Chapter 1: Prologue: Before The Hourglass Tilts
Chapter Text
Hurt. Fatigue. Silence.
King Sapnap stood in front of the Duchess with all the strength he could muster, unable to summon the words in his throat of George and Dream’s fall off the Eastern Sproalstonian cliffs.
He had not the heart to tell her of her son’s apparent demise. He had not the heart to tell her that he was most likely dead…
But tell her he must, for if he could not do it then the task would fall to Karl, and the Emissary was not nearly as composed as he was. Sapnap could see it. Karl was still a mess, his face still pink from the cries of his heart and bites of the wind on his face.
Lady Avelain waited for Sapnap to speak, a confused look in her eyes that masked the underlying dread and concern of whatever the King was about to tell her.
Sapnap let out a breath in preparation. “Mirabella...it’s- it’s George.” He started out, trying to maintain some sort of kingly strength.
“My Lord?” She asked, her tone wary and nervous.
Sapnap took in a sharp breath, not wanting to have to inform the Duchess about the events that had just taken place. “In this past hour, he was with Prince Dream on the cliffside outside the city...the demon appeared and he- he was struck by its magic. Then he and Dream they- they fell off the cliffs into the Twilmor Sea…” The King uttered out shakily as he held back small sobs.
Lady Avelain was completely still, her face paling and her eyes stuck in despair. She did not move one bit, but the King could see her legs begin to shake along with her slender hands. Her composure was crumbling down like a building that had given away due the massive flooding of agony and sorrow that was filling up her heart.
“I am so sorry Mirabella…” King Sapnap gave his condolences.
The last threads of the Duchess’s strength unravelled, and she could not stop herself from breaking down as crystal tears began to pour uncontrollably down her pretty face, but she did not let out any sobs in the King’s presence.
“Ex- Excuse me, Your- Your Majesty.” She dismissed herself before slowly walking away from Sapnap and Karl, clasping a hand against her mouth and sheltering her face from any passing eyes. Lady Avelain’s legs looked wobbly and her stride was weak from the news that her son had perished into the Twilmor Sea. The faintest cries of George’s mother fell upon King Sapnap’s ears as she disappeared down the darkened corridors and halls of the castle.
The grief was so near that Sapnap could see it with every blink of his eyes that was just slightly too long. Flashes of Dream and George falling, the echoes of their shouts, the tormenting silence of the world around them as they lost 2 people they had come to care for. Woe came to Sapnap and Karl in those moments on the cliffside, and the great thunder of sounding pain followed them as a blue weight on their chests accompanied by acid rain.
In the moments after Lady Avelain had left them to tend to her own heartache, Emissary Karl felt hot, stinging tears threatening to run down his cheeks again, the affliction of loss still present in his mind and scratching at the skin of his dry throat.
What kept the King steadfast during this time was his promise to Karl that they would find out what had become of Dream and George, and the declaration that they could not abandon hope for them. Still, it was hard. Hard to imagine an outcome where their friends would have survived, hard to imagine that they could overcome this dwindling night, hard to imagine that they would see Dream and George again.
King Sapnap took Karl in his arms and gave him a gentle but secure hug, Karl immediately hugging back in an effort to calm himself in the comfort of his best friend.
Their embrace was cut short as General Punz and Captain Puffy strode up to them with urgency.
Sapnap and Karl pulled away at the same time and greeted the General and Captain.
“Your Majesty, something has happened.’ The General stated in a rushed breath.
Whatever news they had brought, Sapnap knew it was not good. “What is it?”
“The King of Darcretia, he was just attacked by the demon of Dianite. He is in critical condition right now.” Punz let out between breaths.
Gods, was there no end to their strife? In an instant it seemed like the world of the kingdom of Sproalstone had been turned upside down, bringing suffering with it like bites of a terrifying, venomous serpent.
“Where are our healers?” Sapnap beckoned.
“They are all tending to him as we speak. The wound spreads over most of his front torso but thankfully he did not lose too much blood. The healers are sure they can mend him.” Punz informed, his breath now much more stable after having rushed to the King.
Sapnap let out a breath of relief. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if they were not able to protect Dream and his father. That would’ve been a failure beyond measure. “That’s good. What of the demon?”
“We fought him off.” General Punz affirmed. “He’s gone and there is no sign of him anywhere, for now.” He followed up.
Thank the gods for the General and the Captain. “You both saved his life.” King Sapnap claimed, addressing them with a grateful expression. “Punz, Puffy, what you did tonight will not be forgotten. You and your men are heroes.” He declared quietly.
King Lancel was alive and on the mend. Should he meet Dream again in this life or the next, Sapnap would tell him that his men kept safe the Darcretian Prince’s father, and he would mention Punz and Puffy by name if he could in a sincere retelling of their courage against the demon.
Sapnap turned to Punz. “General, you must send word to Queen Moiryn of the King’s attack, but let her know he is alive and will be alright.” He then turned to Puffy. “Captain, I want you to double the guards placed on King Lancel and up the patrols of the city. Nobody else gets hurt.” He commanded in a stern voice.
The General and Captain nodded to King Sapnap, setting off on their delegated tasks that he had given them.
Sapnap’s brain was in overdrive, working hard to ensure Sproalstone’s defences were diligent and alert. If the demon were to re-emerge this night, then they would have to be ready for him. Though Sapnap doubted he would return, there was always a chance the demon could show up again, and that was not a chance he was willing to take. Not if it meant that his men or his people could be harmed.
In his strained thinking, Karl brought Sapnap back down to a slower pace, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving it a kind squeeze.
The King looked at Karl with tired eyes, nodding to him before Karl led them to Sapnap’s chambers.
The room was dark and quiet, reflecting that of Sapnap’s own mood that night. The King shuffled on over to a chair by a window and slunk down in it, his feet aching and his legs feeling the results of him chasing Karl those hours ago all the way from the castle to the cliffside.
Karl grabbed a chair from a nearby table and moved it so he could sit down next to Sapnap by the window. They stayed silent in the dimmed lighting of the room, the only source of light available coming from the pale moonlight through the glass of the window.
Seeing the King slouch over in his chair and closing his eyes, Karl spoke. “We have some time before we must away to the docks.” He mentioned.
Keeping his eyes closed, Sapnap shifted in his seat so he was as comfortable as he could be in the wooden chair. “Wake me before midnight, won’t you?” He asked.
“I will.” Karl confirmed.
Humming in reply to Karl, King Sapnap let his mind fall away to a brief and light slumber. He was so tired that he thought he needed at least a week of sleep after tonight to rejuvenate himself.
He tried to distract his final conscious thoughts from going back to Dream and George on the cliffs, but he met no such luck, the scene replaying in his mind like a fast cycle of dwelling sadness.
Karl felt it too, but he could not fall asleep as easily as Sapnap, guilt nipping at his temples and the pain of the loss of his newest friends still heavy in his heart.
He hoped he could gain strength for Sapnap, he hoped he could be strong like him, he hoped they could continue to hope .
Midnight had almost come, and King Sapnap and Emissary Karl had since left their brief moment of rest to meet with Karl’s contact to receive the translation of the script written on King Halo's boat.
The ocean filled the scene with the familiar background noise of crashing waves and the faint creaking of water-bound vessels. The water of the ocean shimmered against the moon and stars, and the wind was cold on their faces as they watched a small rowboat dock down at one of the many jetties.
Pulling out his gold and brass stopwatch from around his neck, Karl checked it's time before staring back out at the jetty, the person who was on the rowboat now hopping off onto the jetty and gliding on over to them. Karl breathed out a breath of expectation, putting the stopwatch back into his shirt and letting it rest safely underneath his clothes.
The meteor shower was going to start soon. ‘It’s almost time’, Karl noted internally.
Sapnap waited side by side with Karl as the person drew closer. In the nearby distance, the King could’ve sworn he could see the outline of an odd looking ship silhouetting on the water.
The hooded figure waltzed up to them, striding across the planked floors with black shoes that had been dirtied up, the darkness of night concealing the person’s face from King Sapnap under their hood.
Greeting his contact with a soft smile, Karl was the first to speak. “It’s good to see you again, Q.”
The person did not take off their hood. “It's good to see you again too, Karl.” He greeted back with a deep voice, a grin evident in his tone. “How long has it been? 60 years now?” He quizzed.
What? Did Sapnap hear that right? Hold on a second...that voice...it sounded familiar, but Sapnap’s mind was too frazzled to piece together who it was.
“Wait, did you say ‘60 years’?” The King asked, wanting some elaboration.
“Yes, we met once when I accidentally went back to 60 years ago.” Karl informed the King.
Such a strange and bittersweet circumstance. Karl had indeed met the man just before he had come to be in service of King Bad. That half a decade ago, he had not meant to travel to the past, but it happened, and fate found him in the company of the man who he had come to call a friend.
It was an unfortunate time when he had to return to the present where he was needed, as Karl had left the man at the time he found him. What was a waiting time of 5 years for Karl, was in fact 60 years for the man he met. It was a mess of time, but he did not regret it.
Meeting the man back then felt so right and natural, but it was too early, too soon. He felt it was not the right time for their friendship yet. But, they were all here now. Now they could all come face to face once and for all, and see what happens when the Sun and Stars meet the Moon.
“I must say it was a happy little accident though.” The man commented playfully, to which Karl then smiled bashfully at the mysterious man.
“It's also good to see you again too...Your Highness.” The man addressed Sapnap.
“What?” Sapnap replied with narrow eyes. Who the hell was this guy? Did he know him?
Motioning to finally remove his hood, King Sapnap caught the shine of something on the man’s finger in the moonlight. It caught his eye as a glittering of purple crystal on one of his index fingers. It was a ring, a ring of amethyst and tiny green flecks. It was...one of Karl’s rings?
Pulling his hood from over his head, the man showed his face to Sapnap and Karl.
Dark, wavy locks covered by a blue hat that he had been told was called a ‘beanie’. One eye of ultramarine blue, the other blinded by a great scar that went all along the left side of his face. A singular gold fang that gleamed brightly every time he smiled…
The King’s eyes went wide and his mouth went slightly agape as he recognised the man’s face.
He had met the unforgettable man about a year ago, meeting with the gruff “sailor” often to challenge him to sparring sessions at twilight in secret from his father. They had grown as close as strangers could through the lens of rivalry and fun banter during their rowdy fights. The mysterious figure and him were like a clashing of day and night, Sapnap’s axe against his curved cutlass, and two heads confidently butting against one another in the well-balanced dance of their various duels.
One day he just- stopped coming, and Sapnap hadn’t seen him since. It was uncanny how evenly matched they were, the pushing and pulling of their sparring battles ferocious and graceful. It was uncanny how well Sapnap was balanced out by him. He was an odd acquaintance but nonetheless, he had during that time, seemed to be a somewhat genuine...friend?
King Sapnap did not know if he would ever see the man again, but fate had brought him to his doorstep. And now, he was standing right there in front of the King, as charming and handsome as Sapnap remembered. Somewhere in his heart, the King felt strings being tugged as the three of them stood still on the docks, and Sapnap could hear the tune of his song faintly playing in the background of his mind.
Who would’ve thought that after all this time, he would get to see him again...that he would get to see Quackity again.
“It’s you?” King Sapnap breathed out in mild shock.
“Yes. It appears our paths have all crossed before at different points in time.” He responded, winking at Karl with a smirk. Karl rolled his eyes but smiled in amusement.
“You are Karl's contact, the one who can read the language of the gods?” King Sapnap asked.
“Yup, that’s me baby.” Quackity said, gesturing to himself exaggeratedly and sporting his classic grin, his gold fang showing from behind his lip.
Sapnap was suddenly reminded of why he and Quackity had gotten on so well. The guy was hilarious in his character, witty and cheeky enough to match Sapnap’s own pride and sense of humour. Different to how Karl matched Sapnap’s humour, but if thrown into the mix could perhaps- perhaps...find itself perfectly placed...as a lost piece of a jigsaw puzzle that they did not realise they were missing. A piece that felt like for some reason, belonged with them.
“So, what does the inscription from the boat say?” Sapnap asked, moving the conversation forward.
“The wording of the translation took me a while to interpret”, Quackity began to speak as he ruffled through his pockets before pulling out a very wrinkled piece of paper, “but it says something along the lines of, ‘Lest the Star hath forgotten, Blood can only be undone by blood’.” He recited. “Very cryptic.” He commented, handing the small parchment over to Sapnap.
“What do you think it means?” Sapnap asked him, reading over the translation.
Quackity shrugged nonchalantly. “Well my initial thought was that maybe you need to do some kind of blood spell to locate your father?” He suggested. “I'm not really sure but I do know that the workings of his disappearance are most definitely a result of the gods.” Quackity finally concluded.
Nodding at Quackity’s information, Karl tried to rationalise and draw strings of this mystery together in his head. “So it would be right to assume that King Halo’s disappearance has to do with Dianite then.” He articulated, glancing between Quackity and Sapnap with serious eyes.
“I wouldn't be surprised if it was his doing.” Quackity sighed out, rolling his eyes as he emphasized his reference to the Blood God.
King Sapnap took quick note of how Quackity referred to Dianite. It was as if he regarded the god as a pest or a very annoying child? It was very different to that of how everyone else had seemed to regard the Blood God. Quackity was a very mysterious man of cool exterior and deep eyes, and his comment only intrigued Sapnap more to know more about the man.
Focusing on the task at hand, King Sapnap wondered where they should go from here. “So now what? What does this tell us?” He asked both of them.
“Well now I guess we should be looking for answers through the scope of the gods and not some weird accident.” Karl replied. “We need help from people who know about the gods.” He stated with a nod.
“And thus, I shall bid thee ado. It was really nice seeing you two again.” Quackity quickly said, turning from the other two as to leave.
“Wait! Sapnap lunged out at him, lightly grabbing at one of his rolled up sleeves and keeping him from going any further. Quackity glanced down to the King’s hand that was gripping at his sleeve, surprised that he actually went to stop him from leaving. ”You know about them, do you not? You can read the language of the gods, you must know more about them.” Sapnap asserted with hopeful eyes. “Please help us.” He pleaded, his voice just above a whisper.
