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Chapter Text

At fourteen, Crown Prince Theseus of Logstedshire had already seen more bloodshed than any boy his age should. The weight of his crown was not just the gold pressing against his brow—it was the weight of his kingdom, fractured and dying, teetering on the edge of ruin.

His kingdom, once a proud and prosperous realm, had become a grey and saturated land, as if it's very soul was gone. Corruption had seeped into every corner, from the castle halls to the battlefields where men fought not for honor, but for the power their king promised. His kingdom's corruption. The king, his father, blind with power (not that Theseus would admit) sits on the throne, uncaring.

Theseus stands on the balcony of his chamber, overlooking the city. There's a little part of him that urges him closer. To just fall on "accident" but he ignores it. Smoke billows up in the distant lands.

"Your Highness, the King awaits," a voice breaks his thoughts.

It's Wisp, his personal guard and one of the few he can trust. Theseus turns to him, his face hardened. The King—his father—summoned him again.

"Let him wait," Theseus mutters. "Tell him I'm.. dying or something."

"Your Highness," Wisp presses, "he is demanding your presence. The situation grows more dire with each passing day. The council is there too."

Theseus's fists clench. Every day feels like a countdown. The war rages on, allies become enemies, and his people suffer in silence. And all the while, the council whispers their plans, schemes that have nothing to do with saving the kingdom, but everything to do with their own ambition.

"What am I supposed to do, Wisp?" Theseus asks, his voice strained. "I don't have control over this kingdom. Not really. I'm a prince, not a king.."

"You are the crown prince, Theseus," Wisp says firmly. "You can do anything you put your mind to, trust me."

Theseus stares out at the horizon, his heart torn between duty and despair. But at this moment, something shifts within him. The weight of the crown feels different. Like a weight he can't hold. 

"So be it," Theseus says, turning around, "Stay here, Wisp."

His breath comes in shallow bursts as he makes his way down the familiar, darkened halls toward his father’s chamber. The castle seemed to close in around him as the weight of his inevitable meeting pressed down. There are no servants here to stop him, no courtiers to bow. It's just him and the King—his father—the man who had built the kingdom through violence and fear, and who now keeps it on the edge of collapse with the same iron fist. His father isn't known as The Mad King for nothing.

He's not afraid of his father. No that'd be preposterous. Theseus loves his father, but he isn't sure if it's the same way around.

The door to the war room creaks open as Theseus steps inside. The dim light from the flickering torches cast long shadows over the stone walls. His father sits at the head of the table, the war plans scattered in front of him. The King looks every bit the tyrant he was and always has been—a towering figure, his dark eyes as cold and unforgiving as they were before. A scar runs down his cheek, the mark of a man who had fought and bled for power—and who now demands others do the same.

“Come in, boy,” The king's voice is a growl, dismissive, as always. He doesn’t even look up from the map before him. “I don’t have all day. What is it now?”

Theseus feels his heart clench, but he doesn’t flinch. His father’s cruelty has become as familiar as the cold stone beneath his feet. He takes a deep breath and steps forward, standing tall, despite the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.

“We need to end this war, Father,” Theseus says, his voice steady but edged with the weight of truth. His father barely looks up, a glint in his eyes saying, 'You think I don't know that?'  “The kingdom is on its knees. People are starving, the fields are burning, and we’re losing allies by the day. We can’t keep this up.”

The king's eyes flick up from the map, his gaze as sharp as a blade. “What do you know of war, boy? You’ve never stepped onto a battlefield in your life. You’re barely more than a child.”

Theseus clenches his jaw, biting back the retort that burns on his tongue. His father has no understanding of what it's like to be a prisoner in his own kingdom, to watch people starve whilst his father wages an endless war. But Theseus can’t say that. He has to tread carefully.

“I know enough to see that we’re on the verge of losing everything,” Theseus presses, trying to test the waters. “Our people are suffering, Father. You may not care about them, but I do. If you don’t change course, we’ll have nothing left to fight for.”

The King stands abruptly, knocking his chair back with a sharp scrape that echoes through the room. The rage in his eyes is palpable, and Theseus' stomach twists. The King has always been quick to anger, and he rarely holds back when he feels disrespected.

“You think I don’t care about my kingdom?” The king's voice is low and dangerous, a simmering fury barely contained. “Everything I do, I do for us. For the throne. For this kingdom. My kingdom. And if you can’t see that, then you are no son of mine.” Theseus nods, having to not get his father any more angry, his hands trembling behind his back. 

Theseus' heart thunders in his chest. He forces himself to meet his father’s gaze, despite the fear that clenches his insides. 

Theseus' voice doesn't falter, even with the weight of his words. “If you don’t stop this war—there may be nothing left for you to rule.”

The silence that followed is suffocating. The king's expression shifts, his eyes narrowing in a way Theseus has seen millions of times before. It's a look that spoke of hatred, a hatred that has simmered for years, ever since Theseus has been old enough to spell words.

“You dare challenge me, boy?” He hisses, stepping forward, his massive form looming over Theseus. “You are nothing compared to me. You may wear the crown one day, but that day is far from now. Until then, you will do as I say.”

Theseus stands tall, even as chills run down his spine. His father is right. He's just a nobody. So what is this feeling in his chest?

“I'll rule one day,” Theseus says, his voice steady.

The king's eyes flash with fury, his face twisted into a grotesque mask of anger. “Stop talking back to me! You are nothing without me! You will never be fit to rule this kingdom. Never!” 

Theseus takes a step back as the king gets in his face. "Your brother was a better fit than you'll ever be!" Theseus feels a pain in his chest, not like heartburn or anything. It's a feeling he's grown accustomed to. 

Theseus and his brother used to be close. He used to show him places to explore. Places that were special to him. Clay. Clay was his father's perfect child. Theseus knew his brother like the back of his hand, or at least, he thought he did.

But one day, Theseus had fallen off a tree that he climbed while with Clay. He began crying, and Clay tried to calm him down, because Theseus, like an idiot wouldn't stop. It hurt, but he was being a baby. So Clay did something. Magic. Which is strictly forbidden. Clay made Theseus see a beautiful field of flowers. He made him see something that wasn't there. But it worked. Theseus calmed down, and his brother took him to the infirmary. 

Theseus was six. He didn't know that powers were forbidden, and if you had them, you'd be seen as a witch. That's why their kingdom was separated from the rest. Isolated, because the other kingdoms had "freaks" with powers. As his father said.

Theseus like the young child he was, told his father about the amazing thing Clay did for him. His father went into a blind rage, and demanded Clay be executed. As was everyone with powers, but when execution day came, he couldn't do it. He was so cruel, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill his perfection.

Clay was thrown into a cell. Weeks passed. Clay never gave up, always trying to get out. It was unjust what they did to him. On a day where the sun was covered by clouds, a blonde head of hair popped into Clay's vision. 

Young Theseus had been looking for him, asking everyone he could, searching the whole castle. Even that young, Theseus knew his brother was somewhere. He wasn't killed, he didn't leave.

"Theseus," Clay had whispered to him after a hug, "You have to find the keys for me, okay? To let me out," Theseus immediately nodded and ran off. 

It wasn't for another 4 days until he finally got the keys. From a guard named Tristian. He stole it from right under his nose, and had to sneak back into the dungeon, being aware of the guards. Theseus was six when he had to break his brother out of a dungeon cell. He was also six when his brother left.

He held onto Clay for dear life, sobbing as his older brother was about to leave him, the woods a foot away, "Thes," Clay had held out a bracelet, green and beautiful, "Wear this okay? To remember me." 

Theseus wiped the tears from his eyes, delicately taking the bracelet. It was too big. "I'm always with you," Theseus looked up to see his brother smiling at him. The bracelet looked like his eyes. The emerald shining in a way only his brother's could.

"I'll get you someday, I won't look the same, and my name won't be the same either, but I will find you," Clay said, his eyes tearing up, Theseus looked up at him, holding his hand.

"Promise?" Young Theseus asked, looking up at his brother with his hopeful ocean blue eyes. Clay smiled sadly, "I promise,"

And with that, Clay turned around and ran off into the woods. Theseus told himself he wouldn't cry. He'd be a "big man" but he fell to his knees and sobbed like a baby. His brother left him. It was his fault too. 

The sky in the kingdom had never been sunny ever again. People made theories, and tried to pray to Prime and any other god. The sky was always gloomy though. 

Theseus looks down at his feet that's not fair he thought to himself, but he pushed it down. Yes it is. His father lets out a scoff, harsh and cold. "You're the same as you'll ever be. Pathetic. Leave me."

Theseus does just that, turning on his heel and leaving.

The day his brother left, his father found out, and was furious. He didn't even know it was Theseus that did it, but he got a punishment. The next day, Theseus had bruises all over his arms, and a cut on his cheek. 

And his brother never came back. He was a liar. Nobody will ever come back. He's not worth it.

-

Two teens are in the city of Logstedshire, wandering around the streets that look like they were painted with sadness. One with short brown hair and small horns poking out of his head, hidden by a hat. The other, tall and with black and blonde hair, split in the middle, lanky and awkward looking, fidgets with his hands, looking at the other "This is a lot of people.."

Tubbo, the shorter one with brown hair, glares at the city street as if it had done something to him, "Hopefully they all run away," He scowls, "This place is just as bad as we heard, Ran."

The people around them look tired and exhausted, mostly women. All the men got drafted off to war. Kids did too, all males older than 14 got drafted. Everyone knows that this place is a ticking time bomb. Even its people are protesting. The shouts around the two teens are about peace and corruption.

Ran, or Ranboo, nods. "Everything looks.." He gazes around the area, there are people in alleyways, mostly kids, dirty and spacing out, "..Terrible," He finishes. Tubbo scoffs, "If that's saying something." 

Ranboo looks up, looking a lot more nervous, "It also looks very gloomy. Is it about to rain? Also my human form is hard to keep up. We'd better hurry." Tubbo's face softens, looking at the taller. "Let's get to the palace, I'll kill them if it rains. Just hold the human form until night."

Ranboo stares at Tubbo, his eyes narrowed playfully, "Why would you kill someone for rain? Isn't that the sky's fault?" Tubbo shakes his head, peering up at the sky. "Boss said that it's been gloomy ever since Dre- Clay, the first prince of, Logstedshire ran away," Ranboo looks at the sky too, realization dawning on his face, "Magic?" 

Tubbo nods, "Has to be," He begins walking again, Ranboo follows, nervous because of the weather. "The question is, who? Because I'd be damned if a place like this," He gestures around, "Has anyone with powers," 

Ranboo nods, "They kill anyone with them," Tubbo observes the kids sitting on the sidewalks, talking to each other. "It's messed up. Just because they're born with something," Tubbo gets closer to Ran, making sure he's closer to him. 

"Be careful, I heard guards roam the streets," Ranboo smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "You sure you don't just want to hug me cause you're sad?" Tubbo gawks, immediately twisting his head to look up at Ranboo. "I'm not sad! What!?" Ranboo puts his arm over Tubbo, "You can be sad, doesn't make you weak," Ranboo sing songs.

Tubbo rolls his eyes playfully, looking around once more, "Just this place! It's so messed up!" 

Ranboo stays next to Tubbo as support as they keep walking. "How can a king treat his people like this!" Ranboo hums thoughtfully, "Maybe the Crown Prince is different?" 

Tubbo scowls, "Probably all the royalty around here suck up to the king. I wouldn't be surprised if the Crown Prince was an arrogant prick," Ranboo shakes his head, falling behind slightly, "He said that when he left, the Crown Prince was the sweetest boy ever."

Tubbo looks at Ranboo unconvinced. "People change. It's been what? 8 years?" 

Tubbo turns towards him fully, walking backwards, the crowd moving to let them through, people throw scowls their way, Tubbo sticks his tongue out at them. "There's a reason there's a war. A good reason. Corruption needs to die," Ranboo nods, a smile creeping onto his face.

Tubbo grins wider, a mischievous look in his eyes, "Good thing that's what we're here for."

-

The cold stone walls of the castle seem to close in around Theseus as he walks back to his chambers. The weight of his father’s words, harsh and unforgiving, still pressing on his chest, and the silence in the halls only make the tension worse. His mind races, but he doesn't dare let his emotions show. Not here. Not in the castle where everything was built on power, and weakness was never tolerated.

Theseus will always be loyal to his father, The King. His entire life has been shaped by that loyalty. His father is a ruthless king, but he is the king. And in Theseus' world, that has always been enough. He has been taught to follow orders, to keep his head down, and to respect the crown, no matter the cost.

But tonight... tonight had shaken him more than he cared to admit. What his father said has been the worst yet. The King’s fury had been palpable, his voice booming in the war room, accusing Theseus of weakness, of questioning his judgment. But Theseus can't help it. He can't sit idly by as the kingdom bled out. This war has dragged on too long. The people are suffering. And yet, his father is so blinded by ambition and pride that he can't see it.

Theseus steps into his room and shuts the door behind him, his eyes falling on the royal insignia embroidered on the wall—the symbol of his family’s reign. The weight of it seems heavier than ever before.

For a moment, Theseus simply stands there, staring at the emblem. It's a symbol of power. Of duty. Of his lineage. He is the crown prince, destined to rule one day. But as he stands there, the crown doesn’t feel like a promise. It feels like a curse.

He's never wanted this. Not like his father has. He's never dreamed of conquest or domination. All Theseus has ever wanted is peace. For the people. For the kingdom. But how can he ask for peace when his father will never stop? How can he stand against the king, the very man who had raised him, who had trained him to rule? The thought of betraying his father gnaws at him like an open wound.

With a shaky breath, Theseus moves to his desk, staring down at the map of the kingdom laid out before him. His fingers trace the borders, the cities that were under siege, the allies who had turned away, and the enemies who pressed closer every day. The kingdom is unraveling, and his father is too entrenched in his own vision to notice. Theseus knew that if his father continues down this path, there will be nothing left to rule.

But loyalty to the throne is above all else. The King’s will was absolute, even if the kingdom is dying, it's his duty to follow the King’s lead.

The faint sound of footsteps outside his door broke Rian from his thoughts. A servant, perhaps, or one of the soldiers—he didn’t care. He rubbed his tired eyes and sank deeper into his chair, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. He had to focus. He couldn’t afford to linger on these troubling thoughts. He was the crown prince. His duty was clear. He had to stand by his father’s side, no matter what.

The door creaks open, and Wisp steps inside, bowing his head respectfully. “Your Highness, because I am leaving the castle, you have been assigned a new personal guard and servant.”

Theseus looks up sharply. “You’re leaving?” His voice holds an edge of disbelief. Wisp’s departure is sudden, and Theseus has never imagined it would come to this. He shakes his head, trying to focus. “And who are these two?”

Wisp gives a small nod before opening the door just enough for two figures to step into the room. One is short with brown hair, and the other is remarkably tall, with hair that splits down the middle into black and blonde. Strange choices, but whatever. Theseus doesn’t have time to question them.

Wisp shuts the door behind them, leaving the three alone. The two newcomers immediately bow their heads.

“Your Highness,” the shorter one greets with an almost too-cheerful tone.

Theseus glances up, trying to maintain his calm composure. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his desk as he leans back, eyes scanning the pair. He needs to remain composed. “Hello,” he says, his voice even. “What are your names?”

The shorter one straightens up first, his grin almost infectious despite its forced quality. “My name is Tubbo Underscore!” he announces, voice bright.

