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Tommy was warned to never go into the forest.
It was dangerous there. He’d heard the stories as young as he could crawl. Whispers of monsters that could tear through the strongest armor; strange plants and trees that shifted around until you were hopelessly lost; and perhaps worst of all: meeting something not quite human
Nobody who entered beyond its borders ever returned, the matron of the orphanage said. It's forbidden, the village chief told them, year after year, giving each child a stern look of warning; and an especially long glance to troublemakers, such as Tommy himself.
The wall marked the border of the forest, right at the edge of where its shadow touched. It was constructed long before Tommy was ever born; enchanted to keep the monsters out and served as a warning to not travel beyond it.
As the generations passed, more stones were added. One layered after another, stacked higher and higher until they towered over the heads of even the tallest in town.
And as the wall grew, so did the stories.
Tommy stands at its base and wrinkles his nose in disbelief.
It's not impressive to say the least.
Nature has overtaken it in the decades; vines and moss growing through the cracks and attempting to hide the original stonework from view. Because of the villagers' avoidance, the once broad road leading past has since become a garden of waist high grass and wildflowers.
There's no spark of magic. No snarling of shadows from the forest.
Birds flit over the wall. Plump, little wings flapping desperately as they peck at unseen bugs hidden in the moss and give him tilted, curious glances.
It is calm, peaceful, and Tommy huffs. This doesn't match the stories Miss Sally had told him before bed.
It doesn't look dangerous and Tommy doesn't understand why everyone avoids it so carefully and with so much fear.
He digs his fingers into a crevasse above his head and finds a foothold. Then, he begins to climb, worn shoes tearing the soft moss out in clumps. He inches away from a tiny bird's nest, cooing gently to let the mama know he means no harm before swinging his leg over the other side and bracing the top the way an older child does on their first horse-riding lessons.
Everyone in the village are pussies, he reasons, beaming at how far he’s gotten already. Those stories are old anyway. He'll go back and laugh at the village elders and their superstitions. He'll prove he's braver than anyone and then… then maybe he'll be worth something.
He shakes his head, clearing those thoughts and looks ahead, eager for the adventure he's on. He jumps off the top of the wall, ankles and knees bent to take the shock and lands among a bed of clumped weeds.
Tommy grins, imagining himself as a proud hero, about to slay a deadly dragon. One that's been terrorizing his village - no, his kingdom - for centuries.
"You don't scare me," he told the trees. "I'm a big man. A warrior. And I'm here to defeat you."
The trees, for their part, don't answer.
Tommy's eyes light on a stick just a few steps away. The perfect length and thickness to serve as a sword in his battle.
He picks it up, swinging it experimentally and finds it's also the perfect weight. Almost as if it had been made for him.
Feeling more prepared than before, Tommy turns back to the treeline and blinks, confused.
There's a wide path winding back into the shade. Unlike everything else in the area, it looks well trod, as if at any moment someone will come strolling down it and wave, greeting Tommy with a smile.
How he didn't notice it before, escapes him.
Tommy creeps forward, setting his feet more carefully, lightly. A deer testing the air. Tense, ready to bolt.
The path is wide and straight. Easy to see and even easier to follow. As long as he stays on it, there's no chance that he'll get lost.
Tommy takes a step forward.
A couple birds trill, fluttering in the trees.
The forest doesn't swallow him whole. No monsters burst out of the underbrush.
Tommy takes another, more confident step. Then he's walking into the shade, stick swinging in his hand, eyes alight in wonder.
Tommy does not notice the eyes watching him; the dark birds that follow, gathering information to take back to their master.
He enters the fae forest and does not look back.
There is someone in their forest.
That, alone, peques Wilbur's interest. It has been many generations since a human has entered their territory, knowing who they are and the potential danger they pose.
It's been too quiet for too long and Wilbur craves entertainment.
And this, he smiles, is entertaining.
A child, full of false bravado, climbed over the wall and challenged the forest. He swings a stick threateningly, little teeth bared.
They are not sharp, like Wilbur's, and he cooes at the action; cooes at how the little human thinks he can make threats. It’s so delightfully naive and he’s enamoured.
The boy is small, with blonde hair and blue eyes that shift in the light. Little hands that grasp at nearby plants to examine - to look at with so much curiosity and wonder.
Amusement plays at Wilbur’s lips. A bubbly feeling tickling at his stomach as the child prances along the path so carefree and innocent. So imaginative with loud declarations about curses he’ll break and monsters he’ll defeat.
It’s adorable, really.
He wants that wonder to be focused on him . He wants to be the sole reason those eyes light up in joy, in sadness.
He wants that boy for himself.
And yet… it’s not his choice to make. Wilbur huffs.
He’ll have to put in a little work then. A little convincing here, a few sweet words there. Lead the poor, lost lamb to the heart of their forest. Right to the throne of his father. Then, with magic soaked into the boy’s skin and the exhaustion of the journey, they’ll claim him.