The outburst of the King took him by complete surprise indeed. Quackity found it hard to resist the plea of the King, his request beckoning and his plight convincing the little voices in Quackity's head to agree. Faint plucks of strings filled Quackity’s mind alongside the voice of his conscience, and he could feel his morality wanting to give in as he stood staring into King Sapnap’s own dark charcoal eyes.
Whispers and mutterings of old memories flashed in Quackity’s mind, and he could feel their chills running down his spine, making him very, very, uncomfortable at the thought of involving himself in matters of the gods.
Karl saw Quackity’s expression shift. Gods, wait. He knew something. He knew that he knew something but what was it?! Fucks sake not again. He had forgotten something important. Not something of immediate urgency like life and death, but important nonetheless. A missing detail of words spoken to him long ago.
Reading Karl’s face with a quick glance over, Quackity observed his obvious train of thought. Did he not remember? Had he forgotten…?
Sapnap speaking brought Quackity’s gaze back to the King. “Please, Quackity, I just want to find my father.” He pleaded once more, practically begging at this point for him to help.
Quackity did not speak, he did not give an answer to the King’s request, but the silence alone was answer enough for Sapnap as his hope only fell more and more with every passing second they spent just standing there with locked eyes.
Removing Sapnap’s warm hand from his sleeves, Quackity motioned to return to his rowboat. “I wish you well in your search, Your Majesty.” He said with sincere eyes before making his way back to the boat, his heart beating fast and the wind blowing against him like it wanted him to turn back.
The stroke of midnight was upon them, and the sky above lit up with the heavenly passing of the meteor shower. Appearing as sparkles of white and blue light, they brought out the shining of the stars and moon from the dark night, the caress of silver and same ultramarine of Quackity’s right eye had Karl and Quackity gazing out to the spectacular view.
Sapnap met no such gaze of wonder and light, the frustration of Quackity’s apprehension burning away at him and setting him alight in anger. “You are the only person in the world right now who can help me find him. We were friends, weren’t we? Where is your compassion? Where is your empathy?” He shouted out, bringing the other to now bring their attention to him.
Sparks had once again come to flare up and singe at Sapnap’s muscles, the tension from the fires of his heart needing to be released from his body, as his black hair began to crackle into embers, and his entire being came to be engulfed in raging flames of orange hellfire. Sapnap’s eyes flickered an amber hue, blacking out momentarily in his fury, and he could not control the manifestations of his temper as he yelled out in a great burst that shot a fearsome beam of fiery magic above Quackity’s head.
Upon seeing the fire coming straight for him, Quackity ducked on instinct, watching as the flaming ball evaporated into thin air after missing him.
The blast took the life out of Sapnap, and he staggered whilst falling to the floor in fatigue, the fires of his body going out and his body cooling down in the breeze of the oceanside. Karl immediately rushed to his side, giving him a hand and carefully helping him to stand on his feet.
Quackity flicked his head around to Sapnap, looking at Karl in shock. Sapnap had no control over his powers? Fucking hell, what was Bad doing when he raised this kid? He shouldn't have kept him in the dark about this. Sapnap had a right to know, and Quackity decided he was going to tell him. To hell with what King Halo wanted. This was the right thing to do.
Quackity walked back over to them, Karl rubbing Sapnap’s back in comfort and staring at Quackity with a sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry, Q.” He apologised on Sapnap’s behalf, looking back and forth between his two friends.
“I didn't mean for that to happen.” Sapnap mumbled out weakly.
“You really are Halo’s son.” Quackity remarked quietly, crossing his arms.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The King groaned out.
Quackity’s eyes flitted from Sapnap to Karl, staring at him with a knowing expression before looking back to Sapnap again.
“He may not have told you, but I will. You know, I wasn’t meant to come back to Sproalstone?” Quackity noted with a bitter scoff. “I made your father a promise I’d stay far away from this city, but then...I broke it last year on a whim, and then I met you…” He began to spew out.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sapnap questioned, not following along with Quackity’s rambling.
Ticking. Ticking. The ticking of Karl’s stopwatch rang out in his ears, only audible to him, and he nodded to himself as the events before him unfolded. This was the right time. It was Quackity and Sapnap’s time.
“Your father and I have been acquaintances for some hundred years now.” Quackity stated plainly. Sapnap’s head tilted in confusion and his brows furrowed as Quackity kept talking. “He is a divine disciple of one of the greater gods. He is an angel, Sapnap. And that makes you...a nephilim.” He revealed with a gritty voice
Sapnap was speechless, the thumping of his heart sending blood through his veins, his face stuck in the same expression of shock, shaking his head in disbelief at Quackity’s declaration of his father’s origin.
“W-what?” The King stuttered out, his eyes blinking rapidly in hopes that it would wake him up if he were still dreaming. But he wasn’t. This was all really happening, and he didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t believe it.
Quackity’s gaze fell from Sapnap to Karl, and Sapnap came to share his gaze as he removed himself from Karl’s touch and glared at the Emissary with suspicious eyes.
“Did...did you know?” King Sapnap whispered out, his eyes still narrow.
No, surely not. Karl was his best friend. Yes, he had secrets of his own, but he would not keep a secret about Sapnap to himself. Karl would not keep something like this from him...would he?
Karl met the King’s eyes solemnly. “I-...yes…” He eventually confessed lowly.
Sapnap shook his head more, feeling the bubbling of anger and betrayal in his chest. “You knew all this time, and you didn’t think to tell me?” He raised his voice at Karl.
“I did think about it, Sapnap.” He alleged. “I wanted to tell you but it wasn’t my place. I’m not allowed to interfere and it wasn’t the right time-”, he tried to say.
The meteor showers had run their course, the brightness of their glow now gone from the night sky, and the three of them left in the world’s slumbering state.
Tears welled at the King’s eyes, the anger burning out and being replaced by the ugly simmering hurt of Karl’s apparent betrayal. He knew all this time about why he was displaying these weird bouts of fiery power. He knew all this time that his father wasn’t just a man. He knew all this time, and he did not tell him…
Sapnap couldn’t do it, he could not bear to stand there. He needed to get away from them. He needed to be alone. Blinking away the hot tears, the King turned on his heel and went to run back to the castle, firestorms of hurt clouding in his mind with the following internal booms and cracks of red thunder and lightning.
Seeing him sprint off and away from the docks, Karl acted as if to give chase, but Quackity put an arm out to his chest, stopping him. He shook his head at Karl as to not follow the young King, and they simply stared as Sapnap disappeared into the darkness.
Quackity expected the King to not take the news too well, but he had faith in Sapnap that he would come around. It’s always better to know the truth, no matter how much it may hurt to hear at the time.
“I’m sorry, Karl.” Quackity felt for him.
Karl blinked away small tears of his own, holding out the onset of cries that wanted to be let out. “It’s- it’s alright.” He shakily breathed out. “This is how this was meant to happen.” He stated.
This time was presented to him by The Lady, and he went through it the way he was meant to. He knew it was up to Quackity to inform Sapnap of his origins, but he could never fully prepare for Sapnap’s betrayed look and falling eyes that was to follow. At least now it was done. This specific time was over, and Karl could go on to the next like he had done for centuries.
Quackity’s typical grin and expressions of smug wit melted as he came to smile softly at Karl. “I always liked the way you spoke.” He told the Emissary. “I missed you, Karl.” He voiced genuinely, the crackling warmth from Quackity’s cool composure reaching out to Karl as a singular ray of fondness and reminiscent care.
Karl came to look at Quackity, returning his smile with a small upturn of his own lips before his tiny smile fell. “I used to doubt whether I’d remember. There were times where I thought I had forgotten…” He mentioned, fiddling with the fabric of his clothes.
It was a single address. A simple instruction from 5 years ago that he hoped Quackity would remember in the 60 years he would spend away from Karl. Yet, it had almost become lost to the archives of life stored in his brain, a scattered page from a time that Karl clutched desperately onto, not wanting it to slip and be gone from his memories forever.
He told Quackity that they would meet again. That he should come to find Karl when the stars passed over the sky, and the call of the wind pulled him back to Sproalstone so they could reunite during a time of great need.
That was their time, and it had come so slowly and swiftly at the same time, a fleeting moment of shared friendship and tied destinies.
Quackity, noticing Karl’s anxiousness and shame, reached to his neck and pulled out a silver linked necklace that hung beneath his shirt. “Here.” He said, ripping off one of two rings that were attached to the necklace, and delicately placing it on Karl’s free index finger.
The dark ring was that of rare black opals, the multi-coloured gem was overshadowed by the prominent and overbearing gleams of deep yellow in the crystal. In the light of the moon, the black opal appeared in Karl’s vision as a rich blue-tinted stone, a fitting and representative piece of jewellery that complemented Quackity’s personality perfectly.
The opals of Sapnap and Quackity’s rings, and the amethyst of Karl’s ring were a pleasant reminder that they had met in this realm at this time of the world, bringing Karl a small regard of comfort.
“The one you gave me always helped me remember. Maybe it’ll help you too.” Quackity smiled sweetly at Karl, raising his hand and showing the purple ring that decorated his rough index finger. Karl beamed at him, reflecting the buzzing glow of the stars at the moon.
Karl now had on one index finger, his own ring of dark violet and hints of green, and on the other index finger, Quackity’s ring that he had just gifted to him of navy blue and glittering yellow. It was beautiful, and reminded Karl of how much he actually missed Quackity’s presence. Their time those years ago had gone by so fast before Karl had to leave him, but he was thankful the tethers of their friendship had not dampened over time.
“Karl, go to him.” Quackity insisted, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. “He may be hurt now but he still needs you.” He affirmed.
Sapnap needed him…
Karl hoped this to be true. He hoped that the King would not see tonight as reason enough to throw off their friendship. It was reason for doubt, it was reason for mistrust, but Karl prayed that they could mend the aftershock of his keeping of Sapnap’s magical identity as the nephilim son of an angel.
He trusted in Quackity’s word. Quackity had never lied to him before, and it did not make sense for him to start now. Karl would believe him if he said Sapnap still needed him.
But Quackity...what about him? Who did he need? Everyone needs someone, so who was that for Quackity? Maybe- maybe Karl should be that person for him. Karl’s heart bled for Quackity, a sign of some cardiovascular defect, or perhaps a sign that maybe, just maybe, he was supposed to be someone Quackity needed.
Karl had regarded Quackity as an old friend of lost time, and in that time between their meeting, deep down, Karl felt that perhaps...Quackity was someone he had come to need. Whether by fate or his own volition, Karl needed Quackity. The only question left on Karl’s mind: did Quackity need him too?
“Quackity, you think I can ask one more thing of you?” Karl asked.
“Of course.” Quackity replied, removing his hand from Karl's shoulder.
Karl leant in to Quackity’s ear, his whispers only audible to Quackity’s ear as the wind from the sea masked his voice.
Nodding in acceptance at Karl’s simple request, the Emissary beamed at him again. “Thank you.” He smiled.
Going to leave, Quackity walked a few paces down the jetty before he heard Karl call out one final time to him. “Hey Quackity?”
“Yeah?” He said, turning to glance back at Karl.
The pitter-patter of Karl’s light footsteps on the wood alerted Quackity to the other’s fast approach. He did not get a chance to fully face Karl before he was instantly wrapped in a bright and joyful hug.
“I missed you too.” Karl muffled into Quackity’s head.
Quackity reciprocated his warmth, hugging Karl back sweetly for that moment they shared on the docks. He missed this. He missed Karl. He’d waited so long to find him again, and the wait was completely worth it.
A few long seconds later and Karl pulled away, turning back and briskly jogging down the jetty, making his way up wooden stairs and limestone pathways to go tend to Sapnap.
Watching as Karl rushed away, Quackity headed back to his rowboat, stopping just before he was to undock it and be on his way. He brought his sight down to Karl’s ring that lay comfortably on one of his index fingers. Pulling out his other ring that he had tucked away in a pocket, he gazed intently at the black opal accessory as he thought of something Karl had said to him those 60 years ago. He did not know if Karl remembered what he had said, he did not know if Karl remembered, but Quackity did remember.
“-and one day, we will all come to be together. All of us.”
All of them…
Back then he had no clue what it was supposed to mean.
Quackity stared long and hard at his other ring, observing both his and Karl’s rings in his hands. He hummed out in thought, going through shaded implications and hidden possibilities of his, Karl’s, and Sapnap’s fates. ‘I wonder…’.
The Sproalstonian castle had never been so quiet before.
A subtle darkness had come to loom over the walls of limestone and marble like great shadows of the deep in the hours between Prince Dream’s and Ambassador George’s fall. The white and blue opals that ran through the castle now appeared like drops of sorrowful tears lamenting the fortunes of its young ruler.
King Sapnap stood in the hall of the great silver harp, his shoulders slunk and his body weighed down by all that was overwhelming him at that given moment.
The supposed betrayal of his closest friend, the near grief of Dream and George’s fall, the frustrating mystery of his father’s disappearance, and now, the great revelation that his bloodline was not that of Man as he once thought, but of angelic magic and otherworldly divinity.
It all overcame him at once as a hail of icy bricks, and he felt it numbing his senses as the wear from the day came crashing down on him all at once. Despite the heavy whirl of emotions in his heart and mind, Sapnap found it difficult for his body to express them as he stood there placidly like a rock in the middle of a harsh flowing river.
The Sproalstonian King's eyes bore right into the sight of another one of various portraits that decorated the castle. The singular painting stared back at him in the lonely hall, and Sapnap resisted urges to yell and curse at the image that sat taunting him from on the wall.
It was a portrait of him and his father when Sapnap was a young lad, his smile and pose confident in contrast to that of his father, who held a composure of soft grace and gentle poise. The painting reflected back at Sapnap in the dim light of the hall, and he found himself in depressive nostalgia for the times portrayed in the painting.
A time where his father ruled the country with swift kindness, and Sapnap’s only worry was that of if he could pick up a sword and axe with one hand. It was a time, where rested upon his head was the freedom of his famed white headband, and not the weighted burden of the Sproalstonian crown.
King Sapnap had become so lost in that moment, so much so that he did not hear Karl enter the hall behind him.
“Sapnap…” He called out, his voice echoing off the walls as he grew closer to the King, and bouncing back to Sapnap’s ears.
The King wanted to turn and speak but his body failed him, and he could only keep his eyes trained on the painting still.
He was mad before. He was angry at Karl for keeping that secret, he was mad at Quackity for not helping them, he was mad as well as so many other things. But that had all turned to specks and ashes as it dissipated, now becoming the fine mists of fuming pessimism and cool rains of spritzing dejection.