The taller one follows suit, standing tall and awkward. “Ranboo Beloved..”

Theseus nods slowly, his gaze lingers on Tubbo for a moment longer. The smile is too practiced, too polished. It doesn’t fit with the somber weight of this place. It seems forced, as if Tubbo has rehearsed it a thousand times. Theseus turns his attention back to the map on his desk, trying to push away the discomfort settling in his chest. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do here,” he says, his voice cool, though tinged with a hint of frustration. “I have no orders for you.”

Tubbo and Ranboo exchange a brief glance, then both turn their attention back to him. There's a quiet tension in the room, and Theseus feels it pressing against him like the thick walls of the castle. He doesn’t know what they are waiting for, but the silence stretches on too long for comfort. Theseus' fingers drum on the desk, the rhythm quick and impatient. He breaks the silence again, his tone more detached this time.

“You can just… sit somewhere, I suppose.”

Ranboo straightens slightly, his voice calm but firm. “Though we appreciate your kindness, Your Highness, we will remain standing.”

Tubbo, not missing a beat, moves silently behind the prince’s chair, positioning himself just slightly off to the side, his presence oddly still and composed. The smile never wavers, but it's not a smile that reaches his eyes. Theseus feels the weight of his gaze settle on him, though Tubbo said nothing more.

Theseus glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he assesses Tubbo's placement. There's an unsettling precision in the way they move, a practiced coordination that feels almost too rehearsed for mere servants or guards. It doesn't sit right. Theseus turns back to his map, feeling the urge to remain focused, but his mind keeps drifting back to the two figures standing so quietly in the room. 

With a soft exhale, Theseus leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “Fine,” he mutters. “You can stand, but don't expect me to entertain you," He misses the way Tubbo scowls for a moment.

The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the castle, the distant murmurs from beyond the walls. The air seems to thicken as Theseus returned his attention to the map.

He sighed quietly, wishing for some semblance of normalcy in the chaos that surrounded him. The map in front of him held no answers, and neither did the two people standing behind him.

He's not just trusting anyone. Theseus doesn't trust anyone anymore. People who he trusted have lost it. Clay his brother. That he failed, and basically gave him a death sentence, left him. Theseus glances down at his bracelet. It's still emerald green. Theseus doesn't remember his brother's face anymore. Only a glimpse of it. His brows pitch and rain outside begins to fall. 

Ranboo looks at the rain with a wince, Tubbo notices and shifts so he's closer to the endermen hybrid. In this kingdom, no one is allowed to have powers, or be a hybrid. Death is what you'll get if you're any of those.

Theseus slowly stands up. The two behind him, tense and watch him carefully. Tubbo plasters his smile back on his face. Ranboo watches Tubbo, who with practiced ease, asks the Crowned Prince what he's going. Ranboo heard enough about how much Tubbo hates everyone here. How this place used to be great. That the war is good for this place. It's impressive how he switches.

Theseus glances at the shorter male next to him. "How old are you?" He asks, and Tubbo looks slightly caught off guard. Good Theseus thinks. He doesn't like these two. It's like they know more than him. He wants to catch them off guard.

Tubbo grins slightly, Ranboo comes up next to him, Theseus looks between the two expectantly. Ranboo speaks up. "We are 18, your highness," The lie rolls straight off Ranboo's tongue. Tubbo nods along with it.

Theseus looks between them. They could be 18, but they look about his age. Theseus leans against his desk. "Apologise for the sudden question," Ranboo hears how he talks. It's not anything like he's heard the other kingdom speak. It's like the Crown Prince is in front of a crowd and has to watch his tongue.

"It's alright, Your Highness," Tubbo says, a smile playing on his lips. "Where are you heading, my Prince?"

Tubbo looks at the Crown Prince, he's been watching him since they first got here. He talks formally, he dresses formally, he looks formal, like a priss He looks as if he'd been dunked in royal bliss. Probably has gotten everything he wants from a young age. Born with a silver spoon.

There's only one thing off about him. He looks tired. Even he, with one bad eye, can see that the Prince has eyebags covered by a thin layer of concealer and how exhausted he seems. 

Theseus answers Tubbo's question immediately, "To the council," He glances at the map, "They requested for me a while ago, I just am going now." 

Ranboo raises an eyebrow, glancing at Tubbo whose brows are already quinched. "Isn't the king supposed to meet with the council? Not the prince?" Theseus nods slowly, his mind a raging storm. Why are they looking at him like that? This is normal. "Yes, but he has important matters to attend to." 

Ranboo opens his mouth to say something, but Theseus walks out of his chambers. Tubbo glances at Ranboo then follows the prince. Ranboo sighs and hurriedly follows. 

-

In the meeting room, a long table is placed in the middle. A map of the kingdoms is placed in the front. 6 council members sit there, impatiently. It's been an hour since they last called the Crown Prince in and he hasn't shown his face.

It's rather rude, some council members glance at their watches, as if they don't have a lot of time. Well, technically they don't, because war is upon them. 

Just then, the door opens and Theseus comes in. "My sincerest apologies for my tardiness. I regret any inconvenience my delay may have caused," Tubbo and Ranboo follow in shortly after. Theseus sits down in the chair at the end of the table, and the two servants place themselves in the corners. 

They watch the meeting with predator like eyes.

"As you see," Theseus points up at the map. Red marks are everywhere. "The red represents everywhere the Antarctic Empire has attacked," He looks back at the council members, Tubbo smirks slightly. He is doing a good job at cornering them.

Theseus gestures to the blue, "This is where Las Nevadas hands off resources to them," It's a warehouse about 80 miles east of the main battlefield. Theseus points to other marks, orange. "The Badlands, who betrayed us, lend them soldiers."

Theseus points to other parts on the map, almost everywhere on the map, is an ally that betrayed them, or enemy territory. "The only places that haven't turned against us are," He uses a hand to pull down the projector sheet. "Snowchester and the End," Ranboo doesn't hide his smirk and Tubbo holds back a laugh. Yeah right.

Theseus pulls up pictures of all the leaders. "Quackity of Las Nevadas, Badboyhalo of the badlands, GeorgeNotFound of Kinoko Kingdom, Schlatt of SnowChester and Nobody knows that happened to the prince of the End, so he is out of the picture."

"Adding onto this, all of said kingdoms are in alliance," Before he can continue, a council member, looking hot headed, raises his hand. Theseus allows him to speak. "Why haven't you done anything!?" Ranboo's smirk drops, these council members are jerks, even to the Crown Prince.

Tubbo watches with disdain, glaring at the man who said that. Another person speaks up, a woman looking like someone ran over her puppy, "Your a horrible Prince if you can't even keep alliances."

Theseus shakes his head, interrupting the protests of the other council members, "No no, these alliances were broken because the King," He pauses, "My father, decided.." He chooses his words wisely. Lying. "They were bad for us." 

A council member gets up, a ginger two face, "I'll ask the king if this is true," He leaves the room. Theseus watches with defeat.

The rest of the members get up, leaving one by one. Tubbo and Ranboo watch all of this go down. It's.. unfair. Why are they blaming him? Ranboo glances at Tubbo, and both of them step towards the prince. 

"My prince?" Tubbo speaks up. 

Theseus jumps, flinching slightly, "Sorry, I was caught in my thoughts," He looks back at the door, "Might as well go to my father, no?" He fidgets with his fingers. "Let's be off."

The prince stalks off again, Ranboo follows first this time, Tubbo following. This kingdom is messed up, even to it's own prince. 

-

The king storms out of the room just as Theseus gets to the war room. He's red faced and angry. Theseus feels his heart drop and a feeling of dread pile up. "F-Father," He doesn't mean to stutter. It just comes out.

Tubbo and Ranboo watch in shock as the king grabs Theseus' arm and drags him in. "I am so sorry. If I could take back the mistakes I’ve made, I would without hesitation. Please father, see that I truly regret my actions. Please, I am asking for your forgiveness, though I know I don’t deserve it. If there’s any way I can make it right, anything I can do, I will do it. Please, just don’t give up on me," The door closes on Tubbo and Ranboo with that rant.

Theseus has rehearsed this apology a thousand times for when his father gets angry. Why does it burn so much to say now? His father shoves him into the chair, yelling in his face. "Your not a king! You don't know how hard it is!" Theseus turns his head away from the king's face, fear bubbling in his chest.

"I'm sorry! I'll make things right!" He tries to get up but his father  the king shoves him back in the chair. He grabs Theseus' face with a hand, getting in his face. "Know your place! You are a prince! Not a king! I'm a king!" Theseus nods, tears building in his eyes without his permission. This has happened billions of times before.

"You're pathetic!" The king throws Theseus off the chair, he falls to his knees, trying to take deep breaths. The king grabs him and drags him out of the room. Theseus barely is able to get on his feet before he is being pulled towards the king's office. Tubbo and Ranboo aren't here anymore, probably went back to the room.

This happens a lot. Most staff don't care either. Wisp did, but he left he left because of you and now Theseus is alone. He left today. He didn't even tell him. It hurts Theseus more than he'll admit. 

The king slams open the door to his office. There's a closet in the back, and Theseus feels his heart stop. "No," He whispers. He begins fighting back, trying to get away. "No please! I'll be good! Don't leave me here!" 

His father shoves him in the closet and shuts the door with a loud bang. The closet locks from the inside. Theseus slides down the wall, gripping his hair, sobbing. He's been in here so much. He's a baby for crying.

It's was a sunny day, when Clay and his brother were playing hide and seek. Clay was counting that time.

"1..!" Theseus' brother counted, yelling it as loud as he can, so you could hear it even in the castle. Theseus ran through the halls, giggling. He looked around for a room, smiling brightly. His hair, the sun and his eyes, the sky.

He notices his father's office and got a great idea. He sprinted in and softly closed the door.

"2....!" He heard faintly from his father's office. His brother was almost done counting. He wasn't  going to find Theseus though. He looked around the room, with a smile on his lips. He ran around the room, trying to find a place to hide.

He saw the closet in the back and gasped, it was perfect! His brother was never going to find him! 

"1! Ready or not, here I come!" His brother yelled, and he heard footsteps, getting fainter until he couldn't hear them. That's why playing in the castle was the most fun. The castle is big! So it took a while.

Theseus got into the closet. It was small, and there was nothing in it. For whatever reason.

A few minutes passed and Theseus felt excitement bubble in his chest, but also another feeling he couldn't place. His brother wasn't going to find him. He was so lucky that he found this great spot. 

Another few minutes passed and he began to get impatient. He heard his brother distantly calling his name.

Theseus wasn't sure if it was him, but it was taking a long time for his brother to find him. He tried to open the closet, but it was stuck. He began shaking it with as much force he could muster. He couldn't get it open.

He began to yell for help, "Brother!" Tears fell out of his eyes. He didn't like the closet so much anymore.

An hour passed, and his voice was hoarse from yelling, screaming for his brother. He cries softly, curled into himself. He heard multiple other people shouting his name, but he couldn't yell anymore.

The sunny day turned into a thunderstorm, like the weather was weeping for Theseus. Maybe it was More hours passed until he heard footsteps even come near the office. Theseus risked one last plea. "Please.. help.." He sobbed, and he got it as the door to the office opened. Theseus kicked the closet, trying to make noise, and finally, the door to the closet opened.

Clay's blurry face filtered into Theseus' blurry vision, he looked crestfallen, his eyes red as if he'd been crying too. "Why're you crying..?" Theseus asked, and Clay answered with the most genuine reply he's ever heard.

"Because I love you." 

Theseus grips his hair harder. "Why.." He whispers. Why'd he have to leave? He had to go? He couldn't pretend to be someone else here? Theseus knows it's selfish, but he's had to be someone his not for years. He has had to be a prince. He has had to live without love. 

When's the last time he's gotten a hug?

What even is that. Theseus digs his nails into his skin, finally letting go of his hair. Multiple lines are already scratched onto his skin. It's a habit Theseus didn't mean to pick up. One he didn't mean to do.

Theseus fears he's about to fall, but no one is going to catch him. He's going to break, and no one will be his glue. 

Theseus stares blankly into space. He does this every time he's in the closet. Why does it feel so empty now? He slowly lifts his head up, and as hard as he can, slams it back into the wall. Everything goes black.

-

Tubbo is pacing around Theseus' room with anger. "What type of father grabs his son like that!?" Ranboo watches Tubbo with concern, "Bo it's okay, at least we know he's not corrupt." Tubbo glares at Ranboo. "His father probably has corrupted his mind into thinking he's the good one!"

Ranboo thinks for a moment then nods, "That does actually seem like it could happen," Tubbo punches the wall. "I hate this place! I want it to burn in hell!" 

Ranboo with a vroop, teleports right in front of Tubbo.

Tubbo gasps and looks around. "You know you can't do that in this place of all places!" Ranboo grabs Tubbo's shoulders. "Tubbo, it's okay. Just wait until 12 at least, okay? That's when we strike."

Tubbo sucks in a breath, nodding, he takes a couple more deep breaths. "You're right. I'll calm down," Ranboo smiles.

"You better."

-

Theseus is awoken by a maid opening the closet. He blinks his eyes, trying to unblur them.

She scowls at him. "Get out," He doesn't need to be told twice, his brain now comprehending that the closet is open. He scrambles out, breathing in the air, and is grateful. She watches with annoyance. "Get out?" She pretends to ask, with a sickly sweet voice, shoving him out of the room.

He closes his eyes, wiping the tear streaks that came down his face. It's storming outside, thunder rings out in the distance. He looks down, distantly remembering where he is.

Theseus' eye's used to be bright and blue. His eyes reflect the weather. He noticed. It's just a coincidence no it isn't  he makes it to his room and opens the door, his ears are ringing and his body feels numb. 

When he looks up, nobody is there. He glances at the clock. It's 23:59 it's almost midnight. He goes to his bed and sits on it. He rolls up his sleeves. The blood on his arms from accidentally piercing it with his nails is dried. He walks over to his bathroom. There's blades under the sink, and everything he needs to clean. He takes out bandages and disinfectants. Cleaning the wounds is always the best part. Because it burns.

When he's done scrubbing  cleaning his arms. They're bleeding again. He puts on gauze and bandages, the blood begins to seep through, but it stops just short of breaking through to the bandages.

He rolls his sleeves back up and doesn't look again as he walks towards the balcony. He opens the window. The wind runs through his hair. He closes his eyes as he leans against the edge. He hears a noise from the palace grounds and looks to see enemy soldiers sneaking in. His eyes widen and he turns around, his neck is met with a knife.

He looks up to see Tubbo. He knew something was wrong with them. "Listen, Prince. Just listen to us, okay?" Theseus' eyebrows furrow. Us?

There's a vroop and behind him appears Ranboo. His eyes dilate. "No.. Your going to get yourselves killed! Powers in the kingdom!?" He looks over Tubbo, he has two horns sticking out of his head. He's a hybrid? His eyes find themselves stuck to Tubbo's hands.

They already have blood on them. His eyes fill with dread, and the rain from earlier begins to pick up, the wind beginning to swirl around them. He can distantly in the palace, hear fighting. The war is over, has his kingdom lost?

"What did you do," he whispers to Tubbo. Tubbo stares at him for a moment. "What did we do." 

Theseus feels Ranboo's arms wrap around him. "You didn't," He practically sobs.