Children shouldn’t wander the forest alone. They are such fragile creatures, afterall.
Tommy has a weird feeling about this forest.
It’s all fun and games at first; he doesn't hesitate a moment to poke his makeshift sword into the bushes, rustling them around for any monsters that might be hiding in there, but all it does is scare a couple squirrels, a few birds that tittered at him in annoyance, and a very fluffy bunny that took all his willpower to not chase after into the trees.
There's this… feeling. A suspicion that he should stay on the path.
It makes shivers crawl up his spine the more he thinks about it.
Maybe, he dares to wonder, meeting the beady eyes of a crow with far too intelligent eyes, there really is something wrong with this forest.
He's gone far enough for one day, he decides. Time to go home.
Still locked in a staring contest with the crow on the fallen log by the way side - a perfect place to sit for a rest - if he could actually force his feet off the little, worn path.
Tommy steps to the side. One pace. Two. The crow tilts its head, black eyes gleaming with something that Tommy has labeled mirth, as if it is secretly laughing at him. He huffs, blowing out his cheeks in frustration and waves his arms.
"Shoo, stupid."
The crow hops in place, flapping its wings and throws its head back and caws. A loud, grating laugh.
"Make me," it seems to taunt, bobbing its head with a chuckle.
Tommy lifts his trusty sword, which he'd been using as a walking stick when he got bored of smacking bushes and trees and scaring wildlife.
"Don't laugh at me! I'm a big man. Big man Tommy Innit! And I'm the coolest, most bravest knight from the Kingdom of Essempi." He raises his sword-stick the way he'd seen soldiers do during drills and lunges forward. "Ha!"
The crow startles, flapping back, tumbling off the log and it's Tommy's turn to laugh.
"Haha, that's what you get dummy. Serves you right."
He leans over the log. The crow ruffles its feathers with an indignant squawk, glaring at him with all its beady little eyes could muster.
"That's one for me and zero for you."
The crow snaps its beak and flaps suddenly, launching right at Tommy's face in a blur of black feathers. He screams, falling over in a panic.
His hip hits the ground with a thump that makes Tommy gasp and he rolls over onto his back in time to see the crow circle over with a resounding caw. Proud of the work it's done. It wheels off, flying deep into the trees and disappears.
Tommy groans, "Fuckin' crow." With a lot of wincing and cursing he stumbles to his feet.
"Guess that means we're even," he mutters under his breath. "Whatever."
He dusts off his pants, picks back up his stick, and turns in the direction he came from and-
He freezes.
Where's the path?
It was right there a second ago! He had been standing right on it!
He spins in place, panic rising in his throat as he realizes that the path is completely gone. Smoothed away and replaced with grass and flowers that weren't there a second ago.
But… that's impossible. Well worn trails can't just disappear .
Tommy scrambles back the way he thinks he came. Nothing looks the same. Where's the big rock he passed by, the tree with big clumps of soft moss that he rubbed his hand through?
It's gone. All gone. None of the scenery looks familiar.
It's as if the entire forest shifted, trees uprooting just to confuse him; cackling as cold dread lanced through his heart and his breath stuttered, arms creeping around himself despite the warmth.
Suddenly, this adventure isn't so fun anymore.
Tommy wishes he'd listened to the warnings now. They were right. The forest really is dangerous.
His heart pounds. A heavy hammer beneath his chest. Falling with the same power the blacksmith wielded and Tommy is certain that his ribcage will crack under the force.
Tears brim in his eyes and he tightens his grip on his makeshift sword, holding desperately to any sort of comfort as his vision wavers; plants blurring into green indistinct masses.
He's lost. He's alone. And most of all, Tommy is terrified.
It's then he hears the music.
It drifts through the air, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, tickling at the shell of Tommy's ear. A soft beckon, the chance of another person who can help him.
Tommy gasps and turns to where it comes from. He wipes the back of his hand across his eyes and blinks, straining to hear the next notes.
The melody dips and swirls in Tommy's stomach, calming the fear that had gripped him only a moment ago. It fills his head. Gentle cotton that makes the world go fuzzy and distant. The tears clear, the excess dripping down his cheeks as he stands still, swaying on his feet as invisible hands wipe his face. It croons, brushing away his fear, filling his chest with bubbly warmth that makes him giggle.
The wind plucks at his clothes, nudging him forward.
“Come, little one,” it sings. “Follow, follow.”
His grip loosens, his stick falling to the ground with a soft thump.
“M’kay,” he mumbles, head bobbing with each shuffled step. “Coming.”
Invisible hands lead him, tugging gently this way and that in an ever winding path through the trees. They tousle his hair, nearly upsetting his balance and Tommy blinks, shaking his head and almost breaking out of his trance. But then the music returns, louder and more insistent, and it’s easier to sink than to fight.
