, George, and Sapnap 

You might think that is an empty threat. But I am not mortal. I never was. I am a god, and they are but insignificant husks of characters on the game board. Their lives, their feelings, do not matter to me. I am above such weaknesses- but you, and they, are not. 

You’ve always had a soft spot for the innocent, Wikalia. So you will come to me, and we will finish this once and for all. Or I will burn your weak little friends’ world to ashes, as I burned yours. 

She knew all too well that his threats were serious. She’d known him for too long to not. Daedalus was callous and calculating, cruel beyond measure. Myth said that he’d killed his nephew, Talos, son of his sister Perdix- all because he was jealous of how popular he was.

And he’d spoken to her in her head, before, both as a hallucination and not. But usually the hallucination didn’t mention specific locations to meet him- and she was both well-rested and well-hydrated, making a hallucination unlikely.

She’d always known it would end this way. Well, kind of hoped that the Fates (the Moirai Clotho the spinner, Lachesis the allotter, and Atropos the inevitable) would be so kind as to let her bring this bastard to the gates of Erebus. There was going to be a sacrifice required, and she was the only one who could do it.

She took one last look at her friends, sleeping away under the dark spanse of Uranus. They looked so peaceful, despite all the pain they had been through. This was why she was fighting, this was why she was going to die. For the people who had bled and suffered under Daedalus’ cruelty. They had more than earned a happy ending, these broken remains of a family. And she was going to get one for them- no matter what it took. 

“Don’t be afraid to fly in the dark,” she whispered, knowing none could hear. “There is nothing to fear of the unknown. Embrace it.”

With that done, she spread her wings. They were colored like Eos’ blood-stained dawn, and almost seemed an omen of what was to come. She stood up, and took to the air. 
This was her fight. She would finally bring this twisted tragedy to an end. 

This war, this fight…it was always between them. Her, Wikalia, Wisdom, a woman out of time. And he, Daedalus, the man who played God. They had both flown too close to Bel’s golden disk. And now the gods would claim their price.

Heroes don’t get happy endings. She had known that since she was a girl. And it made flying to her death so much easier. She knew that heroism, like she was about to do, claimed a heavy price. And she was alright with that. 

She had lived far too long, in misery and despair. She’d founded a country- and now she would save it here in her destroyed homeland. Poetic. Worthy of Arthur Conan Doyle himself.

She flew for hours, until Hemera guided Bel to show his face. The sun shimmered golden light over the Mountains of Atlas, turning them from snow-capped silver into gold. She could see the Falls of Sciron, now; their water stained from a crystal clear blue to a dark red.

The statue- the Pillar- of Heracles loomed close to the crimson waterfalls. It stood thirty meters tall, carved from imported marble flecked with gold and diamond. It showed Heracles vanquishing the sow- pinned beneath the demigod (soon to become a god), the sow was equally gigantic and carved from obsidian with eyes of crimson sea-glass. 

Daedalus was waiting right by it. 

She landed not too far from her opponent. “Morning, dickhead.”

Daedalus scowled and she internally grinned. This was gonna be fun. 

“Single combat. To the death.”

”It’s just us now, asshole,” Wisdom said. 

“Always was,” Daedalus replied, drawing a sword. 

Wisdom drew her own blade and spoke the traditional words of the attacker. “I glory in the name of Ares.”

”I fight in the name of Spes,” Daedalus, the defender, replied. 

“War always trumps hope,” Wisdom replied, both from experience and from the tradition of their long-gone civilization. 

Then the fight began, and steel crashed against bronze. Daedalus had the physical advantage- towering over her, being a fucking deity, and having had millennia to train.

But Wisdom had some tricks up her sleeve. Tactics and magicks. And she had something bigger to fight for- the country she had founded. Her friends. Daedalus was friendless and cared for naught but himself.

”Sic Semper Tyrannis,” she told the god who had taken everything from her as she nearly disemboweled him. 

He responded in kind, attempting to decapitate her. He instead hit air, as she had twirled away before the blow could fall. “I am no tyrant,” he insisted. 

“Oh, you are. But unlike Cincinnatus, you have refused to let go of power and have held on to it for far too long.” 

He stabbed her in the gut for that remark. A fatal wound, but she was past caring. She was going to take this bitch out with her, so she ignored the pain and the blood staining her blue hoodie. 

She kicked the bastard in the stomach, knocking him onto his back. She limped over and tackled him, pinning him to the ground with all her strength. 

Their blades lay discarded on the ground nearby, but Wisdom made no attempt to retrieve one. This part wouldn’t  involve swords, she knew instinctively. 
It would involve the magic singing in her ears.

She felt magic tingling in her veins. She found salvation in the red-stained rain dripping down from her stomach wound.

Convertere in saxum, she thought, in one of the sacred tongues. 

Daedalus looked at her in horror as their flesh and clothes slowly turned to stone. “You fool! You’ve doomed us both!”

She grinned. “Always the plan, Daedalus.”

”And welcome to hell, you mad bastard.”

It slowly went dark, hurting like hell the entire time as all of their bodies shifted to stone. The last thing she remembered seeing before her vision left for eternity? Idalia’s eyes.

*
There is a statue, in the homeland. In the mountains where Atlas held the world on his shoulder. It is of a winged woman and a man, trapped in an eternal fight.

Some say they are lovers, trapped in stone by the gods for trysting in that sacred place. Some say they are siblings frozen forever in stone by Apollo for rejecting him. 

But Quackity knows better. One was once his friend. Her name was Wisdom, and she had died saving the world from Daedalus and his lies. 

Tbe world knew Daedalus had vanished. Only a few knew what really happened, his crimes and who had stopped him. Most mourned him, not knowing what he had really done.

But those who knew the truth? They mourned their friend. She had given her life for them, and they made sure that she would be remembered until the stars burned out.

Until the world needs her again, her soul wanders among the stars, her hands holding those of her wives. And she couldn’t be happier, watching the world change and her friends grow.