He feels his whole entire body tremble. Tubbo stares at him coldly, and he feels Ranboo's hold only tighten as his heart clenches and his body shakes.

"The king is dead."

Theseus' whole world finally breaks, and he does too.

Chapter Text

Theseus tries to breathe, tries to hold on, but the weight is too much. He crumples in Ranboo's arms, the sobs wracking through him uncontrollably. He feels like he's falling, like he's being torn in two and nothing can make it stop. He knew something was off with the two. He knew something was off and he didn't do anything.

It's all his fault. 

His father, the king may not have been the best leader, but he was the man who abused raised him. Ranboo's arms around him feel suffocating, it feels like they can't hold enough of him to keep him from shattering.

He wants everyone to die. He wants the Badlands to die for betraying Logsetdshire. He wants Las Nevadas to burn down for Quackity turning on Theseus. They used to be friends. They could've been friends. This stupid war stopped everything.

But most of all, he wants to die.

The wind picks up and rain begins to fall a lot heavier. Ranboo lets out a warble, the rain smacking against his skin uncomfortably. In human form, the rain can't hurt him, but it makes him incredibly uncomfortable. Tubbo notices and gently places his hand on Ranboo. The Enderman hybrid nervously smiles at him and teleports them all into Theseus' room. A lightning bolt strikes where they had just been. None of them acknowledge it.

Theseus doesn't get up, Ranboo sets him on the floor, on his knees, his hands in his lap, and his head down. 

"Is Phil here yet?" Ranboo asks, his eyes moving around the room in a slight glare, like the room Tubbo answers by shaking his head, glancing at Theseus. "He wasn't expecting three."

Tubbo shifts his eyes towards Theseus and glances at Ranboo, as if asking what to do. Ranboo shrugs and Tubbo rolls his eyes, he kneels down in a crouched position, next to Theseus. "Look big man, why are you so sad? I saw how he treated you."

A peel of lightning strikes from the sky, shaking the land. Everything around them rumbles. It's storming really hard now. Tubbo glances out at the balcony. The doors are still open, allowing rain to barely get in. He looks back at Theseus, who's shoulders are silently shaking as he cries.

"You'll answer our questions soon enough," Tubbo says surely, looking at his watch, he stands up, making his way towards the door. Ranboo looks at him in question. Tubbo speaks up, looking at Ranboo, and not Theseus, not wanting to be met with a glare.

"He'll be here soon."

-

Theseus finally looks up at the two of them. "Who's here," He demands, face hardening.

Tubbo looks at Theseus with obvious distaste. Theseus knows Tubbo probably thinks he grew up with a silver spoon. It would've been great if he did. If Clay was still around, the king, maybe would've listened to him and gave him all he wanted.

Instead, the king ignored Theseus, no matter what. Avoiding him like the plague. Theseus used to be sad about it. Especially because when the servants and maids found out, they didn't care for him either. The only one who even tried was Eret and Wisp. Eret taught him everything he knows. Then he disappeared, and Theseus never saw him ever again. He was one of the only people Theseus had ever known that actually liked him. 

Theseus never found out what happened to him. His father never told him, and Wisp always changed the subject. Wisp said he was leaving earlier today. No warnings, no begging for him to say. Just a cold goodbye and the new appearance of two boys who killed the king.

Ranboo doesn't answer, and Tubbo leaves the room, muttering a, "Watch him," Before the door to Theseus’ room slams shut. 

Theseus stares at the door, then at Ranboo. He could run away. But the stupid power freak has teleportation. Or whatever he did back when they were still on the balcony. Theseus slowly shifts towards Ranboo.

The enderman hybrid is already looking at Theseus, eyes narrowed. "Don't try it, I'm not weak." He spits a fiery tone to his voice. He's nothing like the nervous boy Theseus saw earlier.

"I know you're not." Theseus mutters Ranboo looks taken aback at the prince's words. Ranboo untenses, just slightly. Theseus watches every single movement the taller makes. "Is Ranboo your real name?"

Ranboo looks at Theseus thoughtfully before nodding, "It is." 

"Are you really 18?"

Ranboo takes a second to answer, "No."

Theseus can't tell what Ranboo is thinking, his eyes almost hiding his secrets. Ranboo doesn't know why he's answering Theseus' questions, he was told by Tubbo before any of this to not give anything away, and here he is.

Theseus is about to ask another question, but Ranboo cuts him off, asking his own question instead, "Why did you agree and say I'm not weak?" He looks Theseus up and down. "You live here. In Logsetdshire, where powers are permitted," He gestures around.

Theseus watches Ranboo with careful eyes, he's been taught manners, he’s been taught geography, math, english, french, everything. Most of all though, he's been taught that only witches and freaks have powers. Exactly that. If you have powers then you're a freak and deserve to die. Deserve to be locked up. He didn't have any room to disagree. It's his life. If you have powers, you are weak. His father is- was always right. But Theseus has to tread carefully.

"You aren't weak," He says again, careful, he takes out his pocket knife that his father gifted him on his 12th birthday, ever so carefully. He glances back up at Ranboo, he doesn't seem to have noticed. 

"My father is... A man who just tried to keep us safe, that's why powers are against the law," Theseus doesn’t convey his emotions, even though his mind is a storm, similar to that of outside.

Ranboo speaks up, a dangerous undertone in his voice, " Was a man who tried to keep you safe. Which he failed."

Theseus glares at Ranboo, not liking his usage of past tense. His father is still his father. These freaks may have killed him, but he's still alive in memory. "You know why I said you aren't weak?" He says, annoyed.

Ranboo furrows his eyebrows, trying to figure out what the blonde was doing. Ranboo opens his mouth to say something, but a knife being thrown his way, catches him off guard.

"Because you're naive," Theseus yells, hurrying to his feet once the knife slices a good part of Ranboo's arm. Ranboo lets out a screech, one that's definitely not human. Theseus grimaces, feeling only slightly bad for the boy, but it disappears when he remembers what he did to his kingdom. His father. Theseus sprints out of the room.

When the knife sliced Ranboo's arm, he teleported to the corner of the room, holding it. He's breathing heavily, his eyes a purple hue from using his powers. He notices the prince is gone and snarls, teleporting again, out of the room. 

Looking around, there's no sight of the prince. "I lost him," He groans out, disappearing in a flurry of purple particles.

-

Theseus sprints down the hall in a frantic manner.

He doesn't have a plan, and he's not 100% on everything except that the building has hidden passageways. He can use those to get away from the other kingdom's soldiers. He isn't sure if the king and princes are around here, but if they are, he needs to get out.

Theseus' father was a paranoid man. Always talking about someone coming to kill him, so he made sure the passageways were hard to find, filled with traps and necessities. Theseus only really found out about them from an accident.

"Prince Theseus, please come back!" Theseus was 9, running through the halls, glaring behind him, "Go away, big man!" 

Wisp let out a huff, chasing after Theseus, "You have to do your history work, Your Highness!" Theseus turned the corner, "Don't wanna! Leave me alone, prick!"

Theseus ran into a room, shutting it behind him with a slam, he looked around, desperate for an escape. He wasn't wanting to do stupid history. He had to do it everyday and it was boring. Who even wants to know about Prime? Well, he did, but it's still boring!

Theseus walked over to a bookshelf, pulling books off, hoping there was a secret door, like he'd heard in stories. Where the shelf would turn inside out. After pulling every book off the shelf, he sat down on the couch in the corner of the room, groaning. Wisp was outside the door, banging on it, asking him to come out.

Theseus just ignored him and opted for staring around the room. He brought himself up with a huff, and walked around the room in circles. Finally bored of doing nothing, he was about to open the door and give up, but then he realized. Big man Theseus never gives up!

He looked around the room once more, after a couple more minutes of searching. Nothing.

That was until he leaned against the wall, sighing in defeat, accidentally pushing against a stone that went in. The wall slowly moved, and Theseus fell in with a slight thud. It was a passageway! In the castle. His eyes lit up and he smirked. Wisp was in for a day!

Theseus didn't have time to think about the memory. He was a bratty child unaware that he actually had to do work. He was just angry at everyone back then. Especially Clay. For leaving him and even having powers in the first place. 

For 10 years. Ever since his brother left, he's been taught how dangerous people with powers are. How hybrids are freaks of nature. Accidents. Meant to be killed. 

He's been taught that the palace he's lived his whole life in, is amazing. Which it is. He's never going to doubt his father. He is always keeping every word he's ever told him in mind. Surviving is his only goal. It's only ever been his only goal. 

He just has to get to his father's office. The tunnels are in there.

Theseus' breath comes in shallow bursts, each footstep muffled by the ancient stone floors beneath him. His heart races as he darts through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the walls closing in around him like a maze. 

The halls are eerily quiet, but he knows better than to trust the silence. In the labyrinthine corridors of the royal keep, danger can be lurking anywhere. He glances back over his shoulder, half-expecting the enemy soldiers to be right behind him. 

The flickering torchlight casts long, twisted shadows that dance across the stone walls, making every corner seem like a hiding place for some unseen threat. 

His father’s office, the kings office,—the one place that can guarantee his safety—is just ahead, but there's no time to waste. Theseus' fingers brush against the cold stone as he moves swiftly, his steps silent but purposeful. This old castle is a labyrinth of narrow passageways and winding staircases, and he knows its twists and turns like the back of his hand. It's the only thing that's ever kept him company.

These halls have been prison home for his entire life, he can't give this up now. The old tapestries lining the walls—woven with tales of past glories—seem to mock him now, each one hiding the dark secrets of the castle’s history. He can almost hear the ghosts of the past whispering warnings in the heavy air. 

He glances out a window that has bars over it, blocking you from getting out. Palace guards are fighting a war against the enemy soldiers. The sight of seeing them so bloody and battered makes him sick to his stomach. He closes his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath.

As he rounds a corner, the faintest sound of footsteps reach his ears. His pulse quickens. 

Soldiers. 

Most likely not his.

He has no time to turn back. He presses himself into a shadowed corner, holding his breath. His eyes dart to the far end of the hall, where two figures appear, their silhouettes barely visible in the low light. They move with the quiet precision of predators, unaware of the crown prince’s presence. 

The boy’s heart thunders in his chest. He dares not make a sound, not even the slightest shift of his weight. If they find him now, the chance of survival would be slim. The soldiers are close—too close. One of them, a tall figure with a scar across his cheek, stop just a few paces from where the prince stands, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword. 

Theseus' breath catches. He can't move, his mind racing for an escape. His eyes flick to the door at the end of the corridor—the one that leads to his father’s office, the key to his escape. Just a little further. 

The soldiers don't move. The tension hangs in the air, suffocating, as the prince remains frozen, praying for them to pass. Seconds stretch into eternity. And then, the soldier with the scar nods to his companion, who turns and begins walking away, unaware of the prince’s close call. 

The prince exhales in a quiet gasp of relief. But he can’t afford to waste any more time. He has to move. With a last glance at the soldiers—now just a fading shadow at the other end of the hall—the prince sprints for the door. His hand grasps the cold brass handle, and the door creaks open, barely a sound.

He slips inside, closing it silently behind him. The prince doesn't stop to catch his breath. His father’s office is a place of power, a place with horrible memories, but also one that could help him escape this madness. He moves quickly to the back of the room, where the same stone brick he's pushed many times before is. 

With practiced ease, he pushes it open, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into the darkness. He hesitates for only a moment. Behind him, the castle is still full of danger. But ahead, in the secret tunnels beneath, lays the hope of something. The prince descends into the shadows, the stone walls closing in around him as he vanishes from the world above.

-

The air in the hidden tunnel is musty, the scent of damp stone filling Theseus’ lungs as he descends, each step more isolating than the rest. The light from the torch flickers weakly, casting grotesque shadows that seem to reach out for him.

He knows the tunnel well—it’s been a secret escape route for generations of kings, a last refuge when the castle’s walls are no longer enough to protect the royal bloodline, no one has ever had to use them. But tonight, it feels different. Tonight, the walls seem to close in around him with a sense of finality. His home His kingdom is gone.

Theseus clenches his fists at his sides, trying to ignore the cold creeping up his spine. The sounds of battle are still faintly audible from above—clashing swords, shouted orders, the unmistakable noise of war. But they’re growing quieter now, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the castle’s lower levels.

The tunnel seems endless, its stone walls stretching on in the dim light of his torch. He pushes forward, each step taking him farther from the only life he’s ever known and closer to the unknown. There’s no turning back now.

The crown he bears, it’s too much. It's suffocating. He can't stay, not here, not in this castle, surrounded by enemies both in front of him and behind. 

Is this how Clay felt?

But even as he tries to focus on the promise of freedom ahead, doubts gnaw at his thoughts. What lies beyond the tunnels? What is waiting for him in the outside world, a world he’s never known beyond the confines of his father’s palace? The thought of facing the unknown fills him with dread. But he knows this is his only option.

The further he travels, the more the tunnel twists and turns, as though even the stone itself is trying to thwart his escape. But Theseus knows these passages like the back of his hand. He used these to get out of Eret’s boring lessons.

He's always been alone.

His mother's humming dead to a world that hates music.

His brother's kindness, gone, like a torch losing its light.

The king. A man with eyes that just scream anger. Maybe it's better now that he's dead.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he reaches the end of the tunnel. The air is colder here. He’s reached the old exit—hidden beneath a thick layer of ivy, barely visible to the outside world.

The prince pushes the heavy stone door open with trembling hands, its ancient hinges groaning in protest. As the door creaks open, the harsh light of the moon spills into the tunnel, illuminating the overgrown wilderness outside. The world is so quiet, so still. It’s almost as if the earth itself is holding its breath.

He steps out into the cool night air, the weight of his decision settling heavily upon his shoulders. This is it. There’s no going back now. He’s alone, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the future ahead of him.

The world is a vast, unknown place, and Theseus feels smaller than ever as he stands at the threshold of the only life he’s ever known. The world beyond the castle’s walls is no longer the dream of adventure he once imagined, but a stark, uncertain reality that threatens to swallow him whole.

His eyes scan the surrounding forest. There’s no sign of the enemy. For now, he’s free. But how long will that freedom last?

With one final glance back at the castle, he turns and begins to walk, each step taking him farther from his past and deeper into a future that is as dark and uncertain as the night itself.

"I'll get you someday, I won't look the same, and my name won't be the same either, but I will find you," Clay said, his eyes tearing up, Theseus looked up at him, holding his hand.

"Promise?" Young Theseus asked, looking up at his brother with his hopeful ocean blue eyes. Clay smiled sadly, "I promise,"

And with that, Clay turned around and ran off into the woods. Theseus told himself he wouldn't cry. He'd be a "big man" but he fell to his knees and sobbed like a baby. His brother left him. It was his fault too. 

Clay never came back for Theseus.

Years had passed, but the silence in Theseus’s heart never fully healed. Every corner of the world he turned, every new path he tried to walk, was haunted by that promise — and the empty space left by his brother.

As Theseus moves deeper into the forest now, the trees parting for him in much the same way they had for Clay all those years ago, he stops. For a moment, he stands still, as if the shadows themselves have woven together to form the silhouette of his brother. He breathes in the familiar scent of pine and damp earth, and for the briefest second, everything feels the same. It almost feels like Clay is right there, just beyond his reach.

But no—he’s not coming back.

And yet, the words Clay had spoken, the promise of someday… they linger in Theseus’s heart, like an ember smoldering beneath the weight of the years.