It trills, happy at his obedience. Tommy hums, trying to match the tune, but it swims away from him, urging his little legs to move faster, faster. He’s almost at the end of his journey.
He finds the source under a willow that leans over a clear stream that rushes by, gurgling and singing along. Just as how the whole forest sways in time.
A man waits, hands clasped behind his back and eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
Tommy pauses, the cotton clearing from his head for a moment. He doesn’t like the look of this stranger.
He wears too fancy clothing. All shiny and polished though they'd immediately be dirtied by the stream banks or scuffled on the dirt and rocks. His coat is blue, the kind of brilliant color that only the rich could afford.
Like a prince .
He looks so perfect, but so wrong at the same time.
He towers above Tommy, slender and beautiful in an angular way; high cheekbones, and long, agile fingers.
Inhuman.
Tommy’s eyes dart across black claws and pointed ears. Slit pupils that widen at the sight of him clumsily stepping over a rock. A grin spreads over the man’s face; too sharp teeth glimmering in the light.
Tommy falters, fighting his possessed limbs. He knows one thing, and it’s that this man is dangerous.
“Are you lost?”
He does not answer. He freezes like a rabbit, thinking that by not moving he will be mistaken for dead and left alone.
The man clicks his tongue, beckoning Tommy forward with a finger. “Come here, child,” he says.
Tommy digs his feet into the dirt. He doesn’t want to.
“Come here,” the man sings, just as compelling as the music that brought Tommy here. Against his will, his feet lift, plodding towards his - probable - death.
He stands before the man and his entire body turns traitor, refusing to budge as the stranger circles him, gripping his chin and turning it this way and that, humming deep in his throat.
Tommy trembles, paralyzed in the stranger’s grasp. He squeezes his eyes shut as the stranger’s fingers brush his face, pushing back unruly strands of hair and tracing his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose.
Those claws scratch his skin. A little more pressure and it would tear open; ribbons of blood unfurling from fragile skin.
Tommy whimpers and tries not to think about that. His knees wobble. Any moment he is sure they'll give in and he’ll collapse.
The stranger pauses his examination.
“Oh. You’re afraid.” Unhappiness taints the man’s voice.
Tommy opens his eyes, looking up incredulously. Blue meeting shining, liquid gold. “Let me go,” he whispers. “I just want to go home.”
“Home?” The man repeats, his head tilting curiously. “Where’s that?”
“I-” Tommy squirms. The man continues holding his chin, forcing him to look up at him. His neck hurts. “It’s out of the forest. There was a path I followed but then it disappeared. I… Can you help me look for it?”
“The path?”
Tommy nods. “Yes. Please.” If there’s any time to use good manners, it’s now, faced with this… person. Person? Could he call it that? Maybe a creature? Whatever it is. It’s not human.
He wishes he had paid better attention to the stories. What things live in the forest? What do they want?
The man’s smile grows and Tommy gulps at the sharp teeth in his mouth and leans away. That iron grip holds him in place, never letting him get too far.
“Yes,” the man says thoughtfully, tucking a stand of hair behind Tommy’s ear. “I’ll help you find the path.”
Tommy sighs in relief. Good. Then he can run the fuck away from here and never come back.
“But first, you have to do a favor for me.”
He starts. “What kind of favor?” he asks, suspicious.
“Don’t worry, it’s very small.” Unexpectedly, the man lets go, giving Tommy his own space back. He has to stumble to regain his footing, realizing that his balance had been upset by being held up for so long. He glares, ears turning red.
The man laughs, hungry eyes never leaving Tommy as he lifts a previously unseen guitar from the grass beside the willow.
“I want to play you a song.”
Tommy takes a step back. “What?”
“You heard me, child.” He sits down, crossing his legs elegantly, before looking expectantly back at Tommy with raised eyebrows. “Well? Are you going to join me?”
Tommy bites his lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he mutters. “Your music is weird. It crawled inside my brain and made it all sticky and weird. I don’t like it. I… I should just go.”
He turns away, intending to leave - and gets half a step, when the man speaks up agian.
“And how will you find the path again?”
Oh.
The stranger strums a few notes, purposefully enticing Tommy to stay. Strands of compulsion curl around his ankles. “Come sit. One song and I’ll help you find what you asked for.”
Tommy hesitates.
The stranger hums that familiar tune. Like a thick blanket, it smothers Tommy's thoughts, making his whole body warm and heavy.
"One song," the man repeats, a dark glimmer in his eyes. "Then we'll look for the path together.”
Tommy sways, enchanted. Common sense becomes stifled by whatever magic the stranger weaves.
“One song,” he agrees in a faint whisper. With a sigh, he flops on the ground across from the man. "But then… I really have to go…"
The man frowns, but doesn’t stop the music. Rather, he picks up the pace, playing at a dizzying speed.