“Sapnap?” Karl called out once more, standing just behind him but not too close as to be in his personal space.
The King gained control of his body again, turning to face Karl with a dampened expression, the remnants of betrayal evident in small glints of his charcoal black eyes. “I wish you would’ve just told me.” He said in a small voice.
“I’m so sorry.” Karl apologised. “I did want to tell you...it’s just- it’s not up to me.” He said, taking a careful step forward.
Sapnap’s eyes narrowed before softening out, his eyebrows furrowed in what Karl could only describe as hurt. “Surely there is something that is up to you?” The King insisted, still feeling residual frustration in his chest.
Karl took this question to heart.
What was up to him? What really was there in his life that he could say he had his own control and power over? For all the power he was granted when he was chosen by The Lady to carry out her will, his life had been dictated by the simple principle of keeping steady the balance of the realms and universe.
It was a burden. A burden that he once put all his faith and belief in, for back then it seemed like the greatest honour beyond comparison. However, now...now, he had lived through many years, many lifetimes indeed, yet he could not remember half of it.
But in these more recent years Karl could hold onto these memories with Sapnap, with Dream and George, with Quackity, with such great ease that he wondered if The Lady had brought him to this time of the world because it was where he was meant to be.
Was all he had been given from The Lady, though? He resented that thought. He did not want for this part of his life to be built off the foundations of another’s command. He wanted these friendships and bonds to be from his own will. He wanted it to be something that was up to him.
Before this was all to over, perhaps Karl would have to make decisions that were not from The Lady’s request. Perhaps he had to soon make a decision that was all his own. Perhaps he could have a time that was up to him.
Maybe his time would come soon.
For now, he had to endure and lie in wait. “I am not meant to be an influencer in this life unless I am supposed to and I am called to do so. I was not meant to be the one to tell you about you or your father.” Karl stated, his voice clear but wavering.
King Sapnap faced Karl fully, hoping that they could lessen some of the secrecy between them. “Are there other things you’re not telling me then?” He asked assertively. Sapnap watched as Karl’s face grew dark in thought like the Emissary had been pierced in the heart, Karl’s eyes bearing the shimmer of glossy saturnine.
“I- if there is, I don't...remember… I can't remember.” Karl admitted softly, looking down upon himself for his inability to recall things from his mind.
Sapnap stared at Karl, observing his friend’s posture becoming sullen and his gaze falling to the floor as his spirit began to crack; glass shattering in the overcast atmosphere of the morosely quiet hours after midnight.
He could see that Karl hated that he couldn’t remember things. It was a price he paid for being a servant of The Lady, and Sapnap felt for his friend. Karl was not a bad person, he was not a person capable of malice, and everything he did was out of service, loyalty and care.
King Sapnap threw water on any leftover fires that were burning in him. He had spent so much time thinking about himself that he had set aside Karl’s own feelings. He had not thought of the Emissary, he had not thought of his friend. Karl was his friend , and he had only ever been by Sapnap’s side to help.
Taking a deep breath, King Sapnap calmed himself down. “So, it is true. My father is an angel and I am a- nephilim…” He rhetorically said to the air.
Karl, still sullen, apologised once more. “I’m sorry for not telling you, Sapnap.” He said sincerely. Emissary Karl felt he needed to apologise more for his discretion, afraid that he would not be able to hold onto his friendship with the King.
Sapnap exhaled, his composure coming back to him, his head clearing out, and his heart moving on from the emotions of Quackity’s revelation, however, still holding the repercussions of the loss of Dream and George. He had already lost 2 friends in one night. He was not going to lose another.
Karl could not tell what Sapnap’s composure meant. Hundreds of thoughts crossed his mind and he became encumbered with anxiety as he took another step towards Sapnap. “You can be disappointed, you can be angry with me, just- please don’t send me from your sight.” He begged, heat flushing his cheeks as he anticipated the coming of more tears. “I meant it when I said I was going to help you, and I would continue to help you if you would ask it of me.” He said, all the transparency of genuine commitment in this voice.
The King’s stare became sympathetic, soft black eyes meeting Karl’s shining light green ones. Karl was doing his best, and that’s all Sapnap would ever ask of him. King Sapnap couldn’t stay mad at Karl. He was the best friend he’s ever known, and with Dream and George gone, without Karl he would be alone. All alone.
Sapnap moved close to Karl, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and patting it lightly in comfort. “Karl, it’s okay.” He assured. “I understand why you couldn’t tell me. I know your role in time is not up to you.” He said, placing more firm pats to Karl’s shoulder.
King Sapnap continued to stare into Karl’s eyes before giving him a small upturn of his lips and bringing him in for a great big hug. Sapnap’s hugs were always so warm, like the burning furnace of a house in the cold temperatures of winter. Karl felt so safe in the King’s arms, away from any of the bad and hurt in the world.
Karl exhaled into Sapnap’s embrace, loosening up and feeling tension in his body being relieved. “Thank you for not sending me away, Sapnap.” He said, alleviated that his friend did not cast him out.
Karl thought of how lucky he was to have such a friend. Someone who had taken on the knowledge of his secret and not pulled away or been put off by its trials. The Emissary had had friends before in his near millennia of scattered life and lost years, but none had been quite like Sapnap. Sapnap was a man of great confidence and skill, with fire and passion unlike any other.
Sapnap was too good, too strong, too understanding, and Karl thought that it was more than he perhaps deserved.
The King’s voice brought Karl out of his own head. “You’re my best friend Karl.” He said, pulling away from their hug to gaze at the Emissary. “I need you more than I care to admit sometimes.” He expressed with caring eyes.
Sapnap needed Karl. He needed his friend as much as his friend needed him. The King could not do this on his own, for without Karl he would find himself at the brink of blazing self-destruction, embers growing into raging wildfires, and unbridled, untapped anger of his subconscious consuming him across the burnt plains of his being. He needed Karl to bring him some balance.
Karl was truer than the brightest star, and Sapnap was mightier than the harshest sun. When they were together, they were a force of light that yielded a constant flare of the eternal bonds of friendship, an aurora of celestial goodness kept strong by trust and hope.
They could find balance and peace in each other through the tune of their fates.
Glinting a bit away from them was the fantastical harp of silver and starlight. King Sapnap glanced at it and thought of a way they could both be resolved in the dark hall of the castle.
“Karl?” Sapnap said, breaking their momentary silence.
“Yes?” Karl hummed out in response, feeling lighter now at Sapnap’s affirmations.
“Can you play our song for me?” The King requested calmly and sweetly.
Karl’s features softened as he beamed a small smile at Sapnap. “Sure.”
The both of them going over to the harp and sitting down by the instrument, Karl moved into practiced position by the harp’s pedals, fluttering his fingers first before bringing his fingertips up to the strings. Karl began plucking at the harp with seasoned grace and gentle prowess, filling out the empty air of the hall with the combined melody of Dream, George’s and Sapnap’s unfinished song.
The shadows that had draped the walls and lingered in dark corners began to shift and fade out of the marble and limestone, bringing back life in its shimmering beauty.
The King pondered for a few seconds. Maybe this elation of mood was Dream and George’s doing? Surely their song would bear more lament if they were truly gone. Surely the illuminating of the castle was some sort of sign from the gods or destiny that they were alive. He had to believe they were alive. He had to hope that he would see them again someday...
Sproalstonian banners were no longer covered by the darkness of the mournful evening, but had been revealed by the bright of the moon and stars, the crest and colours of the ocean kingdom now clearly seen due to light brought forth by Karl playing the epic tune of their fates.
It was beautiful. It was lulling, and King Sapnap felt his eyes growing heavy as Karl played on, his head leaning over to rest on Karl’s shoulder as he let the fatigue take over and found himself falling to slumber.
Karl smiled fondly at this, continuing to play in the night but trying not to move too much as to wake Sapnap up. Their song was harmonious and addictive. Karl thought he could listen to it forever, for it represented their call to fate and gave the utmost sense of resolution through that which would hold them strong on the roads of their destinies: hope.
The night washed over them, and in their sleep they could only hope that the next day would be better than this one.
The hours of the next day went by so achingly slowly, the early evening after the sun had just set, now settling the King and his Emissary down from a tedious and very long day.
Keeping up and active with the remaining grey clouds of grief at the loss of his friends was as hard as one could imagine it to be. However, King Sapnap could find the clouds clearing as he kept hope in Dream and George, and he kept affirming himself that they were alright somehow. What was even harder though than bearing the apparent loss of his friends, was the maintenance of strength and kingly poise that Sapnap had to portray in the face of the previous night’s tragedies.
Fallen sun and covering of night, King Sapnap sighed heavily as he came to sit down on a cushioned chair in his chambers.
He had spoken to so many people that day and given so many speeches to the two armies and people of his city, that he had almost thought he could feel the crows feet and wrinkles forming on his face. Their departure for Wyrlorn had been delayed, the attack on King Lancel and Prince Dream requiring but just some extra time for the Darcretian troops to settle from the rattling events, and the neighbouring kingdom be informed of the state of their beloved King and Prince.
It was so draining. Being King was draining. He wished the crown had not come to him before he was even remotely prepared to have it. He wished that he could pass it off to someone else, but if he did, then he would pass the burden of leading his kingdom in this war to some other poor fool, and he did not wish that upon anyone else.
Entering with a knock, Emissary Karl trudged over to his friend. “Hey Sapnap, you okay?”
“The Darcretian troops are despondent.” King Sapnap said, pinching at his nose bridge and closing his eyes to relieve some of his strain. “They despair without King Lancel, and news of Dream’s fall has chipped away at their morale. They’re afraid and leaderless. I can make as many speeches as I want but at the end of the day, I am not their King. Only their King can aspire to give them the courage they need. And that’s not me…” He stated in exertion and with low spirits.
Coming over to sit by Sapnap, Karl held up a torch of assurance to the King. “You did well, Sapnap. You may not be their King, but you are mine. The Sproalstonian troops believe in you. I believe in you .” He declared firmly. “You’re the fiercest warrior I’ve ever seen, and you leading them in this war brings them hope. Because of you they have hope.” He averred wholeheartedly.
King Sapnap opened his eyes to look at Karl who was staring back at him with his calming light green eyes. “I can only keep hope because of you, Karl.” He declared back, Karl’s presence always bringing him comfort and reassurance.
Without Karl, he doubted whether he would have the strength of will to keep hope. Karl was a constant glinting of sparkling light, and he did not know what he would do if the Emissary wasn’t in his life. Sapnap needed that light to help keep him moving forward. Sapnap needed Karl.
Hearing the King’s stomach rumbling, Karl stood up from his seated position. “Let’s go have some dinner.” He gestured to the door of Sapnap’s chambers.
“Okay. Give me a second, I’ll meet you there.” The King said, standing up himself from his cushioned chair.
Karl left the room to have some dinner prepared for the two of them.
Going to a small wardrobe, King Sapnap removed his regal attire and changed into clothes that he had not worn since his coronation.
He put on a thin, black, long-sleeved undershirt, the round collar coming up to rest halfway up on his neck, and over that he slipped on a light and airy white, short-sleeved shirt to sit comfortably on top of the other layer. The white overshirt had fine details of amber orange and carmine red thread that weaved through the cloth as an exquisite pattern of subtle flames.
Quickly throwing on black trousers that matched his undershirt, the King stopped as he saw a familiar accessory lying on a shelf of the wardrobe. Grabbing it gently with his hand, Sapnap shuffled over to the dressing table beside the wardrobe and stared at himself in the mirror.
Intensely staring at his reflection, Sapnap saw the King staring back at him, and was reminded of the Prince he used to be, those times feeling so distant in the past. Having grown tremendously since he last wore it, he glanced at his classical outfit, taking in how he filled out the clothes better, the look no longer portraying a boy, but a man. The clothes had been reformed and changed along with Sapnap, now the cloth and stitch of a seasoned King.
It was oddly reassuring, yet there was just one last thing that did not quite belong in his final look. Sapnap glanced down to the accessory in his hand, then glanced back up to the crown on his head. The silver crown of blue and white gems was stunning, but it wasn’t him. It did not inspire the same sense of patriotism, nor the imbuing sense of strength that his old, white headband did. King Sapnap thought that going forward, he would make the accessory a symbol of his regality, replacing the shiny crown for something he believed was a greater representation of what the legacy of his reign would come to be.
Carefully removing the silver crown from where it was sitting on his head, Sapnap placed it down on the dressing table with a quiet thud. His headband in hand, the King slowly brought it up to his head and wrapped it around his forehead, letting some chunks of his black hair fall in front of the white band before tying it up securely behind the back of his head.
Sapnap brought his gaze to the mirror to look at himself. This felt much better. This felt right. He smiled at his changed look, nodding affirmatively to his reflection before finally leaving his room to go meet Karl for some well-needed food.
Sapnap passed through the corridors and halls of the castle with a spring in his step. He felt a thousand times better with the changing of his clothes. It was a bit of good that he had initiated in his life despite all that had happened in the last 24 hours.
Coming to the corner before the dining hall with quiet steps, King Sapnap heard Karl’s voice fall softly on his ears.
“-could please tell me because I just- don’t remember…” Karl said into the air with frustration.
Not wanting a repeat of before when he had stumbled upon Karl and momentarily frightened him, Sapnap took a few steps backwards before going forth this time with much louder steps that would be more noticeable to Karl.
It must’ve worked, because not a second after Sapnap had taken two booming steps did he not hear any more indication of Karl until he had come around the corner and entered the dining hall.
Karl sat up straighter in his chair as he greeted Sapnap with a small wave of his hand when the King had arrived for dinner. Sapnap returned the wave of his hand as he sat at the head of a large table directly across from Karl.
Noticing the drastic change in the King’s apparel, Karl smiled sweetly at him. “You’re wearing your headband again.” He commented merrily.
King Sapnap smiled bashfully. “Yeah, I thought it would be a nice change.” He responded.
“It looks good!” Karl beamed at him with bright eyes.
Sapnap smiled even harder, showing his teeth at Karl’s sweet compliment. “Thank you.” He said, feeling very cheerful.