A faint whisper of wind stirs the leaves, and Theseus steels himself. He knows the path ahead is just as dark, just as uncertain as it was for Clay, but it’s his now. It’s a road he must walk alone. Should he have chosen it?

If it was Theseus' decision, he would've wanted his brother Clay, to stay. No question, no hesitation. He would have kept him by his side, just as they were supposed to be—two brothers against the world. But that wasn’t his decision to make. It was his fault Clay had left.

The weight of that truth gnawed at him every single day. It was his actions, his stupid innocence that had made it so Clay had to leave. He had never meant for things to turn out this way, he just wanted to tell his dad that his brother had helped him.

Now, as Theseus walks alone through the forest, each step feels heavier than the last. If he could turn back time, he would have chosen differently. He would've never told his father what Clay did.

His brother’s absence wasn’t something Theseus could fill with sorrow or wishes. It wasn’t something that could be fixed with promises or apologies. Clay had left. And Theseus had no one to blame but himself.

Theseus glances back at the castle, and the fighting soldiers in the distance. He can't change his decisions now, so maybe he can be more thoughtful about them in the future. He needs to start a new life. He's not Theseus. He's not a prince. He's a nobody. 

Theseus is awoken by a maid opening the closet. He blinks his eyes, trying to unblur them.

She scowls at him. "Get out," He doesn't need to be told twice, his brain now comprehending that the closet is open. He scrambles out, breathing in the air, and is grateful. She watches with annoyance. "Get out?" She pretends to ask, with a sickly sweet voice, shoving him out of the room.

Theseus looks back in front of him, continuing to walk. He forgives the maid. He forgives all the times anyone was mean to him in the castle. 

"Adding onto this, all of said kingdoms are in alliance," Before he can continue, a council member, looking hot headed, raises his hand. Theseus allows him to speak. "Why haven't you done anything!?" Ranboo's smirk drops, these council members are jerks, even to the Crown Prince.

Tubbo watches with disdain, glaring at the man who said that. Another person speaks up, a woman looking like someone ran over her puppy, "Your a horrible Prince if you can't even keep alliances."

Theseus shakes his head, interrupting the protests of the other council members, "No no, these alliances were broken because the King," He pauses, "My father, decided.." He chooses his words wisely. Lying. "They were bad for us." 

A council member gets up, a ginger two face, "I'll ask the king if this is true," He leaves the room. Theseus watches with defeat.

He forgives them too. This never happened. The memory is gone.

He rolls his sleeves back up and doesn't look again as he walks towards the balcony. He opens the window. The wind runs through his hair. He closes his eyes as he leans against the edge. He hears a noise from the palace grounds and looks to see enemy soldiers sneaking in. His eyes widen and he turns around, his neck is met with a knife.

He looks up to see Tubbo. He knew something was wrong with them. "Listen, Prince. Just listen to us, okay?" Theseus' eyebrows furrow. Us?

There's a vroop and behind him appears Ranboo. His eyes dilate. "No.. Your going to get yourselves killed! Powers in the kingdom!?" He looks over Tubbo, he has two horns sticking out of his head. He's a hybrid? His eyes find themselves stuck to Tubbo's hands.

They already have blood on them. His eyes fill with dread, and the rain from earlier begins to pick up, the wind beginning to swirl around them. He can distantly in the palace, hear fighting. The war is over, has his kingdom lost?

He forgives the two boys that are about his age. He feels now, that maybe, they could've been friends. If it was in another place, another time, and if he wasn't raised in a place where powers and hybrids are forbidden.

Theseus feels his heart clench. His father, Wisp, Tubbo, Ranboo. He has to let it all go. These are no longer his memories or his past. He has to let go of being a prince, the servants, the other kingdoms. He has to let go, too, of the one person who he truly loved. 

The memory is lost, never to be brought up.

It wasn't for another 4 days until he finally got the keys. From a guard named Tristian. He stole it from right under his nose, and had to sneak back into the dungeon, being aware of the guards. Theseus was six when he had to break his brother out of a dungeon cell. He was also six when his brother left.

He held onto Clay for dear life, sobbing as his older brother was about to leave him, the woods a foot away, "Thes," Clay had held out a bracelet, green and beautiful, "Wear this okay? To remember me." 

Theseus wiped the tears from his eyes, delicately taking the bracelet. It was too big. "I'm always with you," Theseus looked up to see his brother smiling at him. The bracelet looked like his eyes. The emerald shining in a way only his brother's could.

Theseus has to let go of the way his brother's eyes shined. Of the way, Clay, is his brother. The necklace resting on his chest is no longer a resemblance of his brother's eyes. It's just emerald. Nothing special about it.

He doesn't have a brother. He's an orphan, that is about to turn 15, and has been living on the streets for years. He's never been apart of a royal family. His father wasn't the king, and his mother wasn't the best thing that he ever had. 

The most special memory that Theseus has is gone, no longer his.

"Mom!" Theseus yelled, running towards a blonde haired woman, with sky blue eyes and a beautiful sun hat on. She was sitting in the field of peonies and Daylilies next to the castle. Iris flowers grew at the edges, the whole field was a beautiful array of flowers.

Some children from neighboring kingdoms were playing in the field, one sitting underneath the big tree at the end of the field, with hair as white as snow. A curly haired brunette boy was making a flower crown for a fox hybrid, about as young as Theseus.

Some other boys were running around, playing tag, you could hear their laughter a mile away. Clay was one of them, and the other two were about as old as him. One black haired and the other brunette.

A boy and a girl, both with cinnamon brown hair, were sitting next to each other, beaming smiles on their faces as they talked about whatever they were talking about. Some other children were running around, doing whatever, but those were the only ones Theseus really paid attention to. 

"Mom look!" Theseus was in front of his mom, a bright grin on his face. It must've been contagious, because the rest of the adults smiled too. "I made you a flower out of flowers!" He exclaimed, holding out a flower molded into the shape by other flowers.

A man, looking awfully awestruck speaks up, "This is your kid, I'm assuming?" He asked the queen, Theseus' mom. She nodded, looking back at the boy.

"It's lovely, Theseus," She answers in the same, kind voice as always. "Can I introduce you to my friends?" She asked.

Theseus nodded eagerly, "I'm Theseus!" He yells, looking at the adults sitting next to his mother, trying to remember all of their features. 

"Theseus, this is Bad," Theseus tilted his head, examining the man, thinking about his name. He had horns sticking out of his head, and a kind smile on his face, he slowly waves and Theseus looks around excitedly. 

"And this is his husband, Skeppy," Theseus looks at the man, Skeppy. He had an awful lot of blue on. 

"Why do you wear so much blue, and why's your name Skeppy?" The man looked taken aback before sitting up fast. "What!? Blue is a great color, and why comment on my name and not Bad's!?"

Theseus crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the man, "Red is better, and Skeppy is weird! I like Bad!" The man, Bad, laughs, It sounded like a wind chime in the morning wind.

Theseus' mother looks at Skeppy in apology, then turns her attention to the man next to her, "And this is Phil," Theseus glanced at the man, noting the striking similarity between them. The man’s blonde hair, light and sun-kissed, mirrored Theseus’ own, his blue eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul, but all still inviting and kind, but there was also something else.. a certain energy about him, an almost magnetic presence that tugged at Theseus’ attention.

It was as though the man’s very being whispered something to him, something familiar, yet elusive. Theseus opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form the words, the sound of approaching footsteps and laughter broke the moment. A man hugs Theseus from behind, picking him up with ease.

"And I'm Quackity!" Theseus beamed, forgetting about the man with striking blue eyes and golden hair, looking at the new man. There was still people his mom didn't introduce him to.  

Theseus keeps walking, feeling a sort of sadness in his heart he can't get rid of. He has to get out of here, this life isn't his anymore. If he goes back to it, the only thing welcoming him this time would be death or imprisonment, so with a blink of his eye, he locks that memory away. He's not Theseus anymore. These memories are no longer his.

-

As Tubbo walks past every dark or dimly lit room, he slowly realizes that this place doesn’t have a lot of light. Or happiness at all. The walls seem to swallow what little warmth the flickering bulbs offer, casting long, ominous shadows that stretch like fingers across the floor. Each room he passes feels colder than the last, as if the very air inside is thick with sorrow and regret. He can tell this sadness wasn't caused by the war, but a deeper cause, planted in the very roots of this place.

This place isn't like any other kingdom Tubbo has been to, and that's saying a lot. The isolation the king put this place through wrecked everything.

The faintest echo of his footsteps is swallowed by the oppressive gloom, and for the first time, Tubbo wonders if he's walking through a place that has long forgotten what it means to feel alive. 

He goes down a flight of stairs and hears the faintest sound of people talking, finally. This place is a literal maze.

As he gets closer, he can tell exactly who it is. "This place is worse than we thought," One of the people says, the voice smooth and an obvious frustrated undertone. 

Tubbo reers the corner and sees a man with fluffy brown hair, a golden crown on his head, and an older man with blonde hair and blue eyes, piercing and icy, with an even larger crown. As Tubbo gets closer, the man with brown hair notices him, "Tubbo! Where have you been?"

He asks, jogging to the shorter brunette. Tubbo greets him, "Wil, I know where Theseus is, we have him."

The man with blonde hair turns towards Tubbo and Wil, walking up to the two. "You and Ranboo?" The man assumes, Tubbo nods with certainty. "He's back up this way-" 

Tubbo is cut off by the flurry of purple and familiar vroop of Ranboo's teleporting. Tubbo and Wilbur both step back to give the enderman hybrid room to heave heavily, he was obviously teleporting everywhere, based on how much purple particles there were and how hard he's breathing, "I lost him!" He exclaims.

Tubbo groans, hitting the wall. Wil snaps his head towards Ranboo, "Are you okay?" He asks first, concerned for the boy in front of him. The man with blonde hair steps up, "How long ago?"

"About 7 minutes, I've been trying to find you guys," Ranboo wheezes out. Tubbo grimaces, "Have you been teleporting for 7 minutes?" 

He nods and Tubbo lets him lean against him for support. Patting the taller's head. "This stupid prince can't stay put? Should we just send someone out for him? Dead or alive, this is too much, dad!" Wil exclaims, looking way more annoyed than he was a couple minutes ago. The man with blonde hair shakes his head. "You know he would be very angry," Wil groans. 

The man glances out of the window at the inky black sky, "Put this kingdom on lockdown, he could've have gotten far."

-

Theseus sits at the edge of the field, the same one where he once played as a child. He can almost hear the distant laughter of children from the surrounding kingdoms, the sounds of their carefree voices mingling with the chatter of adults. But now, the field is empty. The vibrant green he once knew has faded, replaced by dry, brittle grass, its color a dull reflection of the joy that once lived here.

The flowers that once painted the landscape with bursts of color are gone, choked out by overgrown weeds that crawl like a reminder of decay, of the world slipping away.

Theseus stares at the barren land, and for a brief moment, it feels as though he is still that child, running free, untouched by the weight of the world. But he isn’t. He hasn’t been for a long time. His mother is dead. His father is dead. His brother, whom he used to look to for strength, is most likely dead too. And if by some cruel twist of fate he is alive, he will never come for Theseus. Not now. Nor ever.

Theseus should be numb to this place, this memory, but it stings. The field that once offered him a fleeting sense of peace, no longer feels like his. The world has taken it all—the laughter, the warmth, the innocence—and replaced it with emptiness.

He rises and takes a step forward, his foot pressing into the withered grass, the dead flowers beneath him crushed into oblivion. They are nothing but remnants of a past that no longer holds any meaning. He no longer sees them as treasures to be made into crowns or woven into dreams. Now, they are just memories of what's gone.

His gaze shifts to the kingdom in the distance, smoke rises into the air, thick and dark, rising from a small building. Soldiers continue to fight, unaware that their king has fallen. If someone out there did care about Theseus, they would only know of him as the coward prince who ran away.

Theseus can only look at the destruction for only a moment, the hollow pit in his chest growing wider. He turns away, his feet moving instinctively, as if they’ve long learned the path of escape.

He runs again, but this time, it’s not out of joy or hope. It’s the escape of someone who knows there is nothing left to return to.

Theseus is gone. He has been for a long time.

Chapter Text

If you had told Theseus that, at fourteen, he’d be on the run as a fugitive prince, he would’ve laughed in your face.

And yet, here he was. Living the life. Fugitive prince. Name: Theseus, and-... And wow, he really does have to change his name.

“Theseus” wasn’t exactly a low-key alias. It was basically the equivalent of waving a neon yellow flag that said, ‘Hi! I’m worth a fortune!’

"Oh hey! My name is Theseus!" Says the only person named Theseus in the entire kingdom. Yeah. Real Subtle. It's not gonna happen.

So that’s what he was doing now. Sitting on the ground in some deserted town, thinking of a new name. One that wasn’t entirely different. He still wants to feel like himself. But also a name that doesn't scream “Royal fugitive! Please arrest me!”

"Adam?" he mutters aloud, then immediately grimaces. “Ew.”

"Ryder?" He groans, throwing his head back against the brick wall. "No, that’s even worse."

He glances around the empty street, hoping for inspiration, maybe a sign, a poster, a scrap of parchment with a name that might stick. But this place is a ghost town. The only reason he stopped here was the miracle of running water… and the fact that he’d been walking for hours.

His eyes drift to a sign.

A sign hanging crookedly on an abandoned shop door. One word, one name, and it makes Theseus pause. It's not the same person, but it's a name he’d heard before. A name he just remembered.

(Insert super epic flashback..)

Theseus was sprinting down the street, ducking and weaving between vendors setting up their morning stalls. People looked up, startled, then confused. Because what was the prince of Logstedshire doing tearing through the streets at 11 a.m., laughing like a lunatic?

Their confusion didn’t last. Not once they saw the royal guards in pursuit, including Wisp, who was shouting his name.

He was ditching lectures again. It happened often. Too often. One moment he was supposed to be studying geography; the next, he was knee-deep in a pond catching beetles.

Seeing the prince bolting through town with a grin on his face wasn’t new. Theseus even looked back and stuck out his tongue at the guards before ducking into an alley and diving behind a cardboard box.

Theseus grinned, crouching lower behind the battered cardboard box that smelled faintly of old apples and fish. His golden curls bounced slightly as he peeked through a tear in the box, watching the boots of the guards thunder past.

He counted five… six… and then Wisp who was always the loudest, always the most determined.

Once the coast was clear, Theseus exhaled dramatically, then stretched like a cat in the sun, before he realized he was still behind the box, and couldn't actually move.

The freedom, still tasted even better than the pastries he’d swiped from the royal kitchens that morning. He was about to get up before he felt something soft and looked down. A cloak just so happened to be in the box? 

Score.

Throwing it on with flair, he popped out of the box and nearly crashed into a boy his age carrying a basket of leeks.

"Watch it," the boy said dryly, completely unfazed.

Theseus blinked, then grinned. The grin, he claimed, was the manliest grin anyone would ever see. “Who are you?”

The boy looked him up and down, unimpressed. "I should be asking you that. Who are you?"

Panic fluttered in Theseus's chest. Think. Quick. Avert eye contact.

Not wanting to be recognized as the prince, he glanced around until his eyes locked on the box the boy was carrying.

“Tommy!” he blurted. “That’s… my name.”

The boy raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it.

“You alone?”

Theseus nodded.