“You can call me Wilbur, by the way.” He weaves his voice in between the notes as easily as if they were meant to be there all along and Tommy listens, raptured, as Wilbur swims through melodies, dipping and diving like a fish and the music is his sea. Song: his calling. “And you are?”
“Tommy,” he says, hardly paying attention to what he's saying. The music rises, claiming more of his attention, charming the boy back into a dreamy trance.
“Tommy,” Wilbur sings reverently. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. You are mine. Mine.”
“What?” His tongue feels thick and heavy and the word slurs out his mouth sleepily.
“Dance with me.”
Wilbur sets down his guitar but the music keeps playing in Tommy’s head as he is lifted to his feet and they begin to spin.
The forest swirls around them, faster and faster. Color and light and shadow that soaks into his skin and makes the world glow with hidden auras.
Tommy stumbles, trying to keep up, the beat in his head maddening. He stares wide-eyed as his entire perception shifts . Wilbur laughs and sweeps him up into his arms, his grin wide and teeth bared.
“I give you my blessing,” he murmurs. “I promise you my passion. My words and voice. That you may charm the hearts of everyone you meet.” Wilbur seals his words with a peck on the tip of Tommy’s nose and he scrunches his face. Cold sweeps through his sinuses, ocean waves that spread down his neck and into his lungs; lapping at the shore of his heart and making it stutter.
Tommy gasps at the sensation, squirming uncomfortably, hands clawing at his chest. The implantation of something into his soul. Wilbur laughs and hugs him tight.
“I’ll see you again soon, Tommy. Goodbye.”
With that, his vision goes dark..
“What could be so important?” Techno huffs. He trods at a slow pace, constantly scanning his surroundings.
Wilbur, his brother - his very obnoxious brother - does not answer his question. He just waves for him to follow, a particular bounce in his step and a gleam in his eyes that quietly makes Techno wary. He’s been the victim to Wilbur’s boredom and practical jokes enough times that such blatant self satisfaction and amusement instantly sours his mood.
He sighs. He loves Wilbur, but the lonely decades had done a number on him. His trickster brother has had nobody to trick. No humans to play with. It has slowly made him irritable, moody, lashing out at anyone and anything.
Techno couldn’t blame him for seeking out other forms of release. Afterall, it’s hard to deny one’s nature. His own blood howls for the thrill of adrenaline. The beating drums of war and battle.
Their family has been bound to this forest for too long. They grow more restless with every passing year. One day, the magical barriers the humans wove will unravel. Just as surely as their temporary existence. Just as the sun set in the west. And then, they will have their fun.
Wilbur holds a hand out, stopping Techno in place. With a hungry look in his eye, he points steadily to the center of a ring of trees where a small stream burbles. Techno raises an eyebrow, and crouches to where the branches do not restrict his vision and follows his brother’s finger.
A child is curled up at the base of a bent willow, its leaves hang low, swaying in the breeze and providing a gentle curtain of shade. The boy sleeps, lips parted and chest rising slow and deep. Somehow, he had wandered deep into their territory without notice.
Techno lurches and Wilbur pushes back on his chest harder, a sly smirk spreading on his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You see it,” he laughs. “Golden hair. I know how much you like it.”
Techno barely breathes. Possessiveness takes hold of him. It squeezes his airways, choking his breath as he struggles to keep his distance; gaze never faltering from the little human boy.
Gold.
His pupils dilate. He rumbles deep in his chest.
“I spoke with him,” Wilbur says. That snaps Techno out of his trance, equal parts jealous and intrigued. “And guess what?” his brother continues to tease, “he has blue eyes.”
He jerks back, staring again at the child. He wants him. He needs him.
He’s perfect.
“They shine like sapphires,” Wilbur sighs, pushing Techno past the edge. “So pretty and innocent…”
Fuck.
“What do you suggest?” Techno asks. He trembles, containing his instincts, but just barely. It’s a struggle to not rush forward and snatch the boy, stealing him for his own. He imagines stroking those shiny, pure locks through his fingers; tucking that little head against his shoulder; blue jewel-like eyes that will look up to him in wide wonder.
“I’ve already given him my blessing.”
Techno hisses in surprise. “You-”
“He’s interesting,” Wilbur answers, before the question is finished. His gaze softens, a rare thing. Even rarer when addressed towards a human. “It’s been a long time since anyone dared come into our territory. Not since the barriers went up.” He scowls for but a moment, the mere presence of the sleeping child lifting his mood.
Mind made up, Techno takes a decisive step forward.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving him my blessing.”
“Oh, no. You know the rules.”
Techno growls. “Then give me his name.”
“No.”
Never has he wanted to strangle his brother more.
“You’ll have to do that yourself. It’s more… interesting that way.”
Wilbur bares his teeth, his tongue running along his canines in hunger. He wants a game and Techno is now one of his toys to bend to his will.
Under other circumstances, it would make Techno angry. With a single glance at his treasure. His. His. He reconsiders. One last game, he decides.