Covered silver platters were before them along with small glasses of the King’s favourite alcoholic beverage: Darcretian malt whiskey. Not often did Sapnap drink it, but when he did it was typically during great feasts or grand parties. He hadn’t had the smooth liquid since- well, since the short “celebration” of his coronation.
The faint aroma of what lay beneath the covering of the platter flooded Sapnap’s nose, and he grew excited in anticipation of whatever Karl had the kitchen prepare for them. “What do we have here?” He asked putting a hand on the covering, about to take it off.
“Your favourite.” Karl smiled, matching the King’s action and going to take the covering off his own platter. “Tenderloin steak with a side of roast vegetables.” He stated, revealing the contents of the platter, steam rolling off the beautifully cooked food, and both of them gaping at its pretty presentation: a couple of roasted potatoes and baby carrots, a few stems of neatly placed garlic and butter asparagus, and a perfectly cooked steak done to the King’s liking of medium-rare.
Karl knew Sapnap so well. “This is really nice, Karl. Thank you.” He said sincerely, meeting Karl’s eyes with a soft expression.
“Let’s dig in.” Karl suggested enthusiastically.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Sapnap replied, grabbing a knife and fork from beside the platter and cutting into the steak.
Bringing the slice of meat up to his mouth, King Sapnap caught something in the corner of his eye behind Karl. Slinking away to some crevice of the hall, he saw the flicking tail of a black and brown cat...the same one he had seen Karl talking to before.
What was up with that cat? There was no doubt in Sapnap’s mind that it had been hanging around Karl for a reason, and he surmised that perhaps it could have been likely that it was tied into Karl’s burden. He just didn’t know how or why?
It mattered not though, at least not now. Now he was having a splendid dinner with his best friend, able to be present in the moment with Karl, and the events of the previous day not on his mind for once.
Although the world was shifting, it wasn’t shifting too fast, and in that moment, he was simply living out that given time as a King having a delicious meal with his Emissary. But the world was still moving all the same, and Sapnap could feel it, the motions terrifying yet necessary. With every turn of the globe came the inches of growth of Sapnap’s character, the King pressing forward into the unknown of his future with his best friend thankfully by his side.
Knowing Karl would be there right by his side comforted the King, the outcome of his fate all the little easier to come to terms with as long as they trusted in each other, and kept hope that at the end of all things, everything would be alright.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The evening was cold, and the rocking wasn’t getting any easier. The ship’s motions against the shimmering black waves of the Twilmor Sea had now become a reminder of nerve-wracking waiting.
Waiting for him to arrive at their destination. Waiting for the dawn to bring light back to his worrying mind. Waiting for George to just wake up.
Dream had not left his side the rest of the day since he had been picked up by the man from his nightmare, and he had let him know that George was resting aboard the ship with him. The Prince had spent those hours sitting at his side as the sleeping ambassador lay pale and motionless in the Captain’s rickety bed.
Fresh bandages were wrapped around George’s torso, small bits of dried blood on old changed bandages were on the wooden floor of the room, and a few bottles of empty medicine clinked around on the table of the Captain’s quarters.
The Prince sighed as he took a damp cloth from a nearby bowl of cool water. His arms still feeling slack from fatigue, he dabbed away at the droplets of sweat that had formed on George’s forehead.
Dream found himself praying to whatever forces were out there to just have George open his eyes and tell him he was alright. Gods, please just let him be fine. Spare him from this torment. He did not deserve this.
The demon was aiming at him, at Dream, so why was George the one suffering for it? The guilt ate away at Dream like a parasite. It was his fault that George put himself between him and the blast. It was his fault that George got hurt.
The Prince exhaled one shaky breath of many he had taken since being at George’s side. He hung his head low and closed his eyes trying to stop any more tears from falling before giving George’s cool hands another squeeze with his own warm ones. “Please be okay. Please wake up…”, he begged out as a whisper into the quiet of the Captain’s quarters.
“You look terrible, Your Highness.” Dream heard the other croak out weakly.
His head instantly lifted up and the small tears that had formed at his eyes began to fall uncontrollably down the skin of his cheeks. The ambassador smiled at him gently with barely open eyes, and Dream could not contain the utter relief and joy that overcame him as a gateless flood. George was awake, he was finally awake.
“George! Bless the stars, you’re awake!” Prince Dream exalted as he rushed in to try and embrace George in a thoughtless hug.
George winced in pain at Dream’s motion. Upon hearing his discomfort, Dream immediately pulled himself back, cursing at himself for being so careless.
“Ah, sorry.” He quickly apologies, making sure that George was lying down comfortably and he hadn’t ruined any of his bandaging in the process.
“How long was I out?” George asked in a low whisper.
Prince Dream fiddled with his fingers in time with the rocking of the ship. “The Captain said it’s only been a day since- since…” Dream trailed off, not able to continue his sentence.
It was still painful. When George got struck, Dream didn’t know what to do. He felt useless again, and thought that it would be just like his nightmare; where he would lose George forever and fall into the darkness of grief and wretchedness, where he would be left all alone in this world.
George groggily lifted a hand to Dream’s, taking it and rubbing his thumb against the skin of the Prince’s knuckles. “It’s alright Dream. We’re safe. We’re alive.” He reminded him with a soft demeanour.
Dream briefly closed his eyes again in an effort to quell the pain and the tears. “I thought I had lost you forever.” He said disheartened. He did not want to live without George. George had promised him that their fates would not be parted.
“I’m not going anywhere, Dream.” He declared, smiling more brightly at Dream.
The Prince had fluctuated between so many raw and strong emotions in such a short time. He had been swaddled in the rich fabrics of fervent love and fate, then clobbered by the jagged iron fist of soul-sucking anguish, only to be presented with the golden blooms of joy and relief once he had already taken on the full force of melancholy in his heart. It was fucking exhausting.
Lifting his head up slightly but still laying down, George looked around. “Where are we?”
“We’re aboard a ship: the Withered Rose. We’re on our way to the shrouded isles of the East. To the edge of the world.” Dream informed, his eyes resting upon George’s pale face, taking in the sweetness of the beauty spots at his eyes and reminiscing of how they were to Dream like the brightest constellations in the night sky.
George came to look at Dream with his ever still beautiful eyes of midnight and ice. “What about my mother? Your father? Sapnap and Karl?” He asked, a bit worried.
Dream held George’s hand more tightly in reassurance. “They’re fine but, the Captain he said- he said my father was attacked by the demon too.” He conveyed. The creases of his brow did not go unnoticed, and George would see that Dream would never have to go through such pain ever again.
“I’m sorry, Dream.” George consoled, intertwining his hand in Dream’s fingers.
Dream melted into George’s touch. “It’s okay, he’s alive and he’s going to get better”, he elaborated hopefully. “I do not know if I could bear any more bad news. So much has happened all at once. We’re so far from home, George…”, Dream said in a small voice.
And they were. They were so far from home. From Darcretia, from Sproalstone, from their garden and from those cliffs.
It had only been less than a day since they had fallen, less than a day since they had been cast to the sea and sent forth away from everything they had ever known. Dream and George knew that destiny would call for more from them, but they had not expected it to come so soon and by such circumstance. It all happened so fast, and they did not know if they were equipped to handle whatever it was that fate needed them to do.
The two of them stayed in each other’s company. They were both so tired, but being with their respective beloved lifted their spirits in the looming air of previous gloom, finding solace in their interwoven fates and giving hearts.
Feeling the strength brought to him by Dream’s comforting presence, George motioned to sit up from laying down. The action was decently painful as his wound was still healing, but he wanted to be able to converse and be with Dream properly.
“I would take it easy if I were you.” A voice interrupted.
Looking to the door of the quarters, Dream and George were greeted by the Captain of the ship.
The man from Dream’s uncanny nightmare. The man who had saved them both from the treacherous waters of the Twilmor Sea.
He had walked in with the clacking boom of his black shoes and a grin that never seemed to leave his face. The Captain pulled up at his sleeves so they were more securely in place just above his elbows.
Grabbing a bottle from his table, the Captain gestured to George. “You’ve been struck by magic, my friend”, he said, using his teeth to pull the cork out the bottle before turning away from the two and facing his table. “That will turn into a wicked scar once it's healed over.” He commented before taking a great swig of the brown ale inside.
The Captain sighed after gulping down the booze, bringing one of his hands up to his face and lightly running his fingers across his great scar.
George spoke up. “Why are we going to the isles and not Sproalstone? We have great healers there.” He said, his voice still weak.
Turning back to face them, the Captain scoffed and took another swig before walking briskly over to them. “You guys really don’t know much about magic, do you?” He quizzed in a kind of condescending tone.
Dream and George looked at each other, then back to the Captain.
“You’ve been hit by powerful magic, Lord George.” He began in a matter-of-fact voice. “We have mended your body and drawn out the hostile magic from the area of your wound, but you are mortal, and you still need to regenerate from the spell’s potent effects if you wish to go about your life free from any lingering afflictions it may cause.” The Captain continued.
Mortal? What does being mortal have anything to do with this? And why did he say it like that?
“Without my help, your wound may never heal fully. You would feel it everyday in everything you do, like having thorns sewn in between the layers of your muscle, pricking at you painfully until you would rather cut open your skin to remove it yourself than live out the rest of your days in agony.” He claimed grimly, the tip of his golden fang peeking out from his lips. He took another swig of the bottle.
Well that was mildly terrifying. Gods, this man had no tact.
George held on his face an expression that matched Dream’s thought. “How can I get better? What do I need?” He asked worriedly. The ambassador was scared at the notion from the Captain.
The Captain swallowed another sip of his drink. “As your wound is of magic, you will need a draught made from the ingredients of a magical realm. We have the supplies for that on the isles, and it’s much easier for you to come with us there so we can treat it. After that it should only take about two weeks or so for you to be at your former strength.” He concluded.
“Okay, I trust you.” George said affirmatively, nodding at him.
The Captain grinned. Nodding to George, he took one last swig of his bottle before waltzing back to his table.
George said he trusted him, how could he trust him? They did not know this man.
Dream wanted to press for more information. “Why did you save us...?” He asked lowly into the empty air of the dark room.
“Land ho!”
The shout from the ship’s watch had called out, letting them know that they had arrived at their destination: The Ankkar Isles.
The Captain’s gaze went from the door to Dream and George. “We’re here.” He said, putting the cork back in his bottle of grog before leaving the quarters and closing the door behind him.
He strolled onto the deck of his ship, the black sails waving in the ocean wind, and the familiar scent of sea salt on his senses. He strode up the stairs and situated himself comfortably at the helm of the graceful ship.
The Withered Rose was indeed the pearl of the Twilmor Sea. It glided effortlessly through its waters like a bird flies in its element in the wind. The fierce waves and strong currents of its water were no match for the vessel as its will was set against that of nature, allowing the Captain and his crew to traverse through the ocean at great speeds unlike any ship the world has ever seen.
His hands steadily on the wheel of the ship, the Captain breathed in the cool air of the evening and sighed happily at the distant sight of the Ankkar Isles, the place where he had made a life for himself, the place he had come to call ‘home’.
Getting closer and closer, the Captain did not grin, but instead he came to bear a small and genuine smile.
Back in the Captain’s quarters, Dream was still sceptical of their saviour. “He’s like a dark pool of secrets, that guy.” He hushed out judgmentally.
George exhaled in fatigue. He was still tired and aching from his wound, but he needed to assure his beloved that things would turn out okay. It was the least he could do. “Dream, you have every right to be suspicious, but I do not think he is a bad guy.” George contended, trying to meet Dream’s eyes. “My gut is telling me we may rest easy with him.”
“Still...he’s shifty. I don’t trust him. At least, not yet.” The Prince started.
“Dream…”
“But I trust you, George”, Dream said, now holding the ambassador’s gaze, “and I will go with you to wherever fate takes us.”
Wherever that may be, George knew Dream would hold true to that. He knew that Dream would follow him to the ends of the earth, and by chance of fate, it had actually landed them there; at the edge of the world.
He did wish though that Dream would see that although this man is a stranger, that all bonds of friendship and love mostly start out that way. After all, that is how Dream and George came to be. Strangers in a garden, under soft moon and twinkling starlight.
Dream stayed with George, the Prince carefully moving over this time to place a long-awaited and tender kiss to George’s lips. George smiled into the kiss, the touch igniting him all the same and bringing him more strength through the alleviating kiss.
The Prince pulled away slowly from the ambassador, lingering near his lips and feeling a similar release of his flurry of previous emotions.
George stopped Dream from pulling away completely, keeping the Prince within close distance of him. He moved Dream’s head with his hand so the Prince was now almost leaning into him, then bringing his pale lips up to Dream’s forehead and kissing it softly in the kindest press. It was ever so sweet, the heart-warming embrace they shared sparking back up the flicker of hope they had for their futures. It was a gentle gesture from George to Dream, a gesture that told him that everything was going to be alright.
George wished safety for his friends. Their parting was too abrupt, too tragic, and he thought of Sapnap and Karl greatly since his awakening. What had become of them? Did they think he and Dream were dead? Were they themselves...dead…?
The ambiguity of Karl and Sapnap’s fate made him uneasy, and he did not want to think that any harm had come to them. He had to keep reason to believe that they were alive and well. He had to keep faith in destiny that their part in this tale was not over yet.
He had to keep hope.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About 20 days.
The waking of tomorrow’s sun would mark the countdown of this final battle, a clash of metal and bone amidst the heat of blood and the stench of death.
King Wilbur had just over 20 days to prepare himself for the full force of Dianite’s wrath upon his kingdom, aligned alongside the 3 other kingdoms to fight for the world of Men.
He had just sent for Steward Eret to provide him counsel, and they were now alone in the empty confines of the war room in the very, very late night. Aside from the dust that littered the shelves with books, it was relatively well-kept. Wilbur had not used the room too much since the beginning of the war, for he had taken up most of his planning in his study. Light from a handful of candles brought forth an ill look in the King, the circles under his eyes dark, and his skin paling with every passing day.
Steward Eret stood across from the sat King holding a few pieces of blank parchment in her delicate hands, her iconic red dress prominent in its craftsmanship as it was decorated with fine threads of subtle yellow and detailed red lace of floral rose patterns.
Wilbur pressed up his glasses with his weakening fingers, adjusting the spectacles so they sat more comfortably on his nose bridge. “The last time Dianite fell, how much did it take?”