The boy seemed to have a mental battle in his mind, hesitating before sighing and rolling his eyes, "Follow me," The boy said, with no room to argue, and since Theseus didn't have anything else to do, he did just that.

He didn't know exactly where he was following the boy to, only that it wasn’t back to the castle. Maybe he’d visit the pond near the baker’s district after this, it was frog season, after all. Or maybe he’d find the alley cat from last time he ran away. Clementine. 

"I'm Billzo, by the way," the boy called over his shoulder.

Theseus breaks out of his trance and immediately sits up straight, a smile coming to his face, "Tommy!" He glances down at his hands, clenching and unclenching. He forgot about that. 

"Tommy.. Yeah.. Tommy!" He exclaims, the name rolling off his tongue. He likes it. Way better than his other options. It's different. It's new, and It's most definitely not Theseus, which is good. Theseus Tommy sits straighter.

"Thanks Bill," He says to no one then smiles, determined.

"Time for a backstory."

-

Long ago, There was a boy named.. Tommy. He had.. grey eyes and blonde hair. He had two parents, and one sister. Any normal family, really. His mom's name was.. Clara! And his dad's name was.. Henry? His sisters name was Clementine and they were a happy family. Until.. they died? From a.. blue goblin monster. Naturally.

He's been living on his own ever since, as an orphan. 

No powers, no family, no friends. He's... 18.. and..

"And that's it!" Tommy mutters, finishing his backstory in his head. He'd probably have to make another reason for his "parents" dying, but that seems fine so far. If anyone asks he'll just make it up.

The name Henry is from the stuffed cow he had as a kid. Clementine after the cat. 

Tommy takes the backstory he made up as his own. He has no family because they got eaten from a Blue Goblin Monster named Fred. He's been living on his own (which is technically true) and he's an orphan. He has no powers, which is also... true(?) and he has no friends. 

And he is… 18.

Tommy winced. That part might be pushing it. He’d have to sell it really well.

He searches for a reflection and finds a puddle. Crouching over it, he stares at his warped reflection.

Bags under his eyes, curls messy and unkempt and he hadn’t realized how thin he looked. Something about it makes his chest twist. He doesn't like it.

But he shakes it off. No time for second thoughts.

He stands up, brushing dirt off his clothes, which he definitely needs to get rid of. The Logstedshire symbol on it and the signature colors of his kingdom as well as they're ROYAL clothes. He pauses, his mind going a million miles an hour, he can't even focus on one thing.

“…Where do I live?” He mutters. Glancing around, he knows he can't live here. He can't live in a ghost town with no one around except the ambience of wind and crickets. No this place is way too empty and dead to even think about setting up camp in. Plus it looks like he'd get possessed by a ghost. His point is, this town is creepy.

The only kingdom nearby, the only place he can even think to go is…

The Antarctic Empire.

His expression darkens. He can't go to the Antarctic Empire. That's way too dangerous. He'll be found out in less than a day, and even if he isn't, he can't ever let anything about his past go. He can't say or be anything except for Tommy and Tommy's backstory.

He sighs, glancing up at the sky. It's gloomy, like it's about to rain. Just as the weather always was in Logstedshire. The angry weather seems to always follow him. Like a curse. He hates it, he hates everything about it, but it will never go away for some stupid reason. He knows why.

Tommy slowly gets up to his feet, turning his head so he's staring into the distance. If he tries hard enough, he can just see and hear the large buildings and sounds of laughter. He begins to walk towards the large kingdom, a defeated look on his face.

-

When Tommy gets to the great walls of the Antarctic Empire. He knows one thing. He hates how happy the people sound.

His people didn't sound nearly as happy when he went out into the streets. No one was laughing, but Tommy can hear laughter. He can hear the sounds of people having fun and that makes his chest already start to burn.

Laughter floats over the walls like music. Real, genuine laughter. Not the forced kind he heard at royal banquets or the hollow chuckles from nobles trying to impress each other. This was honest. It made his stomach twist.

His people never sounded like that. The streets back home were quiet. Gray. Tired. If you laughed too loud in Logstedshire, someone would think you were losing your mind. Which you probably were. Isolated from the rest of the world, poor and not able to talk to loud or you'll be killed by corrupt guards. Tommy knew that's how it was. Maybe if he did something sooner, his father would still be alive.

His heart fills with anger at the thought of his father. He shoves it down.

He narrows his eyes at the sound of clinking glasses, children shouting in play, the occasional strum of a lute. It all blends into a blur of joy that rubs against his nerves like sandpaper.

He doesn’t belong here. Does he care? No.

Tommy steps back, craning his neck to take in the wall. It's massive, looming, white-stone and glass, etched with shimmering lines of frost magic. It’s the kind of thing you look at and know someone with real power built it. The kind of wall that says you’re not getting in unless we say so.

Well. He’s not asking for permission. So, he's gonna wing it.

He walks the base of it quietly, his boots crunching in the gravel. There’s no clear path, no ladder, no secret tunnel, no "here's where fugitives sneak in." Figures.

Worse, there are guards. Lots of them. Armored in pale steel and whatever else that is, their capes flutter in the breeze. They patrol the wall slowly, methodically. They look bored, which is somehow worse, because bored guards notice things.

Tommy ducks behind a low stack of barrels near a gatehouse and watches for a pattern in their movement. He needs a plan.

Climbing would be insane. But also… it might be his only option.

He squints up again. There, halfway up, to the left. Vines. Thin, frozen-over, but they curl up the wall like a ladder. Sort of. Not a great ladder. Not a safe ladder. But it might work.

He just had to wait for the perfect moment. When the guards weren’t looking. When no one was laughing quite so loudly.

Tommy’s fingers twitch.

“I'm gonna die,” he mutters.

But he’s already crouching low, already moving.

If he could scale a library wall to steal books he wasn’t allowed to read, he could climb this. Right?

Probably.

Maybe.

He glances up one more time and mutters under his breath, “Time to be 18, brave, and really, really stupid.”

And then he runs for the vines.

Tommy dashes from behind the barrels, boots silent against the snow-dusted stone. Every footstep echoes in his own ears, but the guards don’t seem to hear. Not yet. He reaches the base of the wall, skidding to a halt just beneath the vines. Up close, they look worse, brittle and rimmed in ice. Great.

“Go time,” he mutters, and grabs the lowest vine.

It creaks under his weight immediately, groaning like it hasn’t been touched in years. Tommy freezes, heart hammering, but nothing snaps. Yet.

He pulls himself up.

One hand over the other. Boots scraping against the wall for any kind of grip, Prime he probably looks so stupid. His fingers are already going numb, and he’s not even halfway there. Wind bites at his face. Below him, the world looks smaller with every movement.

A stone slips under his foot, crumbling away, and Tommy jerks forward with a quiet gasp. He presses himself against the wall, breathing hard, praying none of the guards look over the edge.

Above him, one of the patrols pauses. Tommy can hear the soft thunk of boots on stone. They’re close. Too close.

He doesn’t breathe. He can't.

A chunk of ice falls past him, shattering on the ground far below. The guard doesn’t call out. Doesn’t shout. Just… keeps walking.

Tommy exhales.

Then climbs faster.

The last few feet are brutal. The vines thin out, and he has to wedge his foot into a crack in the wall. His fingers slip more than once. His arms ache. But then, then, his hand hits solid stone. The ledge.

With one final, desperate pull, Tommy hauls himself over the edge of the wall and flattens himself to the surface. He stays still, eyes closed, his breath puffing out in white clouds.

No one saw. He made it.

He actually made it. Prime, he's too good.

For a second, he just lays there. Listening. The laughter still floats through the air, but now it sounds distant, like it belongs to another world entirely.

He opens his eyes. The inside of the Antarctic Empire stretches out below. Bright buildings, snowy rooftops, strings of glowing lights. People fill the streets, is this the shopping district of the kingdom? There's stands and vendors all with grins on their faces. 

It doesn’t look like the kind of place a runaway prince should be.

But maybe it’s exactly the place Tommy should be.

-

Tommy squints against the lights of the marketplace. It’s like walking through a snow globe someone shook too hard—glowing lanterns strung across the street, wreaths of evergreen and red ribbon, little enchanted snowflakes drifting gently from nothing.

It smells like cinnamon and roasted nuts. Which would’ve been great, if his fingers weren’t going numb and his teeth weren’t actively trying to chatter out of his skull.

"Why is it so cold!" Tommy hisses, in an alleyway, shivering. It's winter right now, and why did he have to leave in a simple thin shirt and pants. He's going to die from frostbite before anyone can even get to him.

Tommy is a prince so he can't even steal things. Wait. No. Theseus is a prince. Not Tommy. Tommy is a 18 year old homeless person. Theseus is a 14 year old prince. Tommy is manly and very strong. Theseus is a coward. So he can steal. THESEUS can't steal. TOMMY can. Theseus would apologize to a tree if he stepped on its roots. Tommy? Tommy’s desperate. Desperate people get resourceful.

He props himself up on a wall, looking around. His eyes flick to the vendor’s stall across the street where layers of neatly folded jumpers, trousers, mittens, boots. Soft. Warm. Absolutely necessary for not dying. 

And right now, there’s only one couple at the stand. The vendor is distracted, helping the woman try on gloves. This is his moment. 

Tommy breathes in, and moves fast, sliding out of the alley and into the crowd. His head stays low, though there's nothing to cover it. He pretends to browse, like he belongs here, like he’s not planning a full-on heist involving wool.

Just grab a sweater. Maybe some pants. No one will notice.

But as he reaches toward the pile, fingers brushing the edge of a thick navy-blue jumper. Not really his color, but the only one in reach. Just as he's about to grab it-

“You trying to steal from me, kid?”

Tommy freezes. Every muscle in his body goes stiff.

Slowly, he turns. The vendor is looking right at him. An older woman with sharp gray eyes and arms folded across her chest. The couple beside her goes quiet, watching with interest. Like this is a street performance or something.

Tommy opens his mouth, no idea what’s about to come out.

But before he can say anything, the vendor squints closer at him.

“…Where are your gloves?”

Tommy blinks. “What?”

“Your hands,” she says bluntly. “They’re red as boiled crabs. Your ears too. Are you trying to lose a finger?”

“I, uh…” Tommy glances down at his shaking hands. The fingers are definitely not a healthy color.

“Great stars above,” the vendor mutters. “You’re freezing.”

And to Tommy’s absolute shock, she tosses a sweater at him. Not angrily. Not like a punishment. Just… casually. Like she’s done this before.

“Put that on,” she says. “You can work off the cost. You know how to sweep?”

Tommy blinks again.

“I- uh—yes?” he says, like he’s not sure if he should say yes or no.

“Good. You start tonight.”

The couple laughs softly. The vendor doesn’t.

Tommy slowly pulls the jumper over his head. It’s thick, and warm, and way too big, and honestly, no one in Logstedshire would do that. In fact, if you were to try to steal from someone there, you'd have your head ripped off, maybe not literally, but close enough. 

In Logstedshire, kindness wasn’t something you stumbled upon. It was earned. Bought. Traded for something of value.

People didn’t give things freely. They held them tight, always suspicious someone else might try to take what little they had. And maybe they were right to. It was a cold place, in more ways than just the weather. Stony buildings, sharp cobblestone streets, everyone’s head down, voices low. Even the sunlight felt grayer there.

Tommy couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at him the way this vendor just had. With a mix of frustration and concern. In Logstedshire, if a boy with frostbitten hands tried to take a sweater, he’d be lucky to leave with all ten fingers. Most merchants would've screamed, drawn attention, called the guards, or, if they were feeling especially bold, taken a swing at him themselves.

Tommy has seen it first hand. Maybe not experienced it, because if any normal person were to try and do that to him, they'd be executed. And also by the fact he's never needed to steal. The guards and maids in the palace already gave him enough trouble and hatred for a lifetime.

“…Thanks,” he mutters. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” she says. “You still owe me enough work for a pair of boots, mittens, trousers and two hours of shoveling snow.”

Tommy nods, unsure how to respond. But there’s a tiny, flickering warmth inside him now that has nothing to do with the jumper.

-

Tommy was wrong about everything and anything he said. This is the cruellest punishment he has ever had to do in his entire life, and would have rather done anything else. The wind is constantly biting at his face, and the snow feels like needles. Sure he has a jumper, and some other warm things, but it's like this snow weighs a hundred pounds.

And there's so much of it.

He groans loudly, leaning against the snow spade. His arms are aching. It feels like he's just lifted the world itself.

"Oh my Prime.." He mutters, glaring at the ground.

He stands up straight again, stretching slightly. He begins to plow again, pushing the snow to the side so hard he slips on ice. Landing on his back. "I hate my life," He deadpans and hears a cackle from behind him.

He glances over to see the woman from earlier, Cora, laughing. Her breath fogs in the air as she leans against the doorframe of her shop, arms crossed, bundled in a cloak that looks far warmer than anything Tommy’s been given.

“Careful laughing so hard,” Tommy mutters, groaning as he props himself back up on the shovel, “you might just throw your back out, grandma.”

Cora snorts. “Says the one who slipped like a baby deer on ice.”

Tommy squints at her. “Baby deer are majestic and graceful, thank you very much.”

“They’re also edible,” she shoots back, grinning.

Tommy opens his mouth, stunned. “Did you just threaten to eat me?”

“I didn’t say that,” Cora says, raising an eyebrow. “But if I did, at least you’d finally be useful.”

Tommy groans again and flops backward into the snow, spreading his arms dramatically like a starfish. “You’re evil,” he says, voice muffled by the snow. “You run a shop of jumpers and still threw me into an arctic death trap.”

“You're the one who tried to steal,” She shrugs.

“You handed it to me after you caught me! Should've let me off for looking charming..” He mutters the last part, loud enough for her to hear though.

Cora scoffs, stepping down into the snow. “Charming? With that haircut?”

Tommy gasps. “This is a statement curl. Royalty-level volume.”

“Oh, I believe it. Screams ‘lived in the streets my whole life.’” Glad he looks the part.

She tosses him a wrapped biscuit from her pocket. “Eat. You’re getting dramatic.”

Tommy catches it, eyes lighting up at the warmth still radiating through the paper. He doesn’t say thank you. Not out loud.

But he doesn’t throw it back either.

Cora steps away from the shop and toward the corner where a lantern flickers, eyeing the dimming sky. "Finish shoveling, then you can come in and sleep by the hearth.”

Tommy watches her, a little stunned.

“Thanks,” he mutters finally, peeling the paper back.

Cora doesn’t answer. She just waves over her shoulder and disappears inside, the door shutting with a dull thud. Tommy sits there a moment longer in the snow, biscuit half-bitten, wind still howling around him.

He doesn't know how he spoke so easily to her. She had an energy that said, "I'm welcoming," even if she doesn't look the part. Why is this place so strangly warm? Tommy glances up at the sky, feeling a strange emotion.

Maybe this place sucks. Maybe he still hates the cold.

But maybe he can get used to it.

-

"I hate you," Tommy groans out as he sneezes next to the fireplace. 

Cora gasps, as if offended, "Respect to your elders! And how was I supposed to know you'd be so weak and get a cold?" 

As a recap, right when Tommy finished shoveling and opened the door to the shop, he immediately started coughing and sneezing. Cora came in from the kitchen to a red nosed Tommy. 

"I didn't know either until you made me shovel.." He mutters, she sighs, grabbing medicine from the corner table, "Just take some of this, you can stay the night."