“It’s not our claim to make,” he says distractedly. It’s hardly an excuse, more an observation. They both know that they will do anything to have this child.
“Don’t worry. Father won’t need too much convincing.” They watch a crow perch on a branch, head bent towards them. “He already knows, anyway.” Wilbur dips his head in respect.
The crow blinks, nodding once, in agreement.
Their father’s spies have eyes and ears everywhere. No doubt he knows everything they are up to.
“So, what’s the plan?” Techno drawls.
“The boy asked my help in finding the path. When he wakes, he’ll find it again. It will lead him straight to you. After that, you’re on your own.” Wilbur claps him on the shoulder. “He’ll change more the closer he approaches the center of the forest. Convince him to not turn back.”
“I’ll see to it, brother.”
Techno smiles, a rush of excitement like he hasn’t felt in years. Finally, a worthy hunt.
Tommy wakes to the stupid crow pecking at his kneecaps.
“Wha the-?” he jerks upright, startling the bird as it takes off for a second, wheeling around the circle of trees and back to his side, strutting back and forth with a puffed out chest as if haughty that it found him sleeping during his journey.
Tommy rubs his eyes, blinking rapidly. His last memories are foggy. He thinks he heard music and followed it here. There was a man?
He peers around and blinks rapidly, wincing at how bright it is.
Was everything so vibrant before?
The sun has passed midday and the shadows should be longer, but they aren’t darker. His vision cuts through them as a lantern through mist. Plants shine as emeralds; flowers blooming like crystals. Even the monotony of dirt glimmers prettily.
His brow scrunches and Tommy grasps a fistful of grass in his hand, reminding himself that this is still real. He is still real. It looks different, but is still the same. He exhales, relaxing.
He turns his attention back to the crow staring at him. He pulls a face at it, swinging his arms to shoo it away. It doesn’t budge, unafraid. It caws, hopping in place as if impatient to leave.
Tommy flinches, not expecting it to be so loud. He scowls and stumbles to his feet, pin-like sensations in his arms and legs. The rustling of leaves makes it hard to think. How long did he nap? Suddenly, it’s too warm and keeping his balance takes effort. Every slightest noise multiplied over.
He groans, shading his eyes as he tries to make a plan. He’s still lost, there is no path, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to sleep too long and Wilbur - if he was real - didn’t hurt him. He still has plenty of time before nightfall.
Plenty of time to get out of this weird, creepy forest.
He looks down. To his surprise, his stick lays at his feet. He frowns and picks it up. He swears he dropped it; he has a hazy memory of doing so. Yet, here it is.
Maybe it was all a dream.
Or maybe he’s going crazy.
The path lays a few paces away, as if it never disappeared in the first place. Tommy stares at it.
Huh?
It waits, tempting a clear direction of where to go. He could thoughtlessly step onto it and follow it to whatever it takes him.
He hesitates.
Assuming his recollections are correct and that his meeting with Wilbur was real…. That path is not safe.
Tommy shuffles in place and bites his lip. It’s a big potential risk. And if he’s wrong, he could end up more lost than before.
The crow, fed up with standing around, flaps to the dirt trail and lands in the center of it, tilting its head in question.
Oh fuck that.
Tommy sticks his tongue out. “No!” he shouts and promptly turns around, runs, and leaps over the small stream bolting in the other direction.
He whips past trees and stumbles over rocks. His pants catch on a bush and he spends a panicky minute untangling himself, fervently looking back over his shoulder, waiting for harsh wingbeats and the rasping caw of an angry crow.
But, no, he isn’t pursued. In fact, it’s a rather peaceful, heart-stopping race through the forest. That is until he darts between two trucks, ducking under a low-hanging branch and finds himself back where he started. This time, on the opposite side of the path. The crow waits patiently, ebony eyes blinking at his appearance.
Tommy freezes.
What? How-?
He swiftly turns around and runs away.
...Only to arrive back at the stream.
He spins, chest heaving in panic.
No no no no no no no no no.
Hope dwindling, he tries going back. He sobs once he catches sight of the path between two trees. He can’t run away. The forest won’t let him. It’s clear that he only has one choice available.
“I just want to go home.” Tommy balls his fists at his side. If looks could kill, that crow would’ve melted. Bones, flesh, and all. Not even a carcass left behind for Tommy to take his fear and frustration out on.
“Where’s Wilbur?” he tries next.
The crow squawks, ducking its head to preen, but otherwise, does not answer. Unhelpful .
With pale, pressed lips and a sigh, Tommy trudges back to where he’d left his stick behind and picks it back up, holding it across his body warily. He might not be given a choice in the matter in this weird forest, but like hell is he going to go unarmed, at the very least.
As he sets off, the crow is quick to dart up and try to land on his shoulder, beating its wings to keep steady. Tommy swipes at it. “Go away!”