Eret did not want to bring more doubt to Wilbur's mind. Every new detail Wilbur asked her for only scratched away more at the King’s strength, like a leaf burning away from the inside out.
Although he did not want to answer, Wilbur was their King, and she had a duty to provide him with whatever counsel he asked of her. “It took almost everything we had to defeat the Blood God in the 1st Age. We may have succeeded then, but at the cost of victory, it did not feel like we had won”, he remarked. “Those who survived like me went off to carry the grief of loss into the years of our immortal lives.”
King Wilbur felt this war draining more light from the colour of his fair eyes; brown irises that once held charm and wit had been fading to the bleakness of his fear of failure. He could not fail. He would not fail.
“What do you suppose our chances are now?” He asked.
Eret let out a small breath. “Currently we do stand more of a chance with our alliances. The coming together of Man has indeed made us stronger…”, Eret began, Wilbur sensing a follow up of negativity.
“But?”
“But, the Darcretian King is unable to join his army in battle. They are without the strength of their King, and that gives us a point of weakness. It is unlikely that we should come out the other side completely unscathed.” Eret relinquished, their voice getting quiet. “I fear death draws near for some of us.” They whispered out to the King, their eyebrows letting show the worry of Wyrlorn’s fate.
King Wilbur hummed in thought, a million things racing seamlessly in his mind like the debris of land caught in a frightening tornado. Death was drawing near for many. Lives were soon to be lost, and the legacy of his reign was yet to be written by the blood of the dead and the memories of the victors.
Failure was not an option. Wilbur could not fail his kingdom, he could not fail his people, he could not fail his family. He would do whatever it would take for them to stay alive.
By whatever means necessary.
“That’ll be all, thank you Eret.” He dismissed with a nod of his head.
Pressing at his temples, the King pushed himself out from his chair and left the war room to make for his study.
Passing the corridors of the Wyrlornian castle, Wilbur’s eyes flitted back and forth at the walls and roof above him as he kept walking. His footsteps became the paced tapping of anxiousness against the viridian green and saffron yellow carpeted floor. Tapping, tapping away like the faint chisel of chaos against the stone of his character.
Had he strolled the halls for minutes? Hours? Every blink of his sore eyes elicited a passage of time that became lost to him. Did it take him 5 minutes to reach the door of his study? Did it take him 5 hours? He was not too sure anymore.
Entering his study, he took a gander at the space around him. The messy room was illuminated by the faint light of the waxy yellow and dark green scented candles. The aroma of lemongrass and sweet citrus brought a small regard of comfort to the King as he sat numb on the dark oak wood chair of his grand desk. Papers were littered across its breadth, and splashes of black ink had stained the wood in irregular patches.
He blinked once. Buzzing of his restless mind became the lullaby to which he never actually knew any sleep, and the breeze of an open window brushed across his hair as a fine comb of nature through his brown locks.
He blinked again, and upon opening his eyes saw that the light from the candles had just gone, the smoke rising off the freshly burnt out wicks and floating up into the air. They had melted down significantly, and Wilbur realised that in the time he had blinked, some few hours had in fact gone past during his light sleep.
Quickly blinking away the sleep of his sinking eyes, King Wilbur stared at the thick, old journal on his desk. Many pages were tabbed out, as he had consumed every tiny detail he thought worth noting in his efforts to find something he could use in the war against Dianite.
Though he did not find too much to use, it was a first account given to him by the last Champion of Man in the war of the 1st Age: Captain Sparklez.
King Wilbur was somewhat obsessed with the journal, spending most of his nights flicking through all its pages and scanning its entries back to front, trying to get into the mind of the Blood God all those thousands of years ago. It was not an entirely fruitless venture, but it kept him tucked away in his study at most hours of the day, many days a week.
It kept him away from things in his life that should have been more important to take interest in.
“Father?”
Wilbur had been so engrossed in his reading and thoughts that he had not noticed he had a visitor. The King rubbed at his eyes with his fingers, moving his glasses out of place for a second before adjusting them back to their correct spot. The blurry sight of his son made his brain work harder to focus on the young man in front of him.
The Prince was the spitting image of his mother; lovely pastel orange was his hair, and he had her same fair skin that made him a shining presence in Wilbur’s life before the events of this war. However, the Prince had the same medium brown of King Wilbur’s eyes.
Glancing at the open window of his study, Wilbur took note of the dark of the world outside. “Son? What are you doing up so late?” He said with a yawn.
Prince Fundy took a few steps closer to his father, now standing across from him at his desk “How are you doing, father?” He asked with concerned eyes.
“I have much to do still, Fundy.” He said, slowly blinking as he rolled his shoulders out and tiled his neck to relieve some of the tension in his muscles.
“Father, you cannot go on like this. You need to rest.” Fundy pronounced, trying desperately to bring some reasonable suggestion to his father.
King Wilbur shook his head in soft refusal. “My work is not finished.” He stated, glancing between his son and the array of scattered papers on his desk.
Prince Fundy’s eyes came to hold a sympathetic but sad expression. “Father, please-”, he tried to restate.
Wilbur cut him off. “My son, there is too much that need be done and too little time to do it. War is upon us, time is of the essence. Not a moment of it is to be wasted.” He asserted, looking up to hold Fundy’s worried stare. “When you are King, you will understand.”
The Prince sighed in defeat as he blinked away his own tiredness. He then turned away from his father and dejectedly left the King’s flurried study. The interaction was pitiful, neither one of them feeling the invigorating burn of any hope left in their souls.
If he were to be King, if he should be alive to see that day, Prince Fundy did not know how he would fare in terms of being a ruler. He observed his father over the many years of his reign and the many months of this war, weighing the toll of its dread and hopelessness on his father’s mind.
Should he become King, would he be forced to follow in his father’s footsteps? King Wilbur had become resigned to the crown, growing colder and colder like the coming of winter on a desolate plain of falling grace.
If this were to be the price of becoming King, then he did not hope for this future. If this were to be his fate, then he did not want any of it...
King Wilbur needed more help. He had many on his side willing and able to aid him in this battle, but he could not rest yet. In his mind there was only one other person he felt he needed help from.
Taking a quill out from the drawers of his desk, King Wilbur moved aside the chaotic mess of papers from his desk and brought forth a blank sheet of parchment. Thinking briefly about what to convey in his letter, he began to scrawl out a rough message of smudged ink and frantic request.
Rolling the letter up, Wilbur got up and went to the open window. The King whistled out to the night and not a few moments later did a lone crow of decent size come to his call. Attaching the letter to the crow’s feet, the King sent it off to travel to the South-Eastern shores of the Ankkar Isles.
The crow flew off into the night, and King Wilbur returned to sit at his chair, now grabbing the journal of Captain Sparklez and opening its pages to read over the words he had practically committed to memory.
Only a few moments after taking flight did the crow come to the call of another’s whistle. Landing by a small balcony, the crow let the General of Wyrlorn seize the letter from its legs. Unrolling it, General Technoblade flipped the parchment over to write his own message in finely written print, a drastic contrast to the King’s own scrawled handwriting. He then went back to the crow and reattached it to its legs, sending it on its way into the night to fly off to the shrouded isles.
He hoped that both his and Wilbur’s message would get through to the person it was addressed to, and that he would come to their aid during this time of need.
Should Blood and Bone come together by the winds of fate, then Wilbur could perhaps find some hope for a dawn where the world of Men would not fall. At that moment though, he could not see it. He could not see the dawn for him and his kingdom. He did not have hope.
For Wilbur knew it, and Technoblade knew it all too well. If they were to have the hope of defeating Dianite for good, Wilbur would need him , as one fact remained true in the circumstance of this war.
Only gods could fight gods.
Chapter 2: To Reason, Wrestle, And Rest
Summary:
20 days left.
King Sapnap reasons with new aspects of himself he had not previously known were there, and he confronts a person he believes has the kind of answers he is looking for.
King Wilbur deals with his hindering fatigue, wrestling its grip on him and biding his time as Dianite's forces are on the move. General Technoblade tries his luck in trying to get the King to just sleep, but he may not be as successful as he hopes.
George finds himself hung up on his and Dream's fall from the cliffs, and Dream commits himself to a dangerous quest with the Captain of the Withered Rose that will seek to put him to the test as he grows more as a Prince and a man.
Notes:
howdy yall im uploading the first chapter right after the prologue because i thought itd be easier to see how this story will be written with every chapter being a day that we get closer to the final battle in the valley. events of each chapter occur in time order so scenes earlier in the day will appear first with scenes later in the night being towards the end of the chapter. chapters are kinda longish so apologies if you hate long stories this probably wont be for you
ill hopefully have the next chapter done in just over a week so keep an eye out for that if youre enjoying this story so far, i have lots of characters to add and subplots to write out for them so im excited to get into that. i hope you enjoy the lore but if its not making sense then thats alright i plan on explaining it better in future chapters.
as always i do not edit my work so apologies for any spelling/grammar/continuity errors.
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Increasing warmth, the brightening of the rising day, a constant and refreshing breeze: the late morning graced the Sproalstonian King as he stood staring at himself in the mirror, slightly bent over and hands on the dressing table, eyes concentrated on the irises of his reflection as he maintained eye contact with himself for a couple of hours at that point.
King Sapnap had woken up with a goal, a first mission after Quackity revealing that he was of angelic blood. One way or another, he would learn to control his powers, no matter how long it took. Granted, it may take him more time than he thought he might have, but he did not like losing control like that. Sure, the power he felt when letting go was a rush unlike any he’d ever felt before, but the higher levels of his thinking and feeling in the aftermath of bursting into flames were enough to diminish however good it may have felt to feel his untapped power.
Staring, staring hard into his own eyes, the King found his mind wondering, needing something to focus on as he tried to evoke some kind of fiery response from his being. He thought back to all the times he had burned bright before. What made him go from fine to flames?
Anger, unkempt frustration, the overwhelming flow of too many emotions at once that came from a place of unbridled fury. Sapnap thought long and hard, closing his eyes to create a small picture of something that could hopefully make him blow up, but this time hopefully under his control.
Opening his eyes and glaring at himself in the mirror, he thought of the frustrations of his father’s disappearance, he thought of the rage from his unfair burdens of being King, he thought of the sadness of having two of his newest and closest friends being ripped from him by the cruelty of the demon and fate.
It was a searing moment, like the brisk sizzling of skin before the formation of a sunburn, and the King found that he was holding his breath, trying hard to push out the anger as a physical manifestation in his body. His eyebrows were furrowed harshly in concentration, and he almost angrily glared at himself in the mirror.
A few specks of sweat dripping from his forehead and the lack of oxygen affecting the tension in his head, the controlled heat of Sapnap’s power came to fruit, calling forth a strong and prolonged flash of amber in his eyes.
Sapnap’s eyes widened as he continued to stare at his glowing orange eyes, the brightness noticeable in the dark of his quarters like a tiny ray of sunlight. Gasping a bit from the shock and from needing air, he watched as his eyes seemed to burn; they burned brightly as a swirl of orange flames, a small brewing firestorm of epic devastation.
It wasn’t until he saw the tiniest flashes of a much darker orange that bordered on being red, that he let out the breath he was holding, panting to get some oxygen back to his brain. With every breath he took, his eyes dimmed down from the blazing orange and returned to his normal black charcoal ones, the brief sparks of power he was feeling dulling and being locked back away to the recesses of his angelic blood.
King Sapnap felt triumphant with a bittersweet aftertaste. He had been able to summon up some of his nephilim power when he focused and concentrated with much difficulty. But what he saw staring at him in the mirror was someone somewhat unrecognisable to the King.
Was that what he looked like when got angry? Was that who Karl was looking at all those times he had to calm Sapnap down from his rage? Was that who Quackity had seen throw a blast of fire at him?
If so, then he wondered how the hell they could do it...How could Karl look at him and not be scared? How could Quackity not look at him with different eyes after beholding Sapnap during a time of his worst?
How could they still be his friends…?
Sapnap pondered and deliberated for a few minutes, going back and forth between rationality and fear-driven anxiety. Thoughts were dangerous and all-consuming, nasty pricks and thorns of the mind that can easily sway under the force of great negativity.
The King could not succumb to them, he had to remind himself that although they were real, they were not helpful, and that they were self-destructive. If he let himself believe those thoughts, then he would find himself pushing away everyone he needed. Karl, his advisors, perhaps even...someone else…
A blurry image of the tanned and strong sea-bound man popped up in his head along with the faces of other people he had been mentally listing off in his mind.
Did he-... Maybe he-?
No, that wasn’t possible, was it? He’d only known Quackity for a short time, meeting with him last year a few times every week for some months; under the cover of darkness and in unsuspecting back alleys of the lower districts of the kingdom, they sparred in the night like a dance of sword and axe.
Not nearly as long as Karl, had the King known Quackity...so why then- why was he on Sapnap’s mind?
That thought of the handsome “sailor” was intriguing and somewhat nerve-wracking, but Sapnap did not really know why yet. He only knew that somewhere in his brain, Quackity’s face and name had been alongside that of people who he was noting as those who he needed. People who were, in some way, important to him.
King Sapnap hummed out in thought, before blinking away his thoughts that were like fluttering butterflies of smoke around him, and leaving his chambers to continue on in his responsibilities as King.
Step after step down the hallways, the lively sun flitting in from the East through the open windows of the castle, seaside wind blowing on through gently and ruffling his hair just the slightest, and the sky vibrantly blue as the new day went on.
The minutes trudged by as Sapnap walked and walked, but he was reassured and smiled every time he passed by the windows, the white, blue, and silver glass reflecting the light of the sun ever so nicely. Every pane was an extra breath he could take more easily, the light warming the King up and making him feel like he could let his guard down for just a moment.
Turning a corner of a corridor, King Sapnap bumped into Duchess Avelain, Advisor Skeppy, and General Punz. Knowing their occupations and apparent fast-paced steps, he could only assume that they were in fact looking for him.
Punz, broad and hearty like Sapnap himself, the man in shiny armour kept one hand on his sheathed axe at all times, the other now currently running through his exposed dirty blond hair as to pull it back out of his face.
Skeppy seemed fine, the same as he always was, the same as he had been since Sapnap was a small child: unchanged.
The King could not say the same of Mirabella, the sun was shining so bright, yet her face cast a frowning shadow, her already pale skin looking almost deathly white to Sapnap’s eyes.