She passes by Tommy and grabs a book from a shelf beside him. He resists a flinch. Why would he flinch? She sets it in his lap and he stares at it, confused. On the cover it says, "Lost City of Mizu," Which, sick name by the way. 

"You can read that while I make you soup. You can change into the warmer clothes on the couch," Tommy nods as she leaves. He doesn't miss how her eyes drift over his figure. He knows he doesn't look the best. Her concerned look doesn't make him feel better.

Opening the book, he begins to read. Something about L'manburg and how it started. He begins to drift off, not that the book was boring or anything. He's been awake for a while. He hasn't slept in a while. He's woken up by Cora coming into the room once more. 

"Done with your soup," She says softly, he sits up, blinking slowly. How can someone be this nice?

He takes the spoon and begins to slowly eat(?) the soup. He doesn't see how she watches him. When she speaks up, he jumps.

"So, what's your name," She asks. It's a simple question. What's his name? Just for Tommy, it's nerve wracking. He knows his name. His name is Theseus, but he goes by Tommy now. 

He speaks low, "Tommy," Nodding, Cora examines his face. He doesn't like how she seems to be watching his every move. It's like she's trying to make a mental note of everything he does. Is she planning on kicking him out if he says the wrong thing?

"How old are you?" She asks, but it doesn't really sound like a question. Like she's almost demanding to know? He isn't sure if she thinks he looks young or old.

He answers anyway, more hesitant. "18," She interupts before he can even finish the word. "Bull."

He looks at her, sputtering. "How is that bull? I'm 18.." 

She scoffs, "I know a 12 year old that looks older than you," He opens his mouth to respond, but she continues, "You're thinner than my patience, which is saying something. You look tired, malnurished and young."

Tommy gulps. "18."

"Don't lie to me, boy. I had a son just like you."

Tommy perks up at the knowledge she has a son. Why'd she say had though? "You have a son?" She narrows her eyes, "Changing the subject?" She raises her eyebrow, a smile coming to her face, one that screams I'll make you shovel more snow.

He pales, "No- I'm not changing the subject-" She interrupts.

"Then how old are you?"

He groans, annoyed. "Fine I'm 14," She looks over his face. When she see's no lie, she finally nods.

"Now I have a question," She raises her eyebrow but doesn't say no, so he takes his chance once more. "You have a son?" She pauses.

"I.. did have a son," She looks him over, her face softening slightly as she looks over at Tommy. "He looked like you."

Tommy tilts his head, thinking for a second. Looked like me? Isn't that a bad thing? There's one more thing that Tommy is wondering though. Why is she speaking in past tense?

"Did? Looked?" He questions, not realizing how blunt that may come off. She doesn't seem to take it badly, probably because she knows he's a kid or maybe because the past hurts too much for anger. "Yes," She answers.

"He.. died in the war between The Antarctic Empire and Logstedshire," Tommy pauses, feeling a heavy guilt in his chest. Her son died in a war Tommy was apart of. On two different sides.

"He wanted to fight for our Empire," Her eyes look distant, as if she's remembering that very day, "He said to save him some of his favorite soup when he came back," She pauses, "He never did."

Tommy was on the opposite side of her son. Her son, who he didn't know until today, died in a war he fought as well. He never went on the battlefield, but he gave ideas. He told the council about places they could attack, people they could injure. His heart aches with the familiar pain of sadness. He feels horrible.

Just up until a few days ago, he was still participating. Until they lost.

Prime. Why did he have to ask?

"Logstedshire.." Her face darkens, "They're all evil," He winces, then hides it, hoping she didn't notice. "I bet the royals laughed at the deaths.." She whispers.

Tommy closes his eyes. They did. His father, the king, did. Tommy remembers.

The long hallways of the palace stretch out before Tommy as he makes his way towards his father's office where he was called to. Theseus' face is void of any emotion, just a straight face. As always. 

2 months before Logstedshire's loss, his father thought they were winning.

When Theseus made it to his father's office room, he knocks and almost immediately does the door open, "Theseus! My boy!" His father yells. 

His father never called him that unless something good happen. Theseus lights up. "Sit, sit. I have something I want to tell you." 

Theseus did as his father told, sitting down in a chair in front of him. His father was grinning, a wild look in his eyes that Theseus was all too familiar with. "Guess how much people in their army died?" His father whispered, like it was a secret.

Theseus knew when his father was referring to "them" he meant the Antarctic Empire. Anything else, he would say the name. He said that saying the name of the Empire would bring bad luck. He always believed in superstitions. 

"One hundred," Theseus answered.

“Three hundred!” his father roared, laughing like it was a punchline to the world’s best joke. “I can’t believe we’re winning!”

Theseus nodded, forcing a smile to match the one beaming at him from across the desk. “That’s good,” he said. 

"Good? That's great!" His father responded back, grinning.

His father clapped his hands together once, leaning back in his chair, pride practically oozing from him. “You’ll be king one day, you know. You’ll remember this. Victory runs in your blood.”

Theseus’ fingers curled slightly on the arms of the chair. Victory. Blood. He wasn’t sure which one his father thought mattered more.

“Three hundred,” he repeated softly.

He couldn’t picture what that looked like. Not really. Three hundred people. Maybe an entire street’s worth. Or the market when it was packed during the harvest festival. Were they all soldiers? Did any have anyone to go home to? He pushed that thought away.

But his father was proud. And that meant he was supposed to be proud too.

“You’re doing well in your studies, aren’t you?” his father asked, suddenly changing gears. “Wisp says you’ve been missing some of your lectures again.”

Theseus straightened quickly. “Only once or twice. I’ve been catching up. I swear.”

His father raised a brow but said nothing, just studied him with that sharp, unreadable look that always made Theseus sit a little straighter. Be a little more still. A little more perfect. All to suit his father's eye.

“I want to make sure you’re ready. When this war ends, everything changes.”

Theseus nodded. His chest fluttered with something that might’ve been excitement, but might’ve been dread. He didn’t know anymore. They were going to win. That's what his father said.

Three hundred people.

He smiled again, this one a little tighter. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good lad,” his father said with a grin, rising from behind the desk. He placed a hand on Theseus’ shoulder, firm and heavy. “You’ve got the blood of kings.”

Theseus looked up at him, eyes catching on the wild pride in his father’s expression.

And just like that, the weight of the number, the reality of the war, all of it—pressed down into a quiet, hidden space somewhere inside him. Buried beneath the hope that maybe, just maybe, today he’d made his father proud.

He didn’t need to say the number again. He didn’t need to ask what they looked like.

Because his father was proud.

Tommy feels sick as he remembers that thought. He pushes down his sickness. His father was right for that. You should be happy when your winning in war. Not when 300 innocent people died. 

Cora shakes her head, arms crossed as she mutters, “No one’s even gone into Logstedshire. They’re so cowardly they don’t talk, don’t leave, don’t do anything.” Her voice rises with each word, frustration spilling out like steam from a cracked kettle.

Tommy stiffens.

Yeah. He knows something now. If she knew who he was, she’d hate him.

“Isolating themselves like they didn’t do anything wrong!” she snaps. Her tone burns, and Tommy stares at her before he can stop himself.

She catches him looking. Her posture falters. She clears her throat, and when she speaks again, her voice is gentler, soft enough to make his skin crawl. “What happened to your parents?”

He catches the pity in her eyes and immediately wants to punch the wall or maybe even her.

He hates pity so much. SO MUCH. But he won’t give in. Not to that totally reasonable, definitely justified urge.

At his silence, which Tommy didn't mean to prolong, she shakes her head, sighing. "Did they die due to the war too?"

“They died in the war too?” she guesses.

Tommy perks up slightly. That’s way better than the story he made up about the blue goblin monster eating them.

“Y-Yeah,” he says, the stutter slipping out by accident. Adds authenticity though. Good job, he thinks dryly.

Cora nods, solemn. “War is... horrible,” she whispers, eyes distant.

“I had a sister too,” Tommy blurts, guilt punching him for inventing her and then leaving her out.

“A sister?” she echoes, glancing at him.

He nods, eyes darting around the room like he’ll find more lies in the corners. “She was older. Her name was Clementine. She, uh... went to get food and never came back.” Why did he say that? Prime, why did he say that?

He resists the urge to slam his head into the couch cushion. He doesn't even know anyone named Clementine. Except for the cat. That was an amazing cat.

Cora is quiet for a while. He can’t tell if she believes him. He kind of hopes she doesn’t.

He deserves to be doubted. He has been lying through his teeth this entire time.

She stands up and Tommy flinches before he can stop himself.

She doesn’t notice. Thank Prime.

She gestures to the half-finished bowl of soup in his lap. “You should eat the rest before it gets cold.”

Tommy nods, blinking at it like it just appeared there. He lifts the bowl and starts drinking, not bothering with the spoon. It’s still warm.

Cora drapes a blanket—where the hell did she even get that from?—over the back of the couch. “You can sleep here tonight,” she says.

He nods again, finishing off the soup. When she reaches out, he hands her the bowl without a word.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says softly, turning away. There’s something in her voice he can’t place.

He doesn’t try.

Tommy lays down on the couch and stares at the ceiling. The lights click off. And the darkness feels a little too familiar. It feels like the suffocating closet he's been in more times than not. It feels like the emptiness he's been trying to stop from getting to his mind.

He closes his eyes and dreams.

He dreams of the same field where he met all of those people. Where he met Quackity. He dreams of not running, but being free. He dreams of a world none of this happened, and he wasn't so scared.

Has the silence always made him think so much?

Chapter Text

The storm outside has clawed its way into the stone. Wind howls through the cracks like a scream that wouldn’t end. The war room in the Badlands Empire is dim, lit only by flickering sconces and the glowing map spread across the table.

Sam, the High Knight of the Bandlands Empire leans over it, face unreadable, his finger dragging across a red line that hadn’t moved in weeks. He's the most concerned, after all it's his job to protect everyone.

“What are we gonna do?” he muttered, voice low and concerned. “It's been 2 months and he's still missing. We don’t know where he is. We don’t even know what he’s capable of.” He glanced at the others, dark brows furrowed. “He might be just like his father.”

A pause. The weight of the statement settles heavy in the room. Each kingdom has been having meetings, between themselves and even with all of them included. They are beginning to get angsty, scared of what the prince might be planning.

Sapnap, The prince shifts in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “He’s not,” he says, firm. “He said Theseus is kinder than anyone in Logstedshire. Theseus is not like that monster.”

Sam doesn't say anything, but the flicker of doubt in his eyes said enough.

From the corner of the room, Antfrost finally spoke, voice quiet but pointed. “That was eight years ago.”

That silenced everything.

The fire cracked. Rain slapped the windows.

Bad and Skeppy, the Kings, still haven't said anything.

Antfrost steps forward, eyes fixed on the map. “Theseus was six. You really think a boy raised by that man came out the other side untouched?” He looks up. “People don’t come out of Logstedshire soft.”

Punz scoffs, leaning back in the chair in he's in. "They don't come out of Logstedshire at all," He says cockily, but everyone in the room knows he's right. "They're all cowards, too scared to fight their own battles."

Sapnap frowns, eyes shadowed by worry, ignoring what Punz said, he comments on what Antfrost concurred, “Maybe. But he believed in him. That’s gotta mean something.”

Sam exhales slowly, running a hand down his face. “Belief’s not enough if we’re wrong. If he really is his father’s son…”

No one finished that thought. They didn’t have to.

Another crack of thunder rattled the windows.

Somewhere out there, in the snow and the storm, the missing prince walked among strangers. No one knows where though, and that's a problem. 

Skeppy finally speaks up and leans forward, his usual grin and silly personality gone, voice steady and heavy. “We all know what his father did. Theseus was just a boy then, but the things he saw, the lessons he learned... they don’t just disappear.”

Bad, sitting near the fire, shakes his head slowly. “Children pick up on tendencies. He was probably around his father a lot. Kids adapt to their environments. Trust me, I know,” Bad says, giving a brief, knowing smile toward his son Sapnap, who quickly looks away.

Bad’s gaze sharpens again, but his tone softens. “That said, even if his father wasn’t a good man, it doesn’t change the fact that Theseus is most likely too far gone.”

Hannah, quiet until now, shakes her head slowly. “You all forget… Theseus had people around him. People who tried to protect him, teach him differently. There’s a chance he’s not the same. Did you forget about Eret and Wisp?”

Punz snorts, tossing a dagger from hand to hand. “Chance isn’t enough when the fate of kingdoms is on the line. For all we know, he might be planning revenge on all of us. We did betray him after all.”

Sapnap glares at Punz.

Ponk clears his throat softly, leaning forward with a calm, steady presence, as expected as the Royal Advisor, always calm. “I get what you’re all saying. Theseus’s past isn’t something we can ignore,” he says gently. “But people can surprise you. Sometimes the ones raised by monsters become their own angels. Maybe we owe him the benefit of that doubt.”

He glances around the room, meeting each weary eye. “If we write him off now, we might miss a chance to bring him back, or at least understand what he really is.”

Sam nods slowly, the tension easing a little. “Ponk’s right. We need to find him before we decide who he’s become. It’s better than sitting here, guessing.”

Skeppy exhales, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t like it. Not one bit. We need to find him first too. For all we know he's right under our noses. He could be in any kingdom by now.”

Bad gently grabs Skeppy’s hand, squeezing it gently, and looks at him softly, his eyes filled with a mix of worry and quiet reassurance. The weight of unspoken fear hangs between them, heavy but shared. Skeppy shifts slightly, meeting Bad’s gaze, searching for answers that neither of them fully have.

Around the room, the others exchange uneasy glances, the silence stretching longer than before. The storm outside rages on, mirroring the turmoil inside. Bad’s grip tightens just a little, as if holding on not only to Skeppy but to the fragile hope that Theseus might still be more than the shadow of his father.

"The best scenario is that he's still the kid we met when his mother was still around," Bad says, almost a whisper, but everyone hears it. 

-

"Achoo!" Tommy sneezes, groaning and throwing himself back onto the couch. "I swear people have to be talking about me, I'm sneezing too much." 

Cora comes into the living room, an irk mark on her forehead. "No shoes on the couch, kid!" Tommy sticks his tongue out at her.

Rolling her eyes, she begins setting up the table for breakfast. It's been about 2 months since Theseus ran away from the kingdom, in hopes of not being killed. It's been 1 month since Tommy was staying at the shop with Cora, who he's beginning to warm up to.

Tommy stares at the ceiling, thinking. He's been doing that more and more. Thinking. His mind flicks through possible things that may be happening in other kingdoms. He knows they're most likey just as scared as him. Tommy isn't dumb. He never has been.

He knows he can’t just walk out the door without risking being caught. That’s why he’s kept low, stayed in this small shop with Cora, who still doesn't know who he is. He’s heard rumors, whispers in the streets, patrols stepping up, alliances shifting and becoming more strong.

Tommy wonders how long before they come knocking here. Before the hunt begins in earnest. Before his face shows up on posters, though that won't happen, and he's sure of it. Logstedshire has never been one to boast about how handsome princes are, how rich it is or none. His father, isolated Logstedshire from everything and everyone for a reason. Tommy isn't sure what that reason is, but he's glad his father did.

His father was a smart man. No matter what anyone says.

Cora plates the food in the background, humming a tune Tommy isn't familiar with. He ignores it.