It clicks its beak, hissing in the back of its throat and sinks its talons into his shirt anyway.
Tommy winces and a moment later the stupid crow adjusts, riding somewhat comfortably..
“What am I, a pack mule?”
The crow pecks at his ear, nipping it lightly.
“Hey!”
It gurgles in laughter. Tommy levels it a glare. “Be nice or else.”
Miraculously it listens to him and keeps quiet. A silent companion and extra pair of eyes as Tommy trudges the neverending winding path. Where it could be taking him, he doesn’t care to find out, but unfortunately, circumstance and an otherworldly entity gives him no choice in the matter.
He settles into a steady pace, gaze narrowed and suspicious.
The road winds, gentle and inviting; the trees disperse and Tommy sighs in relief, tricked for a moment that he has really escaped. He picks up the pace, walking straight forward into the breeze that tousles his hair and brings faint whispers that could just as easily be the sound of the grass or leaves and that is what Tommy wants to believe, so that is what he hears.
Suddenly, he breaks into a sprint. His feet ache and all he can think about is going back to the orphanage and collapsing in the bed he shares with one of the other boys. What was his name again? The details are blurry. All Tommy can recall is a vague shape. Was he shorter? Did he have brown hair or blonde?
What was his name again?
Tommy shrugs. He can find that out later. First, he has to get out of this cursed forest.
He’s long abandoned his original intent for entering in the first place. Now, he can’t help but wonder why he wants to go when it's so beautiful here. He smiles, imagining staying forever.
The flowers surround the path, spreading out into a spacious field. They bloom in ever increasingly brighter shades and Tommy’s eyes widen. Each inhale fills his lungs with pollen and Tommy catches his breath, expecting to sneeze or fall into a coughing fit with how thick it is. Yet, he experiences no discomfort.
He rounds a bend, strides slowing and his arms swinging relaxed at his sides.
Maybe he doesn’t need to be in such a rush. It is so pretty here.
Misgiving hangs over him, darkening the idyllic feelings he has.
A man rests at the end of the lane, sitting comfortably in the grass and lifts his hand in greeting as Tommy’s feet carry him closer.
It’s not Wilbur, he realizes, moving closer. This man is broader. Silvery-white scars cover his skin, but even those don’t detract from his wild beauty. Hair blushed as pink as a spring rose and braided down his back. Gold jewelry adorns him from head to toe.
Tommy slows to a stop without thinking and he knows that this man is dangerous the same way Wilbur is.
Sharp tusks protrude out of a wide mouth. Red irises that swirl mesmerizingly in a void under thick eyebrows. The man sniffs, flat nostrils flaring and pupils dilating.
“Hello, little one,” he says, voice vibrating in Tommy’s chest. It’s not lyrical like Wilbur’s, not as… enchanting but it commands the same power. The same inability to refuse.
“H-hello,” Tommy murmurs back. He shuffles his feet and finds himself unable to look away from those ferocious red eyes.
“Come join me,” the man offers.
Tommy shakes his head. The slightest of motions that mortal eyes would’ve missed.
“Why not?”
There is no anger in his tone, but Tommy shudders, frightened.
“Speak, child.”
Tommy’s lips part. “You’re like Wilbur,” he says before he can stop himself. “I... What do you want from me?”
“Oh, little one…” The man extends a hand, an offering. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”
“Then why?”
“We ask nothing of you. Just... you .”
Tommy inhales sharply, “I don’t understand.”
“You will. Eventually,” the man smiles.
Tommy whines, stress and anxiety breaking at the fortitude in his mind. The air is too thick and he is tired of running and dizzy with confusion. “Don’t,” Tommy hiccups. His arms wrap around his chest protectively. “Don’t hurt me. I- I just want to go home?”
“We don’t harm what is ours, young one. You’ll find home soon enough. Come rest now.”
No more strength to resist, Tommy collapses. The man reaches out and catches him, bundling Tommy into his lap. His chest rumbles like a thunderstorm, purrs like a cat rubbed behind its ears.
Calloused hands thread through golden locks; a shudder of rightness , of belonging .
“You may call me Technoblade. Or Techno. Whatever you wish.”
“Weird name,” Tommy remarks, nose scrunching. “It sounds dumb. You should change it to something better.”
Technoblade’s throat bobs in silent laughter, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It’s a name I earned a long time ago. One I still carry with me.”
“How does one ‘earn’ a name?” Tommy asks. Techno’s fingers rub slow, lazy circles into his scalp and Tommy stretches cat-like, sighing in happiness.
“There are many ways,” Techno says. A vague non-answer that has Tommy huffing in annoyance. Techno is quick to continue, however, “I received mine from battles and wars long before your memory, little one.”
Tommy attempts to glare at the slight - he’s not little! But Techno’s lap is warm and his touch comforting, and he’d much rather listen to a story than fight.
He tilts his chin up, facing Techno eye to eye.