King Sapnap did not expect to see her back on her feet so soon. George was his oldest friend and he had still not mourned his fall in full, the crushing responsibility of being King, and the weight of his soon venture to the final battle of Veerim Valley putting a hold on some of his breakdown by holding him to the taut structure of his duties.
Noticing a wax-sealed letter in the Duchess’s hand, King Sapnap brought his attention to it, glancing down at the dark green and yellow marble wax that decorated the piece of rolled parchment.
If her physical appearance wasn’t enough to convince the King of her composure and state of mind, then the shaking of her hands as she gave Sapnap the letter was an even clearer indication of her strife, her hands frail and her fingers looking like they were about to crack and shatter from handing the letter over to Sapnap.
The King felt bad for her. It was not the kind of feeling that came from pity, but from compassion. It reminded Sapnap that even the strongest person could be undone. Whether by grief or overwhelming empathy for others, no one person could think to be safe from the sting of having someone you love be hurt, or worse. It was not possible.
The letter now in Sapnap’s hands, he turned to address the elephant in the room. “Mirabella, I appreciate your service at this time, but you needn’t feel like you must carry on.” He noted.
“A Duchess’s duty is-”, she tried to justify.
“As King”, he cut off instantly, “I command you to retire from your duties for the next couple of weeks”, King Sapnap interrupted, holding up his hand to order she not speak in defiance. “I do believe in my heart that George is alive somewhere in this world, but I know that this hope doesn’t make the event of his fall hurt any less, Your Grace. Go.” He said, placing a more informal and friendly hand on her shoulder. The Duchess had always been a sort of mentor to Sapnap, alongside his father and his advisor. “Grieve and rest. When I need you, I will send for you.” He assured, ushering her to leave and put her work on hold.
Staying quiet and deliberating, but ultimately following the command of the King, Lady Avelain nodded firmly to Sapnap. “Your Majesty.” She dismissed herself before turning from the other three people present, then proceeding to glide away down the carpeted marble and limestone hallways with all the grace of a quickly withering rose.
King Sapnap heard her footsteps get more distant as she walked away, the click and clack of her shoes eventually disappearing from his ears, indicating she had well gone and hopefully taken heed to Sapnap’s words.
The King broke the seal of the rolled parchment, unrolling it so he could read the contents of its singular page of messy handwriting. As he read the words of the paper, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and thought, his mind accepting the information he was being given and his heart beating like the ticking down of a grand clock in an empty room.
Bringing a hand up to his forehead and brushing some strands of hair out of his eyes and tucking them into his white headband, King Sapnap turned to General Punz. “King Wilbur and the rest of the Court have informed us that Dianite’s army has begun moving out from the North. They’ll be in Veerim Valley in 20 days time.” He recited gravely, glancing between the parchment and Punz uneasily. “General Punz, go to the troops and let them know we have about 20 days until the enemy arrives.” King Sapnap ordered, posture upright and voice powerful.
Punz nodded in confirmation, adhering to Sapnap’s command. “When do we deploy, Your Majesty?” He asked.
It took a few short seconds for King Sapnap to come up with a number of days to give the General. He settled on a number that was kind of risky, but he told himself that it would be fine and that even if the sea and wind were against them, he would still find a way to conquer and overcome it. “Tell them we deploy in 10 days”, he informed the General, “there are urgent things I must attend to before we leave that cannot wait.” King Sapnap concluded assertively.
General Punz nodded again, bowing a bit before he swiftly left King Sapnap and Advisor Skeppy to tell the Darcretian General and Sproalstonian army when they were due to leave for the shores of Wyrlorn.
The King waited until General Punz was far from sight and sound before he let out a short exhale of contempt, his head facing forward but his eyes then moving to watch and glare at the only other person left with him: his Advisor.
Sapnap’s black eyes settled on Advisor Skeppy as his head followed his eyes’ lead, turning menacingly slowly to face the “man” situated beside him. The King’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he kept glaring, his mouth frowning just the slightest.
Still staring, the King began to speak. “So, Advisor Skeppy...you have known my father almost your entire life, have you not?” He quizzed, the hints of interrogation just noticeable in his voice.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Skeppy replied, his eyes only a bit confused at the King’s odd behaviour and random question.
Sapnap strutted forward a few steps to get closer to his Advisor, carrying an intimidating aura with him that showed in his face and his voice. “My father used to say that you had been through a lifetime together…”
“Your Highness?” Skeppy tilted his head in confusion.
Getting closer to the Advisor, King Sapnap spoke lower in a hushed tone as his words fell upon Skeppy’s ears. “You both failed to mention how true that was, didn’t you?”, he remarked. “So, were either of you ever going to tell me? About who you are, about what you are, and about what I am?” He said, shedding light on the revelations of his blood.
“Y- Your Majesty-” Advisor Skeppy sputtered out, face surprised and eyes rapidly blinking.
Sapnap all but stood over Skeppy, looming over him like the shadow of a volcano on the earth. “I have been blowing up in fumes and fire for over 4 months now.” The King said in a deep, hoarse voice. “You could’ve come to me and told me what was happening instead of leaving me to the dark and the smoke. Do not deny it! I know you know.” He stated, holding Skeppy’s gaze with his determined eyes.
The Advisor swallowed a lump in his throat, shoulders relaxing from their defensive position in resignation. “Your father made me swear to not reveal the truth. He wanted you to have a normal life.” He noted to the King.
“And what about what I want? What about what I needed?” Sapnap argued with an unwavering stare. “You cannot make those decisions for me. If my father was here I would tell him the exact same thing.” He solemnly declared, hands tensing as they gripped into the shape of a fist.
Exhaling in disappointment with himself, Skeppy nodded to the King. “Yes, Your Highness. My deepest apologies, King Sapnap.” He said, his head bowed to the King.
“Tell me what you know. Who are you and my father?” Sapnap demanded, letting some of the tension in his hands go.
Hesitant but conceding, Skeppy answered his question. “Your father and I, we are disciples of the Lord.” He stated.
“You really are angels then…” Sapnap commented to himself, gazing off absentmindedly.
“Yes, we are.” Skeppy replied, posture upright and composure never faltering.
Angels of grace, of divine power, the uncharted reach of the heavens upon the overworld. This fact of their magical status nagged at Sapnap, poking at him like that of a rock in one’s shoe; not enough to cause immediate pain, but enough to where the irritation builds up over time as an unbearable stimulus.
King Sapnap had to know something. “How- how old are you? Both you and my father?” He asked, not sure if he would be ready for the answer.
Exhaling a nervous breath, Advisor Skeppy obliged. “King Halo and I have walked this earth since the early days of the 2nd Age of Men, observing and reporting Man’s progress back to our Lord. But before then we had already been alive for a few centuries.” He informed the King.
Holy shit. Centuries...Skeppy was talking about centuries. Centuries of life, centuries of experience, centuries of years that he had no idea his father had been through.
The 2nd Age of Men was over 1100 years old, and started with the establishment of the oldest kingdom in the overworld: Darcretia. That was 1100 years that King Halo and Advisor Skeppy had been living and breathing on this earth, plus whatever centuries they had before that. The kingdom of Sproalstone itself had not nearly been around as long as the other two kingdoms. The King’s sense of time had been shredded. It was shocking.
Sapnap found it difficult to process as his eyes flitted around whilst doing up the math in his head. To the young King, life had only been known to him as something that doesn’t typically last longer than the odd 70 years or so...but now? The knowledge of magical beings and their gift of immortality had flipped Sapnap upside down, his worldview changing again as he was presented with another truth of the world around him.
Mentally slapping himself to pull his thoughts together, King Sapnap got a grip on himself, inhaling to keep his head clear. “You mentioned your 'Lord’? What is that?” He additionally asked, addressing another thing that was on his mind.
“One of the 3 great divines.” Skeppy said vaguely, not providing much information other than that. “But you must understand something Sapnap, the gods did not want for their presence to be known or worshipped in this Age. The Lord did not want Men to repeat the mistakes and trials of the past…”, he noted, looking at Sapnap with grave eyes.
3 great divines? What was that? Skeppy kept on doing this thing, mentioning something but then not giving the further elaboration that Sapnap wanted. It was frustrating. What were these divines? How were they different from Skeppy and his father? Were they not also beings of divinity? And what of these mistakes of the past? What were they, and what was so bad about it that these divines opted to remove themselves from the 2nd Age of Men?
It was like having the stars visible in the night sky, but not having the knowledge or wisdom to be able to name the constellations that they create. Having a bouquet of flowers, but not the education to describe the arrangements’ nor the individual flowers’ meaning. Like having a map that leads to buried treasure, but not the skills to read it and find what it is you are looking for.
The King furrowed his brows in confusion and his mouth hung open slightly as to ask another question, but before he could, his attention was brought elsewhere as a familiar voice called out his name.
“Hey Sapnap.” Karl greeted, coming around a corner with a smile and a wave, approaching the King and his Advisor with his bright aura.
“Your Majesty.” Advisor Skeppy excused himself before leaving in a hurry, gliding down the corridor like he was floating off the ground.
Karl tilted his head in brief confusion but shrugged off the Advisor’s urgent departure. Standing by the king, Karl took notice of the letter clutched in his hands. “Any news?” He asked, gesturing to the piece of parchment in the King’s hands.
Sapnap lifted the paper in his hand, unravelling it a bit in case Karl wanted to read it for himself. “A crow came today with a message from the Wyrlornian Royal Court. Dianite will be at Veerim Valley in 20 days.” He said unenthusiastically, Karl gracefully plucking the letter from Sapnap’s hands and quickly scanning the words on its page before glancing back up at the King.
“It’s a 9-day journey from here to the valley.” Karl remarked, nodding to himself in confirmation of the timing. “We should leave as soon as possible to give us ample time to get there, Sapnap.” He suggested firmly, his light green eyes staring into Sapnap’s black ones.
Karl gazed at the King with spiritedness and hope, reminding Sapnap of his brightness and luminosity in his life, and how it brought him the steadiest sense of balance. But the reach of Karl’s balance only held strong if Sapnap was there reaching back out to him, and in that moment the King regrettably found himself retracting into himself.
“There’s still so much I have to do, Karl.” Sapnap began, looking away from his friend with grave eyes as he spoke in a lowered voice. “What if I can’t find my father before we leave and then-...then I fall on the battlefield...Who will keep searching for him if I’m gone…?” Sapnap said out loud as but a whisper to the air of the space shared between him and Karl.
Karl’s expression fell as the King turned away from him, feeling the spikes of dejection sprouting out from Sapnap as he remained in pensive thought. “You can’t think like that, Sapnap.” He said with hurt but sympathetic eyes. “We are going to do as much as we can before we go, and then we are both going to make it back to Sproalstone, together.” Karl declared strongly, bringing a hand up to Sapnap’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly in concern.
“Karl…”, Sapnap started, turning his head back to look at Karl with his deep, charcoal eyes that were slightly glossy.
“Shh!” The Emissary hushed him, cutting him off from speaking more. “Come on, we’re going to work on this whenever we can.” He insisted, moving his hand from the King’s shoulder to grab at his hand and drag him down the halls.
Karl tugged at Sapnap as they walked briskly and swiftly through each corridor, passing by all the open windows and seeing the high sun of near midday hit their faces as they rushed past.
The King had no words, he could only stare and marvel at Karl’s resolve and tenacity. The Emissary’s will and faith was unyielding, Sapnap feeling the flare of his own strength being balanced out by Karl as he reached out with his heart and gripped his friend’s hand tightly in cooperation, no longer stuck within his own mind or in rejection of Karl’s support.
As true as the twinkling lights of the night sky, Karl would be there to support Sapnap and all the burn of might that would come with him. A balance of Sun and Stars as kindles in the sky, constantly shining and blinking against whatever odds the sky or weather would throw at it.
A convergence of celestial beacons, save for just one…
Both Sapnap and Karl wondered separately to themselves if perhaps there was a spectacle of lunar lambency out there to complete the set of their respective light, and if perhaps maybe they had all crossed paths at some point during a moment that had been lost to the almanac of charted time. A fading and re-emerging cyclical light of underlying and repressed power. A light that had yet to be called to stand alongside the Sun and Stars. A light they both would come to need...
The light of the Moon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vibrant, enchanting, like different coloured wax melted onto one plain canvas, a waterfall of orange and blue from the sun’s setting on the horizon.
Many times had King Wilbur sat staring at it, a presentation of marvel and brightness with the falling of light into darkness. It came every day as both a slap in the face and a kiss on the cheek, as Wilbur mostly interpreted it as one of two ways.
There was the first way, in which it was a sign of hope that even in the dwindling of light, there would come some form of beauty in the wondrous array of bewitching colours.
Then, there was the second way. The recurring symbolism that in Wilbur’s mind, beheld a destiny where all beautiful things in this world will inevitably come to darkness. No matter how bright it may be against the clouds of shadow, it would not be enough to pierce the consuming force of night.
King Wilbur sat numbly in his study chair, the feeling in his legs weak, and his lower and upper back sore from being seated for so long. He had not kept note of the time, but the last time he checked, the sun was much higher in the sky, whereas now it was almost set and gone beyond the horizon.
Flicking through the pages in his hand, Wilbur’s eyes frantically read every paragraph, every sentence, every word over and over again, searching for something he may have missed or something he overlooked in his initial readings of the old journal. He seemed sweaty, frazzled, tired…
He was still so tired.
Eyes getting heavier and heavier, the blinking getting slower and slower, days becoming darker and darker. Clouds had begun to frequent the Wyrlornian skies, overcasting the land in a growing shadow, humidity had blown more and more across the land from the North in anticipation of Dianite’s army from the Nether.
Wilbur would seldom gaze up at the clouds, thinking that maybe he could guess from how great they were and how dark they had come to be, that he might gage how close the wither skeleton army was, and how much time they had left had consumed much of Wilbur’s waking days. The Wyrlornian King had felt the tearing of his very soul, the countdown drawing scars at his heart and digging into his mind with paranoid claws.
Blinking slowly, Wilbur had tried to keep focus on the pages of the journal. In his concentration, he let himself drown out the rest of the world around him, losing more time to the confines of his study.
Small knocks fell upon the King’s study’s door. He did not notice it. The knocking came again, this time a bit louder as if to indicate more urgency. King Wilbur did not notice it once again.