Though he doesn't see guards in the streets, or people being beat up regularly, which means he should trust this place. Wrong. He physically can't trust this place. It's too.. perfect. If you looked into the streets of Logstedshire, there would definitely be a guard with a sword to someones neck. There would definitely be regular exiles and killings of people with powers.

Here, there's.. So many people. There's so many people who look different. Act different. 

They're all freaks. 

People have hybrid features. A tail, wings, strange eyes, weird limbs. It's strange and Tommy doesn't know what to think of it. Well, yes he does. Based on lectures and countless hours of being punished for asking, he knows what to think of them. They're all gross.

He's glad Cora doesn't have powers. He's glad she isn't a hybrid. He wouldn't know what to think of her then. Could he look her in the eye and say he accepts it?

"Tommy! Breakfast!" He glances over and yawns. Cora is sitting at the table, hands together in a prayer. He glances at her then looks back down, making his way towards the table. She prays before every meal. He asked the second night he stayed here, who she was praying to.

She said,

"The Deity Of Death," Tommy looked at her with confusion. She tilted her head, putting her gray hair in a bun as she speaks.

"You haven't heard of her?" She looked surprised, and Tommy wasn't sure if it was good or bad he didn't know. "I thought everyone did," She muttered.

Oh so it was bad he didn't know. Hm.

"Who is she?" He asked, only for her to shake her head. "You'd have to learn on your own."

With a questioning look on his face, he began to eat, glancing up at her once and a while.  Why couldn't he know now? Did she know he wasn't from here?

With a shake of his head, he cleared his thoughts and focused on eating. He'll learn later. After all, he has time.

Tommy sits down at the table. He also has a god he believes in. Most people in Logstedshire do, after all. They say she has the power to grant any wish. Tommy knows that's not true based on all the nights he prayed and wished for his brother to come back for him.

But he still believes she's real. 

Digging into the food, Cora glances at him, brow raised in concern. "Slow down, kid. You're not racing anyone," She teases.

Tommy looks up and locks eyes with Cora. His cheeks are stuffed with food so he quickly swallows and looks away, embarrassed. People in Logstedshire would have shamed him for eating like that. Like- Like a pig. As royalty, you have to be perfect.

With a fond smile she hands him a napkin and he wipes his face off. Huffing, he glances back at her. "I'll have you know I was very charming when I ate just now," He said, but his voice is quiet, embarrassed. 

She snorts, "Yeah right. You? A charmer, your lying, Innit?" 

He stands up. "Hey! Not like you were either! Old hag!" 

She stands up so fast her chair scrapes against the floor, slamming her hand on the table with a thud. Her voice rises an octave, shrill. “OLD HAG?!” she screeches, practically vibrating with rage. “You little twig-armed gremlin! I’ll have you know I’m in my prime!”

She flexes one arm dramatically, muscles bigger than Tommy would’ve expected, and points at him with fire in her eyes. “Say that again and I’ll punch you through the window!"

Tommy laughs nervously, adding on, arms crossed as he backs up a little. “Prime of what? Ancient history?” He regrets that soon after he says it.

Cora laughs lowly and grabs a dish towel from the counter. “That’s it, through the window you go!"

Tommy yelps as she starts chasing him around the table, swatting the air with the towel while he darts away, laughing. The whole shop fills with the sound of footsteps and laughter, like the weight in Tommy’s chest lifted for just a moment.

Eventually, they both stop, breathless, Cora leaning against the counter and Tommy flopping back onto the couch.

“You’re lucky I like you, brat,” she mutters, grinning.

Tommy just grins back, still catching his breath. “Yeah, yeah. Admit it, I’m growing on you.”

She snorts. “Like a fungus.”

Before Tommy can come up with a smart retort, a sudden knock at the door slices through the room like a blade.

...

Its silent. Then they knock again.

Not a casual knock. Sharp. Measured. Official. It makes Tommy's heart drop.

Cora stiffens, her smile fading like the last ember of a dying fire. She straightens up slowly, eyes flicking toward the door, then to Tommy.

His face has drained of color.

“Upstairs,” she says immediately, voice low and firm, no hint of playfulness. “Now.”

Tommy doesn’t hesitate. His legs move before his brain can. He dashes up the stairs, feet light but quick, heart hammering in his chest. The last thing he hears before reaching the top is the creak of Cora unlocking the front door.

Downstairs, the door opens a sliver.

A man stands there, rainwater beading on his dark armor, his cloak heavy and soaked. The sigil of a Crow gleams on his chestplate. The Antarctic's Royal Symbol.

His eyes, cold and searching, land on Cora.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he says, already stepping forward like he doesn’t care whether she gives permission or not. “We’ve received word from a local couple. Said you took in a stray boy about a month ago.”

Cora’s jaw tightens. “So what if I did?”

Tommy listens from upstairs. This man doesn't sound nice. 

The guard doesn’t react. He pulls a scroll from his belt and unrolls it with practiced ease, showing the official seal and writing. “Under royal decree, all households are to be inspected. We believe this boy may be the missing prince of Logstedshire.”

He holds up a sketch. Crude, but unmistakable.

Blonde hair. Grey eyes but they looked so blue when with her. Cold expression. He doesn't have the cocky smile she's used to, but it's definitely him.

“His name is Theseus,” the guard says. “You may know him by a different one.”

Cora doesn’t blink. Her face is blank. “I don’t know anything about a prince. I took in a mouthy street kid who eats too fast and thinks he’s funny. If he’s royalty, Logstedshire needs to teach better manners.”

Tommy's breath hitches from upstairs, her tone is cold, like somethings bubbling underneath. His heart races and his mind goes a million miles an hour. All he can think is, she knows.

The guard’s eyes narrow. “May I come in?”

“You already are,” she says coolly, stepping aside.

He enters slowly, boots dripping on the wooden floor, eyes scanning everything. The small couch, the half-eaten plates, the towel on the counter. Upstairs, a floorboard creaks faintly.

Cora’s eyes don’t move, but her mind screams.

The guard turns to her. “Is anyone else in the home?”

She shrugs. “Just me. But feel free to look around if it makes you sleep better.”

He stares at her for a moment too long, as if trying to read her soul. Then he moves past her, slowly, toward the stairs.

Tommy’s up there, crouched behind the bed, heart pounding so loud he swears it’ll give him away. He presses a hand over his mouth, trying to quiet his breathing.

The guard takes a step up.

Then another.

Cora grabs a skillet off the stove and drops it. Hard.

CLANG.

The noise is deafening. She doesn't flinch. Tommy does, upstairs. So hard that he thinks his heart jumped out of his chest. 

The guard halts, turning back toward her sharply.

“Sorry,” she says innocently. “Slipped.”

The guard doesn’t move right away. His jaw ticks.

“Are you done?” she asks, but it's not really a question. She's still holding the skillet, eyes hard now.

The guard pauses at the bottom of the stairs, glancing up.

Another beat passes.

Then, finally, he turns.

“For your sake,” he says, voice low, “I hope you’re not lying.”

Cora doesn’t move. “I hope you find your prince.”

He leaves without another word. The door shuts behind him, and silence blankets the shop like snow.

The door shuts behind the guard, and the bolt slides into place with a heavy, final clack. Then stands there, still as stone.

“Tommy,” she calls, voice low, but there’s no warmth in it this time. Just steel. Cold hard steel. Tommy wants to cry. He wants to ask for her forgiveness. 

For a second, there’s only silence. Then soft footsteps creak down the stairs.

Tommy appears slowly, sheepish and small, eyes wide and glassy, different eyes then the one she saw in the sketch, wide and as if hoping she’ll look at him the way she used to.

She doesn’t.

Her back is still to him.

“So,” she says. Her voice is flat, cold. “Theseus, huh?”

His stomach drops. “I-I wasn’t trying to lie,” he stammers. “I just… didn’t think. . I didn’t think it mattered.”

Cora turns.

Tommy knows in that moment, it's not the right thing to say. But he never has had a way with words. He's stammering so hard it feels like he's talking to his father all over again. Is he comparing her to him?

The look she gives him could freeze fire.

“It matters,” she snaps. “You think you could just walk into my home, sit at my table, sleep on my couch and none of that would matter?”

Tommy opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. A tear rolls down his cheek. Prime he looks so weak doesn't he? 

“He was twenty-three,” she whispers, her voice thick with venom. “He was smart and stubborn and he had this stupid grin when he lied. He went off to fight your war, not because he believed in it, but because he wanted to protect this place. This country.”

Her hands are shaking now. Her voice rising.

“And they put a bullet through his heart for it. Your people. Your flag. Your royal family!”

“I didn’t know,” Tommy says again, desperate. “I swear, I didn’t know-”

“Of course you didn’t,” she spits. “Because you’re a prince. You’ve never had to know. You don’t know what it’s like to get a letter instead of a body. To clean blood out of your son’s uniform and never know if it was even really his.”

Tears are building in her eyes now, but they don’t fall. They burn there.

“You think hiding behind a fake name makes you innocent? That I’d just play pretend with you forever, let you be Tommy while I cook your meals and patch your clothes and let myself believe you weren’t exactly what this country bled to keep out?”

Tommy’s breath hitches. “I’m sorry, I'm so sorry, please-”

“Sorry?” she echoes, voice suddenly low again. “You think that word is big enough to bury my son?”

Tommy flinches like he’s been slapped.

She takes another step. Tommy instinctively backs up.

“You should’ve told me the truth the second you came through that door.”

“I thought—” His voice breaks. “I thought if I did, you’d hate me.”

“I do,” she says.

The words are quiet.

Cruel.

Final.

She steps back, glaring at him with vigor. 

“I should’ve turned you in the second I saw that sketch,” she mutters. “I should’ve let them take you.”

She turns her back to him again.

“Get out.”

The words are like ice cracking underfoot.

Tommy doesn’t move.

“Cora—”

“Get. Out.” she snaps, loud now, voice like thunder ripping through the room. “Before I stop pretending I care what happens to you.”

Tommy stands there, tears falling down his cheeks, he brings his hand up to wipe them, "Don't leave me.." He whispers, shoulders shaking softly. "I'm so sorry.. please—"

“I said get out!” Her voice cracks like thunder now. A hand raising in the air, as if to hit him.

He flinches, stepping back. He stares at her in betrayal. Why does it hurt so much? He turns and runs, barely remembering to grab his shoes. He stumbles out the door, into the cold, into the snow. No coat, forgetting to grab it. A navy blue jumper on that she gave him, no gloves and boots.

Cora stands in the kitchen alone, fists clenched at her sides, staring at nothing.

She breathes.

Once. Twice.

Then she sinks to her knees and lets the silence swallow her whole.

-

Tommy stumbles into an alley, sinking onto his knees and letting his world fall apart. If he wasn't born in that stupid family, if Clay never left. If Tommy kept his mouth shut about powers. Everything would be fine. 

He didn't know Cora that long, but Prime she was so good. She was so good and Tommy isn't. 

Tommy brings his knees to his chest, his fingers already beginning to whiten due to the cold. The whole country hates him, don't they? If Cora hated him that much, if Cora kicked him out, if Cora had so much hate, then others do too.

He probably- No, he was the cause of so many deaths. Because he's Theseus. Not Tommy. 

Tommy smiles and doesn't flinch when people speak too loud or raise their hands. Why is Theseus pretending to be someone he's not?

Maybe Theseus should die.

In theory, that would make Tommy's spirit live better.

Theseus shoves his hands against his ears, breathing erratically. What's happening?

The rain doesn’t stop. Even as he tries to breathe in and out. Even has the rain gets into his nose. Even as he counts in 2...3.. out 2...3...

It soaks through his clothes, turning cotton to ice and leather to lead. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his lips are starting to go blue, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shiver. Doesn’t cry anymore.

He’s passed that point.

Now there’s only the quiet.
The kind that feels like it’s pressing in from all sides. The kind that wraps around you and whispers, stay down.

He wonders how long it would take for someone to find him here. Days? Weeks?

Maybe never.

They’d walk right past him, wouldn’t they? Just a boy in a jumper too big, curled up between two dumpsters like trash. And maybe that’s all he is now. Not a prince. Not even a person. Just the shadow of a war no one wants to remember though it just ended.

His fingers twitch. 

He looks at his hands like they’re not his. Like they belong to someone else. Someone dangerous.

Because they are, aren’t they?

These hands gave orders once. Signed papers. Sent men to their deaths with a flick of a pen and a blank stare. He doesn’t remember it, but maybe that’s worse. Because people died anyway.

These people sounded so happy when he first came. Are they hiding what they truly feel?

He wonders if someone here lost their father because of him. Their brother. Their child. Cora did.

He wonders if they’d spit on him if they knew who he was.

Or worse, if they’d smile while they dragged him into the street.

Rightfully.

A sharp sob breaks loose from his chest before he can stop it. He curls tighter, bones aching, heart cracking like thin ice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to no one. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t—”

His voice disappears into the storm.

He curls into himself. It's really cold. His eyes close, and he hopes they never open again.

-

In a blazing desert far north of the Badlands Empire. The sand feels like a scorching pan, and even sweat could sizzle off your forehead before it even has a chance to drip. The heat makes the air dance, blurring the horizon. Red cliffs rise sharp and tall in the distance, casting thin, useless shadows.

A hot wind sweeps sand across the ground, stinging skin like tiny needles. Every breath tastes dry and dusty, like inhaling ash mixed with sunlight. 

Through the haze and heat, a city, a dream, or maybe just a trick of the light.

Bright neon signs blink stubbornly under the blazing sun, strange and glowing in the middle of the desert. Gold-tipped towers stretch toward the sky, shining like treasure. Somewhere nearby, soft music and the chime of slot machines drift in the wind.

Though inside the city, all traces of the desert disappear, leaving a cityscape that glows at the night and leaves people wondering how the world the desert changes so fast.

Inside a massive building at the heart of the city, is a meeting table.

“He’s where? Because he sure isn’t here!” A black-haired man yells, yellow wings spread behind him. King Quackity of the Las Nevadas Empire.

“Q, we’ve been telling you for the last hour, we don’t know,” a fox hybrid sighs, shaking his head. 

Since it's been 2 months of Prince Theseus of Logstedshire missing. Every Empire is trying to figure out where the boy is, but he's elusive. No Empire has yet to find him. Quackity has been the person most tense about this. He was close to Theseus.

Quackity lets out a frustrated breath. 

He knows that Theseus is scared, he doesn't want to die like his father. Quackity wouldn't let anyone kill him anyway. He also knows that Theseus is wary of everyone. He's never been trusting. Quackity knows that he did what was right by leaving Theseus for the big alliance to take Logstedshire down, and that Theseus' kingdom has always been corrupt. He still can't get his mind off of it.

Theseus would probably never trust Quackity again, no matter what he did. He never wanted to betray him in the first place, but he knew that if he told Theseus anything, the boy would run straight to his father.

He’s always been loyal. Even when if it is to the wrong people.

“Maybe we should just let the kid do his own thing,” someone says, stepping into the room with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a purple hoodie.

A man with patches of gold scattered across his skin nudges him sharply in the ribs. He shoots a quick look at Quackity, then leans in close to whisper, “Shut up, Purpled.”

Quackity’s head snaps up, his wings puffing out in irritation. “No! He’s alone, and he’s fourteen, for God’s sake!”

Purpled raises an eyebrow, sliding into a chair. “Fourteen?” he repeats, thinking for a moment. “That’s how old I was when I became a mercenary...”