“Are you a knight?” Tommy asks excitedly. He can’t place exactly why, but the idealizations of honor and battlefield glory inhabit his mind.
A chuckle. Careful brushing his hair. “No, I’m not one of them. I’m something better: a warrior.”
“How does that make you better?”
“Because they cannot hold a candle to me. All of their weapons and men could never defeat someone blessed by Death herself. Speaking of…. What’s your name?” He cups Tommy’s cheek, keeping him faced forward. Eyes on him.
Dread crawls into Tommy’s stomach, making it ache suddenly. The warm haze that hung over him dissipates sharply. He gasps, awareness lighting up his eyes and he sits up, pushing against Techno’s arms.
“Sorry,” Tommy says, voice wavering. “I think I need to go now.”
“Go where?” Techno questions. His gaze cuts into Tommy and suddenly his eyes aren’t so pretty.
He swallows. They’re red. Like blood.
“I’ll come with you; make sure you’re safe.”
“No, no,” he rips free from Techno’s grasp, rolling out of reach and stumbling to his feet, searching around frantically. The path is gone again. Shit . “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“I’m afraid that I must insist.”
Techno stands and he’s tall. So, so incredibly tall. Tommy trembles, terrified, as he unfolds from sitting hunched over.
Tommy takes a step backwards.
“It’s ok, little one,” Techno purrs. “You’ll be safe with me.”
“I- I don’t think that’s true.” He backs up more, shaking his head in- confusion? Fear? He has somewhere important he needs to be but he just can’t remember and Techno felt so safe and right-
He whines, pounding a fist to his temples. Why is everything so confusing?
“Hey, hey, don’t do that.” Moving faster than Tommy could’ve ever hoped to outrun, Techno appears at his side, encircling his wrists in a gentle grip and pulling them away with a restrained growl and soft expression. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Tommy squirms the best he can, but can do nothing with his hands held above his head. Tears prick at his eyes. “I just want to leave! I don’t understand what’s happening! What did I do? What did I do?”
“Shh, you didn’t do anything. You’re going to be fine.”
Techno tugs him back into welcoming arms and Tommy sinks into it. He ignores the part of his mind screaming that this isn’t right. It’s progressively becoming quieter and he’s so tired that he can’t bring himself to care anymore.
“Just-” he hiccups, holding back more tears, “just get it over with.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Techno promises again. “Tell me your name. That’s all I want. Then you’ll come home.”
Tommy sniffles. Home. Home. That sounds familiar. That’s where he’s supposed to go, he thinks. Softly, he nods.
“Tommy,” he whispers into Techno’s chest. He is rewarded with delighted rumbles and a possessive, yet light, hand on the back of his head.
“Tommy,” Techno sighs. Like with Wilbur, Tommy feels as if he has handed a piece of himself over. Has signed a contract without knowing the details.
“I give you my blessing. I promise you my strength. My sword and shield. That you may never come to harm and beat all those that dare challenge you.”
The words ripple with power and Techno leans down and seals it with a kiss on Tommy’s hand. His fingers spasm, fire racing through his veins and up his arm, scorching a path to his heart. Tommy yells and claws at his shirt, peeling it away to reveal no blackened skin nor ash crumbling in his palms.
“There you go. You did so well, Tommy. You’re almost at the end of your journey. You’re almost home.”
Techno beams down at him, his tusks making the expression awkward but no less loving.
Tommy blinks up at him, numbness creeping up his arm and his eyes roll into the back of his head.
A crow dives down, pulling up at the last second to land with a flutter of wings and a squawk on top of Philza’s staff. It shuffles, lowering its head in reverence and cawing questioningly.
Philza pauses his ceaseless pacing, turning his eyes up to one of his many faithful servants and extends a welcoming hand. The crow hops over, talons scraping on Philza’s palm as it gets comfortable in his hand.
“What news do you bring?” he murmurs.
Images flit across his mind. A child lost and alone. His sons hunched together, speaking quietly. The echo of power as not one, but two blessings are bestowed on the first human brave enough to enter their territory.
“How close?” he asks. Physical changes, hastened by Wilbur and Techno’s magic are already underway. The rewriting of memories and the mind shouldn’t be too far off.
More impressions. A path. A field of flowers. The boy curled up in a nest of soft grass and sweet petals. Techno left long ago. Him and Wilbur walking together.
His eyes open and he turns, catching his sons as they enter his glade, the center of the forest and heart of his power.
“Father,” Techno greets, bowing in reverence. Wilbur follows, gaze lingering on the crow that brings news.
“Sons,” Philza replies. With a nod, his informant is dismissed, flapping away to keep an eye on the little child once more. “I see that you two have been busy.”
“Yes,” Wilbur agrees, tongue running across the edge of his teeth nervously.
While his sons have free will to do as they wish, they’re all well aware that it’s Philza who has final say in any decision.