The door of Wilbur’s study opened slowly with caution, before being swung fully open and the General tiptoed on over to the entranced King.
It was not until General Technoblade had loudly cleared his throat and tapped at his desk did King Wilbur snap out of his prolonged gaze upon the same page and bring his attention to an expecting Technoblade.
Attempting to blink away his tiredness, the King coughed lightly to bring some agency back to his voice. “How fares Sproalstone and Darcretia?” Wilbur managed to murmur out in his daze.
“The attack on King Lancel, Prince Dream, and Ambassador George has set back their departure, but I’ve been assured they will leave for the valley soon.” The General said, voice the same as it’s always been, deep and relatively monotone except for the few inflections that he would let slip when he needed to speak delicately.
King Wilbur’s face wanted to frown, but he kept it stone-faced, unyielding in expressing the worry of his alliances with the two other kingdoms. Technoblade knew him better than that, he knew that Wilbur was suffering, even if he was unwilling to show it on his face. He knew better...
Taking small steps to be by the King’s side, the General placed a comforting hand to Wilbur’s shoulder as he stayed seated on his chair, hands clasping at the binding of Captain Sparklez’s journal. “They’ll be here, Wilbur.” He reassured, patting Wilbur’s shoulder a few times.
“I do hope so. We cannot succeed without them.” Wilbur said, shutting the journal but keeping one hand on it at all times.
Technoblade gave him the smallest up turn of his lips before moving on and stepping away from Wilbur to stand across from him again. “This demon is oddly powerful. I’m not entirely sure why, but it is very strange that he can make small nether portals, cast spells, and teleport…”, he commented, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly in thought. “It isn’t like any demon I’ve ever come across before.” He remarked, trailing off a bit.
“The demon is odd indeed. It is quite peculiar that even you haven't seen it before, especially if it came from the Nether.” Wilbur yawned, bringing a hand up to his mouth to cover up his sleepy state.
Noticing this, Technoblade’s shielded eyes flashed in the shadows of the room. “Wilbur, have you slept?” He asked seemingly innocently.
The King sighed as he got up from his chair, turning away from the General to gaze out the single window of his study that was always open. Hands behind his back as per his usual stance, Wilbur inhaled deeply to bring some clarity back to his brain.
Walking over with calm intent, Technoblade stood by King Wilbur, whose sight never left that of the world outside the window. “I know this war has strained you, but you will be of no use to anyone if you are falling asleep on the battlefield.” He declared, eyes now laced with the softest worry maintained by a stern gaze.
Breathing in the air and filling up his chest, the King’s light chocolate eyes kept staring out the window. “I’ll be fine, Techno.” He disregarded with a nonchalant voice.
“No you won’t be.” Techno contended firmly.
Wilbur sighed again in frustration, groaning a bit as he turned away from Techno to pace around his study, frantically looking for anything else to converse about other than his health or wellbeing.
What was he supposed to say? He could not admit to anyone that he was nervous, that he was doubtful, that he was terrified… Should he give in to alerting his peers or his people that he was not as strong as he portrayed himself to be? Was he to let everyone know that he was getting more fragile as the days went by, that he was growing more weary every day, that he was breaking…?
Technoblade approached the King with a waltz. “Wilbur, if you do not sleep tonight then I might just have to lightly convince you using the hilt of my sword. At the back of your head. Gently.” He said in a playful and insouciant syntax, hand flicking at the hilt of the sheathed broadsword by his side, the dark metal clinking as he tapped it.
“You know, subtly threatening to strike your King is a form of treason, Techno.” Wilbur noted with an amused smile, his friend’s comment and classic humour always bringing a margin of fun to his life.
“Monarchies are ridiculous, and you are exhausted.” Technoblade said with an exhale, placing a hand to Wilbur’s shoulder once again, the King standing placidly just staring at a bookshelf in his study and not meeting the General’s eyes. “Get some sleep, Wilbur.” He urged, patting his shoulder a couple of times in affirmation before turning away from the King and quietly leaving him to his study.
King Wilbur exhaled a large breath, glancing at his study door before unclasping his hands from behind his back and going over to slink down in his chair. Sighing as he did it, Wilbur brought a hand up to his head to rub at his sullen eyes and darkening eye bags.
The cool air of the world after sunset breezed on through the open window, skidding across the King’s face, and bringing the faintest scent of roses from the royal gardens. It was nice. Simple and nice. A small pleasure that King Wilbur had let himself forget during the months of this war.
Technoblade had told him to get some sleep, and perhaps somewhere in King Wilbur’s head he really did want to, but his own mind betrayed him time and time again, and he could only remain painfully awake for most of his days with only a small handful of hours being delegated to a light and unfulfilling sleep.
Oh sleep. Such a petulant little thing, like a mistress of night sent forth by some deity of the darkness, made to tantalise him to fall to slumber’s pretty looks and gentle caresses, beckoning him to give in to the fantasy of his dreams and nightmares.
King Wilbur would not have it. They would not take him. He couldn’t let them.
Not because it could not be done, or because it would be too difficult, but because it would be too easy; far too easy to just give in to the rabble of his shallow wants and selfish wishes. If he were to give in to sleep, then his desires would snowball and exponentially take a path towards a place Wilbur knew he could not allow himself to get anywhere near.
Wilbur was not a man who was a stranger to the darkness. It called out to him in his youth, and he willingly took its hand with a smirk in his past general disregard for morality. In those years of his younger life he was not a particularly noble man, he was not a force of lawfulness or good, and that almost cost him everything. He had fallen in with the Moon, and beckoned it to lose itself in the waxing and waning of its glow and beauty, turning it into a pale light of overindulgence and impulsivity.
Many times did Wilbur find himself walking too far towards the wrong side of history, an unceasing darkness inside him yearning to be set free if Wilbur should give it the chance.
Should Wilbur let go, then it would do as it had before: consume him in his own ego and desires, and doom him to a pattern of self-loathing and forceful intemperance, an unforgiving drug that pulled him down to drink in an everlasting black poison of self-gratification that he found near impossible to shake once he had had but a sip of its cup.
Should Wilbur let go, then he should burn up with the sweat of immodesty and lust for a certain kind of...chaos.
But if he was to burn, then he would have it be in such glorious flames and fury of grandeur, that he would hope to take down his enemies with him. The King’s fuse was getting shorter and shorter, the days and nights taking him and weathering at his strength of will by tainted rains and the winds of war. He was slipping...
If he was going to burn, then they would all burn too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The skies were so clear on the Ankkar Isles. Crisp sea air, bright blinking stars, and the most stunning view of the night sky that Prince Dream had ever seen.
It was odd though, as the Prince expected the isles to be covered by the same storms that hung mercilessly around the Twilmor Sea. Yet for all the deadly thunder and lightning, and all the harshest rains that spread throughout the entire sea, the Captain’s ship and the isles had only been graced by the kindest temperament of the exotic weather, as if the storms had simply left them alone and adhered to their presence. It was strange indeed.
The hours of the day had gone through into the night, but despite being the late hours past midnight, the isles seemed to still be decently awake, chattering and muttering barely audible from inside Dream and George’s little shack of wooden planks, mesh and straw.
The shacks were sturdy but light and airy, allowing the humidity of the climate on the isles to pass through the shacks so they wouldn’t become hot-boxes of sweat and thick air.
Prince Dream sat next to George’s bed in their shared shack, stroking the ambassador’s hair with his nimble fingers, and carding through the thick, dark brown locks with the most delicate care. George was lying down, staring at the ceiling of their shack and blinking every once in a while as he let out laboured exhales.
Dream was concerned for his beloved, the breathing of his chest and lungs noticeably rendering some merit of pain as the ambassador breathed in and out. They needed that damned potion, and they needed it quickly
Seeing George want to shift in his lying down position, Dream adjusted himself so he wasn’t leaning on his blanket, letting George move freely without him obstructing his movement. Rolling over so he was now facing Dream, George gazed into the Prince’s deep green eyes as the other kept running his hand through his hair lovingly.
George’s eyes seemed to hold words and intent behind them, and Dream could tell he had something on his mind. “Hey love, what are you thinking about?” He asked softly and sweetly.
“I’m just- worried.” George sighed out, pulling his eyes away from Dream’s stare. “About Sapnap and Karl, about- well, everything really.” He confessed to Dream, bringing his eyes back to meet the Prince’s, the black and light blue eyes entrancing Dream.
The hand that was carding through George’s hair came down from his head to rest at George’s cheek, Dream’s thumb brushing the skin gently as he tilted his head to look at George better. “George, we may have been swept away from everything right to the edge of the world, but- we’re together at least.” Dream tried to contend. “We’ll be alright if we just stick together like we have been. Nothing bad can really happen if we keep faith in each other.” He hoped to console George.
It didn’t work as well as Dream had hoped, as George inhaled shakily and closed his eyes, Dream still brushing his cheek with his thumb as he spoke. “But...something bad did happen to us, Dream. I got struck by magic, you and I fell off a giant cliff; we could have perished.” He recounted, eyes still closed. “We almost died, Dream…” George whispered, eyebrows furrowed in despair as he reminded himself of the events on the cliffside.
“But we didn’t-”, Dream tried to argue.
“Why did you hold on?” George said, opening his eyes and glossily staring at Dream. “You should have let go. You would’ve been okay, and I would not have dragged you down...why didn’t you just- let me go?” He asked in forlorn, his eyes slightly teary and disheartened in their dull expression.
“Don’t you get it?” Dream started, his eyes narrowing in George with slight hurt that he would want him to leave him behind. “I’m not going to let go, George. I’m never letting go.” He declared ardently, the hand that was on George’s cheek ceasing its brushing movements to firmly cup it and hold it carefully in his warm fingers.
“Dream-” George whispered out emotionally, small tears forming in his eyes.
“I love you, George.” The Prince stated, cutting off whatever it was George was going to say, not wanting to hear his love utter words so far from hope and so close to despair. “We made a declaration in the garden; a declaration of red camellia. I shall go with you to whatever end. And if you should fall, then I’m falling with you.” Dream declared fervently, bearing into George’s eyes and holding his gaze fiercely, the Prince’s face now warm and dusted pink from the overwhelming heat of his feelings.
“Dream…” George called out, tears now softly streaming from his eyes, the Prince using his fingers to gently wipe away the glistening drops.
It was heartbreaking to hear that George thought he had brought upon some kind of burden to him, that he thought that he should’ve been cast and left to the sea alone if it meant that Dream could have been safe in Sproalstone. But Dream meant it, he meant it when he said he would go with George to whatever end, whenever or wherever that may be, he would be right there by George’s side.
“Never forget how important you are, George.” Dream said, stroking the ambassador’s face again with his thumb. “There are people in this world who still need you, who still love you. I know I do…”, Dream mumbled a bit. “Please don’t forget that.” He pleaded, voice breathy and small in the quiet, warm ambience of their little shack.
Coming around to Dream’s words of affirmation and consolation, George gave the Prince a small upturn of his lips, leaning into the Prince’s touch on his cheek, and nodding to him as he took more breaths in and out to steady his racing heart. The ambassador was looking a little better after Dream had assured him but his face still remained the slightest bit paler than usual due to his wound.
In an effort to bring some ease to George’s pain, Dream retracted his hand that was on George’s face and leaned over to his forehead. Hovering over the skin with his lips for a split second, the Prince placed a tender kiss to George’s forehead, exhaling as his lips hit the cool skin. George sighed in relief, letting out a breath that Dream imagined held prickly pain and coarse, negative energy from George’s tense body.
The Prince pulled away from George’s space, going back to his previous seated position, the two of them smiling at the other caringly and kindly.
“People out there need you too, Dream.” George voiced out as he reached out a weak hand to Dream’s, inflections of tire just evident in his statement.
Grabbing and intertwining his hand with George’s, Dream felt the other’s long fingers caressing his hand with his thumb; a comforting gesture of George’s support. “Now that my father is not able to go with his men, the Darcretian General and Captain are the only ones left there at the front of their army. They are as great as they are strong, but they were counting on my father to keep their courage.” The Prince remarked, looking down at his intertwined hand. “I do not wish for our troops to go into battle without someone to give them hope.” Dream said, feeling only the tiniest bit of regret that he was not with his army. He quickly dismissed that regret and told himself that although the choice between the army and George was almost impossible, he did not regret being with his love. If he could be confident in anything then he could at least be confident in that decision.
“Are you thinking of taking his place then?” George asked, conversing openly with Dream to help him through his thought processes.
Dream exhaled, taking on a weight that he didn’t think he’d have to surrender to so soon. “I’m the only one who can. Every King needs to be there with his army on the battlefield, and if my father is not there then I have to step up and be more than just a Prince . I have to be their leader .” He claimed assertively.
Thinking back to words spoken by his father, Prince Dream suddenly felt he understood more about what his father meant when he had told him about making one’s own greatness by doing what is right and just. That being more than just a King or a Prince went deeper into the soul of a man, into the very choices Dream would come to make as he presses on in his life. That he should come to inspire those around him, and become more than just a King by becoming more than just a Prince; by simply becoming a better man.
By doing this, Dream could hope that history would remember him greatly, and in the way those who loved him would like his father said: as more than his name, more than his face, as more than just a Prince.
“That’s very noble of you, Dream.” George committed, voice light and airy.
“That is what I have to do. That is where destiny needs me to be.” Dream stated firmly, nodding in confirmation to himself. “I can feel it pulling me towards the valley. The call gets louder in my ears everyday, telling me that it will soon be my time in a succession of clearing trumpets to the melody of our song. It’s inescapable, George...”, he whispered out finally, the words softly hitting George’s ears as a series of daunting but irrepressible declarations as his eyes stayed focused on his and George’s clasped hands.
The pull was getting stronger, and both Dream and George could feel it. The profound force of destiny wanted them to venture across the rest of the Twilmor Sea to go to Veerim Valley, wanted them to meet their fate out there on the field, wanted them to complete their destiny and play their song in the final symphony of this war. It needed them to bid their time and soon press on.
“If this is your destiny, then you should go out to meet it.” George said, squeezing Dream’s hand with his own, the pressure not very present as he was still quite weak from his injuries.
Bringing his eyes up from his hand to softly gaze at George, Dream smiled fondly at him, a small shimmer of light gracing both their deep and rich irises. “Reminds me of something my father would say.” The Prince noted.