The fox hybrid from before smacks him on the top of the head.

“Ow! Fundy, what was that for?” Purpled yelps, rubbing where he’d been hit.

Quackity sits with his head in his hands, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

“We couldn’t leave him alone even if we wanted to,” Fundy, the fox hybrid, adds quietly. “He’s committed war crimes.”

Quackity’s head shot up. “Supposed war crimes!” Quackity snaps, locking eyes with Fundy. “We don’t even know if he actually did anything in the war. The war we all fought.”

Across the table, the man with gold-patched skin shifts uneasily in his seat. “It doesn’t change who his father was,” he says, voice low. “It’s in their blood to do terrible things. You know what his father did… to everyone. Especially to his own empire.”

“I know that!” Quackity snaps, wings flaring slightly behind him.

A hand rests gently on his shoulder. He turns to see Charlie. Always smiling, always gentle.

“Tubbo from the Antarctic’s looking for him as we speak,” Charlie says brightly. Most people just call him Slime, thanks to the strange, shifting features that mark his hybrid form.

Purpled, now softer than before, finally spoke. “It’s been a long time since you last saw him, Q... People change.”

Quackity doesn't answer. He just shuts his eyes, the silence around them all growing heavier. Doubt, a seed sprouting in his chest.

Nobody likes Theseus. They all group him in with his father, as if cruelty were inherited, like a name or a curse. His father had done terrible things. Things that had shattered cities, families, empires. People like to say blood runs thicker than water. That it's in Theseus’ blood to become just like him.

A tyrant.

A monster.

Another title to fear, The Mad Prince, maybe if Logstedshire had won the war.

They call him unkind, cruel, heartless. 

And no one believes otherwise.

-

Tucked away in a quiet wing of the Antarctic palace is a room meant for two boys, both around the same age as Tommy. Tubbo and Ranboo. The very same two who killed the King of Logstedshire.

Now, that same room buzzes with a strange mix of tension and routine. Tubbo leans back in a wooden chair, arms stretching high above his head until his joints crack. He lets out a tired sigh, blinking up at a frosted window to the side of him. Winter arrived about 2 months ago, and is supposed to be calming down about now, but it's been raging harder than ever.

Across the room, Ranboo sits on the floor, back against the wall, fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. His mismatched eyes, one red, one green, locked on the small fire crackling in the hearth, as if watching it burn will quiet his thoughts.

“Do you think they’ll find him?” Ranboo asks suddenly, voice low.

Tubbo drops his arms and glances over, the ghost of a frown tugging at his lips. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But they’ll try.”

Ranboo nods but didn’t seem comforted. Outside, the wind howls against the palace walls, cold and sharp like the truth neither of them wanted to admit: if Theseus had really gone dark, it might not matter who found him first.

Not after what they did.

Not after what he saw.

They killed the king, then came back for Theseus like they'd done nothing. It's the only time Ranboo has ever felt bad during an assassination. He's sure Tubbo feels the same. They both killed the king, that they would never regret. The look on Theseus' face they would.

Ranboo is surprised when Tubbo is the first to speak up. "Did you see his face?" Tubbo whispers, like if he says it any louder, it's wrong.

Ranboo only nods. The fear and pure desperation on his face was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It looked like they'd just freed a prisoner of one hundred million years, but also imprisoned one for two hundred million. 

"He wasn't the tyrant bastard I thought he'd be," Tubbo mutters, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tubbo recalls how the light in his eyes was flickering the moment he saw the blood on their hands. Theseus' looked like a kid wanting to go home. A kid who needed someone. He's the same age as himself and Ranboo. 

Tubbo plays with his sleeves, his eyes losing their gleam for a second. "He deserves it though, doesn't he?"

They both knew what Tubbo was talking about. How everyone treated him in the castle.

Ranboo watches Tubbo for a second, "He does."

"Logstedshire deserved everything that happened to it," Tubbo says, voice low and in a growl. Ranboo slowly nods. 

What Logstedshire did to both of them, to everyone, wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. After all, one person who doesn't deserve anything, who killed off thousands of people in a war 3 years ago was from there, led it for a while even, alongside the king and Theseus.

Yeah.

Logstedshire deserved it.

But did Theseus?

————(This is now switched to first POV for a bit. I will announce when it turns back to normal POV)————

I wish.

I wish I wasn't a prince. 

I wish my father had never cut me from the world.

Maybe then, I would've had friends. Maybe then I would've not been so... alone. Maybe Eret would have stayed. Maybe.. Wisp wouldn't have... left me alone. Maybe those boys and I could've been friends. Maybe Cora and I could've actually had something. 

I always get too attached. Too fast. Running headfirst into fire without knowing who I'm saving—

Or who I'm leaving behind.

Theseus.

That’s the name my father gave me—he thought it would be funny.

Theseus, who lost the favor of Athens.

Theseus, who was exiled to Skyros—

And pushed off a cliff by a king who feared him.

It's funny. In a way, I was also exiled.

I can't return to Logstedshire. The Empire is dead. Maybe my Skyros, might just be myself.

My father was going to name me—

Icarus.

The boy who flew too close to the sun and fell.

Maybe that would’ve fit better.

Fly too high, and the fall is inevitable.

I don't think I've ever flew. To fall is to once have soared. I've done nothing.

"There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring."

That's what my mother said before she died.

I can't cry. I won't. It's been too long. I've been waiting for too long.

I know what they all think of me. I'm a crazy person. I'll kill anyone. I'll kill hundreds just to prove a point— But I won't. I wouldn't. I couldn't. 

My father once tried to make me.

"Theseus, come closer, don’t you want to join?" M y father asked me as he tortured a man. His voice was almost gentle, something he never sounded like. Like he was inviting me to a game. Like he wasn’t doing something horrifying right in front of me.

I just stared at him. Not with fear—though maybe I should’ve been afraid, but with confusion. I didn’t understand. Why would I want to join? Why would I want to be like you?

Just as the thought came, it slipped away. I couldn't be mad at him. I can't be mad at him. Like a leaf in a storm, tossed aside before I could hold onto it, I stopped caring about the thought. 

I didn’t know what to say. 

I was only a child. I didn’t have words for the knot in my chest—

Or the sick feeling growing in my stomach.

So I said nothing.

And he smiled.

Like silence was agreement.

That was the first time I thought something inside me might be broken. Because I didn’t run. I didn’t scream. I just watched.

And part of me wonders if, in that moment,

I did become like him.

Even if I never meant to.

Because now when I close my eyes, I don’t see that man’s face.

I see my father’s smile.

I remember how badly I wanted him to be proud of me. And still do.

I was raised to endure pain. To survive torture far worse than what the man in front of me was enduring. To drink poison without flinching, to fight with every breath, and if it came to it, to die on my own terms. If someone tried to kill me, I was taught to kill myself first.

"Come here, Theseus," He said and I came closer. He motioned for me to hold out my hand. I obeyed, without question. It felt like a soldier in war. 

He placed a dagger in my palm, its hilt lined with emeralds, the blade pure gold. Beautiful. Heavy. Deadly.

I stared down at the sharp object, and didn't flinch as thunder cracked and lightning struck outside, lighting the room. "Go on, show him what he's worth," Though my father didn't say it directly, I knew he wanted me to kill the man. To be a murderer. 

To prove I was his son.

I looked at the man. His face pale with fear, blood drying at the corner of his mouth. A messenger from the Antarctic. I already knew why he was here. He carried information, and a letter of war. A foolish move from the Antarctic Empire.

His scream came before the blade hit. And then— a sickening sound: metal slicing through flesh, warm blood blooming against my hands. I wondered—

Could this knife cut me too?

Would it kill me if I turned it on myself?

When I was 13, I almost found out the answer to that question.

-

I open eyes open slowly.

The first thing I feel is that heavy weight in my chest again—dread, thick and crushing. It’s already there, like it never left.

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes. I try to stop them, but they come anyway. That awful burn in my nose and eyes—familiar now. Like muscle memory. I blink, slow. My thoughts are fuzzy. The first one that forms is—

Why did I wake up?

Oh. And also— I can’t feel my fingers. Or… anything, really. My whole body feels wrong. Numb and heavy and weird. I shift a little and it’s like all the air gets knocked out of me. My skin aches. I think my lips are cracked. My jaw hurts from how tightly I must’ve been clenching it in my sleep.

Is frostbite a thing here?

That’s probably a dumb question. But I’m not a doctor, I don’t know. I’m just cold. So cold. The kind of cold that feels sharp under your skin, like there are tiny knives poking at your nerves. And somehow, at the same time, I feel feverish—my stomach keeps turning, and I think I’m gonna throw up if I move too fast.

It’s morning now. I note idly.

The light hurts my eyes. It was night when—

Cora kicked me out.

Right. That happened.

I remember now.

She had every reason to. I’m the prince of the Empire that got her son killed. And I'm well— not the best person.

I try to curl in on myself, but it hurts too much. My joints feel like they’re locked up, and my skin feels too tight over my bones. Maybe if I just stay like this, I’ll stop feeling anything at all. Maybe that’d be better.

I glance around. Still the same alleyway. Figures. I should find shelter or something. Somewhere warm. Somewhere not here.

My jumper’s soaked through, clinging to me like ice. And— Oh. I’m shivering. Didn’t even notice.

I grab the garbage can next to me, using it to pull myself up. My hands slip on the rim, but I manage. Barely. And then my stomach twists. Oh Prime. I slap a hand over my mouth and lean hard against the wall, waiting for the nausea to pass. My breath catches—sharp, uneven, and suddenly hard to find. It feels like my lungs are made of stone.

Yep. I’m definitely sick. No question about it.

“I hate winter,” I mutter, eyes squeezed shut. My voice is hoarse.

I don’t have a hood, either. If I go out like this, someone’s bound to recognize me. I blink slowly and scan the alleyway again. Nothing useful. Just piles of trash, a couple battered doors, and—wait. A clothesline?

It’s my lucky day.

I reach up, silently thanking Prime that I’m tall enough, and tug down a worn jacket.

I slide my arms into it—stiff from the cold—and pull the hood over my head. There’s a scarf too. A snood, maybe. I don’t care. I wrap it around my neck like my life depends on it. Because maybe it kind of does.

I cough into my sleeve, the sound harsh and painful. My vision swims for a second and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pull myself back to solid ground. When I open them again, I look up—like I always do.

The sky is grey. Flat, lifeless, and heavy. No sunlight. No color. Just clouds, stretching on forever. As it always was in Logstedshire. I know why. I do. But I'll never say.

It used to be blue. I think. Or maybe I just imagined that.

Maybe that was in another life, back when I still believed in things like summer, and warm hands, and people who didn’t leave. But now? Now it’s always like this. Dull and blank, like the world forgot how to feel anything.

Just like me.

I used to think the sky meant something. Like, if it was stormy, something bad would happen. If it was clear, maybe I’d have a good day. That was stupid. Its true.

The sky doesn’t care. The sky doesn’t know I’m here. Yes it does.

I let my head fall back against the wall, breathing in the cold air even though it burns. My fingers are starting to hurt now. Not just numb. Like they’re on fire and frozen. I don’t know if that’s a frostbite thing, but I kind of hope it is. At least then it’d make sense.

Glancing back up at the sky. 

I want it to fall. Just once. To feel what it’s like down here.

Forcing myself out of my thoughts, I remember what I was doing. 

Right. Shelter.

Before I freeze into a street popsicle, I stumble forward, the stolen jacket flapping uselessly around me. It’s way too big and smells like old people, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

The alley spills out into a narrow street, the kind where the buildings all look like they gave up trying to be useful. I glance around. No guards, no people, no dogs. A win, honestly.

I walk past a dumpster that smells like expired regret and keep my eyes peeled. Doors. Windows. Crates. Anything I can crawl into that isn't already occupied by a raccoon. Or worse, someone more talkative than Wisp was, spoiler alert, meaning not at all. I'd rather be with someone who talks then someone who doesn't at all.

My hands are shaking again. Awesome. I shove them deep into my sleeves, mumbling to no one, “Is frostbite, like, real? Or just something adults say to get you to wear gloves?” A gust of wind slaps me in the face. Okay. Rude.

I duck into another alley, squinting at a narrow set of stairs leading down to a basement door. It’s rusted, crooked, and definitely has “illegal activity happens here” energy. Perfect.

I jiggle the handle. Locked. Of course. Because why would anything go right for me? I kick the door gently—just enough to feel better about it—then turn around. There. A supply shed. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully. I jog across the street, slipping once on black ice like some tragic cartoon character, and catch myself with what I tell myself was grace.

Then I yank the door open and peek inside. Dust. Boxes. A blanket. Jackpot. It's literal treasure if you ask me.

I slip in, pull the door shut, and collapse onto the floor with a dramatic sigh. “Home sweet freezing home,” I mutter, wrapping the scratchy blanket around my shoulders like royalty. “Long live the prince of stolen sheds.”

I think for a second. When I first made it over the wall, I passed by a staircase leading down from a restaurant. One of those sketchy back entrances with peeling paint and a sign that probably used to say “employees only” before someone gave up. I remember it because it was near a generator. And where there's a generator... there’s heat. Hopefully. Maybe.

Probably smells like burnt food and whatever else, but whatever.

I push myself up again, legs still wobbly, and start trying to be as invisible as possible as I go toward where I think it was. If I get lucky, maybe I’ll find a vent to curl up next to. Or maybe I’ll find a rat with a good sense of hospitality. Either works.

I turn into the semi-alleyway area where it is and crouch down behind the stairs, which thankfully you can't see through and vioala. The generator does have heat. Am I smart or what?

I curl up in the blanket I took with me, next to the generator. I can feel it burning my fingers from how hot it is being close, but I don't care. I close my eyes and let sleep engulf me. 

I used to always take care of myself when sick, It's not different now.

My new home.

I'll call it: The Tommy.. Oh I need a last name..

I think for a moment, my mind slowly being engulfed in a memory I must've forgotten.

"Your name is Billzo!?" Younger me screeches, cackling loudly. The boy deadpans and glared at the me. "Billzo Hope," He said his full name like it would stop younger me's laugher.

I only laughed louder, holding my stomach, tears even sprouted to my eyes, "Oh Prime that's hilarious!" Billzo scoffed, setting down the box of leeks. 

"It is, Innit? Then do tell, what's your last name?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. I paled, my eyes shifting left to right, then left again. "Me?" I ask, as if I didn't hear him. He knew I did though.

I searched my mind for any last names. Clementine! No that's the cat what am I thinking? I'm so dead. He's gonna know who I am!

That's until I thought back to what he said. "It is, Innit?" 

"Innit!" I blurted, "Er— I mean—" 

Billzo blinked. Then he let out a sharp snort. It bubbled up into a laugh, loud, wheezy, and very nearly unhinged. He had to grab the edge of the leek box to steady himself.

“Innit!?” he wheezes. “You seriously went with Innit!? That’s not a last name, that’s a punchline!”

He doubled over, practically crying. “Oh mate, that’s rich. I’ve met pigeons with more believable surnames!”

I glared at him annoyed, "Whatever, stupidzo." Billzo immediately stops laughing, going stoned face. "Not funny."

I then bursted out laughing, once more, this time, Billzo following suite.

I smile to myself softly as I feel sleep tugging at me.

The TommyInnit 

Now that has a nice ring to it.