Philza hums, talons clicking on his staff. Great wings drag as he confronts them, heads lowered and waiting for his verdict.
“Bring the child to me. I want to meet the little human that has garnered your interest so fully. What’s so worthy of blessings.”
“Thank you,” Techno exhales. He glances up, pupils wide in hope. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Philza smiles.
“I should think not.”
Tommy’s head is so full of fog that it takes a lot of prodding to get up.
The crow from before - or maybe it’s a different one each time, he can’t tell the difference - it sits on his chest, beating its wings and poking at his cheek when he scrunches his face up, wanting nothing more but to slip back into unconsciousness.
He groans and rolls over. The crow squawks, jumping off him and onto the grass with what could only be described as an annoyed huff.
It pecks Tommy’s forehead and he yelps, slamming his hands over his head and sitting up. “Stop doing that!” He groans, shaking out his limbs as that crow just looks at him blithely. “Why do you have to keep doing that?”
The crow bobs its head. “Yes, yes,” then twists its head, pointing at the path a few feet away.
Pain forgotten, Tommy climbs to his feet, brow wrinkled in confusion.
There was something… important about this path. He knows it. He just… can’t remember why.
His crow companion sails past him, circling in the air, making a caw of encouragement.
Tommy frowns and scratches his arm uncertainty. When pain blossoms under his touch, he looks down quickly with a suppressed hiss. His nails had grown long and sharp. The edges tainted black. He’d drawn blood unthinkingly.
He raises his hand, twisting it this way and that as he examines the nails. He doesn’t think they were there before. But everything feels so cloudy and fuzzy, they might have been there all along and he’d never know the difference.
He wipes at the thin trail of blood and hesitantly begins to walk.
He’s not sure where he’s going exactly. Or how he got here in the first place. There are some vague memories of meeting a man named Wilbur and his brother, Techno. He remembers sweet music and gentle touches. Feeling safe and loved. He’d like to feel that way again.
Tommy opens his eyes, realizing that his pace had slowed as he got caught up in memories. He jerks forward, a sudden desperation seizing him to get to the end of the path. He was going somewhere before, he’s certain he’ll find it whatever it was there.
The canopy above him grows thicker, wilder. The branches of the trees weaving together into a high ceiling, shafts of golden sunlight streaming through and illuminating bright flowers and rocks that gleamed, polished by erosion; nature’s cathedral.
The crow acts as his escort, circling the trees, announcing their arrival with loud cries. Occasionally it dives, brushing a wing against Tommy’s cheek. A silent encouragement to keep walking. Tommy does.
He walks and walks until he’s sure that he can no longer.
It’s then he arrives.
The canopy lifts into an open clearing, a flood of light that makes Tommy throw his arm over his eyes as the pupils struggle to adjust. He blinks harshly and he sees it.
At the center of the forest stands a tree. Old, but proud, standing far above every other living thing. Its bark is filled with pockets and knots - homes and nests for birds and dozens of other animals - but it shines a dark, healthy brown.
It’s roots stretch out across the field, glimpses through the earth like veins through skin and if Tommy really listens, he swears he can almost hear a faint, thundering heartbeat. A low rise under his feet like breathing.
The forest is very much alive.
His eyes are next drawn to the three figures waiting for him.
Wilbur and Techno and…
The third steps forward, wings of inky black opening impossibly wide; feathers filled with stars and constellations that glow brightly in the dwindling twilight. He opens his arms and Tommy is pulled into a cool embrace made of silence and heaviness over his chest. A comforting blanket of soil over his head. The peace of eternal rest.
“Hello,” the third greets. A small smile adorns his face, honeyed-laiden guidance to the next step in the journey.
Tommy shivers, a dulled fearful response in the face of Death.
“Are you going to kill me?” he asks, blue eyes raised to meet colder, more ancient ones.
His bones ache, his feet are weary, and he is ready to rest.
“Oh, no,” the winged man says, a bubble of laughter escaping his lips. “Not that, young one.” He kneels down and faces Tommy eye-to-eye, wings wrapping around them both. Eternal Night.
Tommy never thought of darkness being so comforting until now.
“You poor thing. You are so hurt.” Tommy blinks up at him, uncomprehending. “You feel so unloved and lonely…”
Tommy isn’t sure how the dark angel knows that, but he can feel it: the hole in his chest, a festering wound that has never healed properly. His hand drifts up, cupping his solar plexus. A sudden fear brushes through him that his heart will disintegrate and flake away into ashes.
“Don’t worry, darling,” the winged man coos. “I will help. Just tell me your name.”
“Tommy,” he answers, for this is what awaited him at the end of his travels and it feels right. It must be right this time.
The angel’s eyes glow brighter; silvery in their fervor. He traces whorls and symbols on Tommy’s skin, so delicate they’re barely felt.
“I bless you,” He says, a kiss on the child’s brow. “Welcome home, Tommy. Welcome home.”