“Well, he is an inspiration to the continent.” George added in response. Upon seeing Dream’s face contort in thought and brief doubt, George gave his hand another reassuring squeeze. “You will follow him to the halls of the great, Dream. You will be great.” He said sincerely, staring into Dream’s green eyes with decided genuinity.
“I will try.” Dream replied, hoping that when the time came he could do his father and his kingdom proud.
“But”, George said, stopping the moment and redirecting it, “as much as I want you to be great, I fear for you.” He commented with a concerned expression.
Dream shifted a bit in his seat to sit more upright. “There is nothing to fear.” He stated whilst shaking his head, holding George’s stare with persistence.
“You know the stakes of this war, you know how dangerous it is going to be. Neither you, nor I, even know the first thing about wielding a sword. You would die in battle, Dream.” George said gravely, like the words themselves conjured up the scene of the Prince’s memorial among the glorious dead of his forefathers.
“The risk is very high but- I do have an idea.” The Prince muttered, voice getting fainter as his eyes trailed from George to the door of the shack.
Quirking a brow, George could already guess what Dream was going to suggest. “You’re going to ask Captain Quackity to teach you, aren’t you?”
Whoa, the Captain’s name was ‘Quackity’? When was George going to tell him this?
The Prince had meticulously spent hours trying to get some indication of his name by eavesdropping on many conversations hoping that someone would let slip the words from their mouths, but all he got was the various nicknames the Captain had gone by.
“How do you know his name?” Dream demanded lightly, wondering how the hell George had come across that information.
“Because I asked him. Nicely.” The ambassador said, clearly entertained by the Prince’s wit. Dream had been so preoccupied with coming up with convoluted plans to try and figure out Quackity’s name, that he had completely overlooked the simplest answer available.
Rolling his eyes in amusement at George’s charming laugh and the funny circumstance, Dream heard a babble of voices close by near their wooden shack. One of the voices he recognised belonged to that of Captain Quackity. Of course it was.
“Speak of the devil.” Dream groaned out as he got up from his seated position. Leaning over once more, the Prince quickly placed a short and sweet kiss to George’s forehead again before turning to head to the door. “Get some more rest, George.” He called out behind him, George nodding and closing his eyes as Dream left their little shack.
Approaching the two people standing near his and George’s shack, Dream caught just the very end of the conversation the Captain was having with another person that Dream recognised was a member of his crew.
“-aren’t enough, Big Q.” A man with a shaved head and blue and red lensed glasses said to the Captain, hushing his voice as to not have anyone else hear.
“Fucking shit, well that’s not good.” Quackity commented in a tired tone.
Dream finally made his way up to them, coming to their little circle with audible steps on the bits of gravel and pebbles that created the paths of the Ankkar Isles. “What’s going on?” He asked brightly, trying to be friendly.
Quackity made eye contact with the member of his crew, the guy nodding to the Captain before excusing himself from the circle.
Left alone with Dream, Quackity scratched the back of his neck in nervousness. “Okay so, good news is that we have plenty of grog left on the isles. We will not be running out anytime soon.” He said with a charming grin, his hands overly expressive as he made gestures like he was telling a story with them. “Bad news is that we’re missing one ingredient for the potion for your…”, he spoke, trailing off so Dream could indicate the nature of his and George’s relationship.
“For George.” Dream filled in sternly and with the slightest inflection of a question at the end of his answer.
Bearing his teeth and golden fang, Quackity nodded slowly to Dream with quizzical eyes. “Right...yes...okay.” He said, raising a brow to the Prince. “Well, we do not have enough glowstone for the greater potion of regeneration.” He informed, heaving a great sigh into the humid night-time air.
“Alright, what does that mean?” Dream beckoned, wanting Captain Quackity to give him more elaboration.
“Well Princey, this means I’ll have to go fetch some.” Quackity groaned, gritting his teeth and grinding them in annoyance, frustration, and underlying dread. Internally, Quackity had been rolling out swears of every kind in every language he knew, muttering and uttering a series of wittily arranged curse words as a creative cascade of short and poetic stanzas.
Dream rolled his shoulders back so he could stand more steadily to spite the nickname of 'Princey' that Quackity had so nicely given to him. “Great. When do we leave?” He asked firmly, crossing his arms so he could appear more serious to the Captain.
“Woah, woah, woah. We?” Captain Quackity questioned, following the remark with a scoff and condescending chuckle. “No, you are staying here with your boyfriend.” He told Dream, pointing to the ground as to demonstrate where the Prince would be forced to stay. .
“No, I'm coming with you to help.” Dream insisted assertively, uncrossing his arms and meeting Quackity’s mysterious ultramarine eye with his gaze.
“I don’t think you understand, Princey. We’re not just going for a stroll across the country. Glowstone is only found in one place: the Nether. And I can’t be responsible for you across realms, Your Highness.” He averred, trying to emphasize the severity of this short quest and the delicacy at which it must be carried out.
Dream gulped at hearing that the final ingredient for the potion that would save George would need to be retrieved from the Nether, but he held his stance, maintaining his position to accompany Quackity to get this ‘glowstone’. “I can be useful, Quackity. I want to help. Please...”, he pleaded, his shamrock eyes bearing into the Captain’s with a glistening shine.
Quackity paused as he met Dream’s eyes, the deep green of his irises bringing forth the image of someone he cared about in his mind. The light in the Prince’s eyes bounced off Quackity like a blinking star, and the familiar expression had reminded him of a warm and friendly Karl, bringing Quackity back to just a few nights ago when he had been able to meet him again after a long and trudging 60 years.
Dream’s eyes were green and bright, and that was all it took for the Captain to see his friend in the Prince’s place, Karl’s softness and constant light emulating through Prince Dream’s expression.
Karl, who was Quackity’s twinkling light; Karl, who came to be the Stars of his night sky; Karl, who shared his light in the balance of Quackity's darkness.
Karl was the kind of person who always wanted to help, only wishing for everyone to be able to be safe and happy; a simple but kind and genuine wish. The Captain’s eyes softened at this thought as he held Dream’s stare.
In that moment, Quackity saw Karl in Dream’s eyes, and remembered what it was to him that he could just help others. His wide and blinding smile had Quackity feel comforted, but it was Karl’s calming and pleasant eyes of light green that always got to him. They were eyes he could never say ‘no’ to, and in that moment, Quackity found himself having the same problem with Prince Dream. Perhaps he should let the man help, like he would let Karl help if the Emissary had asked the same of him.
Swerving from his previous judgement, Quackity deeply inhaled and exhaled before giving Dream a relinquishing expression that told the Prince he was allowing his request. Dream’s eyes grew brighter as he read Quackity’s expression, the Captain noticeably rethinking his decision to let Dream come with him.
Shaking his head but resigning to the Prince’s wish, Quackity heaved another sigh. “Well, it’s too late right now to go.” He said, glancing up to the night sky and taking note of the moon’s position in the sky. “We’ll leave shortly before this time tomorrow night. I’ll have Foolish leave you some clothes tomorrow that you’ll need for the Nether.” He informed Dream, motioning with his hands to the Prince’s dirty robes that he hadn’t changed out of yet. “Before we leave, I’m going to need you to go to the armoury and pick out a weapon for yourself. Just don’t grab anything too...out of your experience. Until then, get some sleep. You’ll need it.” Quackity concluded with his typical grin, adjusting his rolled up sleeves by pulling them up more before letting one hand rest on his sword and the other hand rest in a pocket of his pants.
Dream looked only slightly offended at Quackity’s blunt remark about his experience with weapons, but he couldn’t really take it to heart as the Captain was completely right. Dream had no idea how to wield a sword, nor any other weapon for that matter. The Prince had not needed to take up arms, and back then he did not particularly want to.
He had his books, he had his garden, he had everything else that was not skills of the blade. This had turned out to be a mistake, and it was something Dream would hope he could rectify before he was to make his way to the valley. It was something he hoped he would not be alone in figuring out. Before this was all over, he was going to need Quackity’s help. That much remained certain to him. He would need Quackity.
Nodding to Quackity, Dream momentarily scanned his eyes across the shacks that littered the main island of the Isles where they were currently situated. He was looking for some sort of sign that would tell him where the armoury was, but he could not see too well through the dark of night.
Seeing the Prince’s scattered gaze, Quackity grinned wider and let out another amused chuckled. “The armoury is the big shack closer to the docks, by the way.” He informed, clearing his throat afterwards to shake away any awkwardness they may have been feeling in the brief silence they shared.
Prince Dream turned to the area by the docks and repeated the Captain’s words back to himself inaudibly, turning back towards Quackity with a sort of shy expression. “Thank you.” He said courtly, putting on his voice of proper address that he used all the time back home in Darcretia.
Giving Dream a small saluting gesture with his fingers, Quackity watched as the Prince waltzed away, switching between a dignified stride and a casual stroll as if the poor bastard didn’t know which he was supposed to use. The Captain’s grin fell to hold a small genuine smile as he watched Dream go back to his shack, laughing a bit to himself after the other had left his sight.
It was funny, but it was also endearing. Quackity had almost forgotten what royalty looked like. Not by appearance, but by character. The last person of royalty he had come to know did not act like it in their younger years, giving Quackity a very skewed image of what it was to be someone in the royal family. But watching Dream, he could tell the Prince was a man of fine stature and gracious character. He could tell Dream had the potential to be a great sovereign.
However, taking the Prince with him to the Nether tomorrow night was another matter entirely, and Dream had no idea what he was in for. The Prince hadn’t a clue what it meant to take steps through the fires of the scourging realm. Not one clue.
If Dream were to take one misguided step, he could find himself in a world of searing pain, for if one thing remained true in this age, it was that no mortal man ever came out the Nether unscathed. No mere man ever left there without getting burned.
Quackity stared at the night sky, praying to the stars that Dream’s skin would stay unharmed and unburdened by any scarring injuries that could befall him in the Nether. Reaching up slowly with his hand and touching his scar, Quackity ran his fingers over the hardened tissue, closing his eyes to blink away flashes of a memory he’d rather leave behind. A memory that wished would stay buried deep within his mind far away from his conscious being.
If there was one thing he could wish for, it would be to forget it. To forget that...
Notes:
ayo the official start of this story is underway im pretty excited. I'm actually not too happy with this first chapter but if I don't get it out then ill be stuck on it forever so here it is
again, hope the set out isnt too annoying to follow along with and apologies if it gets messy, i have separated characters pov thingies with these curly lines (~~~). more characters to be added and their stories are yet to be introduced but i will get there slowly, ive got lots off chapters to get through yall
(edit: so im actually quite busy and have been coz i went on a trip for 2 weeks and im going on another one rn and stuff so the next couple of updates will take longer, apologies for the wait)
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
Chapter 3: Through Glass And Fire
Summary:
19 days left.
King Wilbur commands the young Captain of the Wyrlornian army to attend to a special mission. A wild and untamed Prince Tommy seeks out his destiny against the wishes of others, and his best friend, Captain Tubbo, consoles him as he makes a vow.
Progressing his capabilities, King Sapnap takes a moment to wonder about the nature of the elicitation of his powers.
On the Ankkar Isles, Dream and Quackity make for the cursed realm of the Nether, journeying there and back to find the last ingredient they need to help heal George, the Prince encountering new and bizarre things, and Captain Quackity being faced with a haunting fear from his past.
Notes:
ahh im really sorry it took so long for me to update this. ive been extremely busy travelling up and across state for the holidays and doing other cool stuff like getting another tattoo and whatnot. anyways here ya go this is about 14k+ words so i hope that makes up for it or smth. i do promise to get back into it moving on from here so hopefully that doesnt fall through coz i still have so much left to write.
as always, i do not edit my work so apologies for any spelling/grammar/continuity errors.
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Faint was the wind, and late was the morning. A day typically like any other, only now its passing was felt by almost everyone in the entire overworld; a moving shadow of black and bone that was only getting closer and closer to the borders of Wyrlorn.
Young and bright was the Captain of the Wyrlornian army. Too young and too bright. The young man took confident but unassuming strides down the halls of the old and tall castle, passing walls of cut stone, patterns and symbols perfectly cut in the grey rock, the design as delicate and intricate like it had been carved out by tiny streams of water, or by a person with the most petite and small of hands.
The saffron yellow of the carpet and banners of the halls had kept their colours for now, and the viridian green that accompanied it still maintained its rich hue, however, the Captain couldn’t help but notice the slightest bit of dulling to the colours, frowning slightly at the sight as he kept walking.
Arriving at the King’s study, Captain Tubbo knocked gingerly at the wooden door taking a deep breath and reminding himself to keep his smile. Upon hearing the King’s voice from beyond the door permitting him to enter, the Captain grasped at the doorknob with his hand and entered the study. Closing the door behind him after he stepped inside, the Captain gave the King a small bow of his head before approaching him further.
The King glanced up from his thick book, adjusting his glasses as Captain Tubbo began talking. “You sent for me, King Wilbur?” He asked, hands resting at his belt or at his sides.
Letting out a laboured exhale, King Wilbur closed the book he was reading but kept it in his grip, a tab on the page keeping track of where he was up to. “Yes. Captain, you have served this country well the past few years and you have excelled in your position, but I must ask one final thing of you.” Wilbur said, gazing at Captain Tubbo with his tired, tired eyes. Inhaling and exhaling a shallow breath, he sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “I would have Tommy be accompanied by you at all times in the coming weeks. Do not let him go too far without you. Do not let him out of your sight.” King Wilbur commanded, staring at Captain Tubbo with expressionless eyes.
The Captain’s brows furrowed and he eyed the King in confusion. “Forgive me Wilbur, but I don’t understand-”
“You are his brother in arms. His best friend.” The King cut him off with a declarative tone. Wilbur stayed seated at his desk, but his intent was strong and it reached out to the Captain as a stretch of understanding and faith. “This is something I am asking you to do, not just as your King, but as your friend. I trust you to stay with him. I trust you to protect him, Tubbo.” King Wilbur claimed softly, still holding the Captain’s stare.
Tubbo inhaled briefly before letting the air leave his lungs as a sigh of acceptance. “Yes, My Lord.” He confirmed, bowing his head to the King respectfully. As he lifted his head back up, the faintest brush of wind came upon Tubbo’s face, turning his attention shortly to the open window of the King’s study. Although they had been burnt out, he could also smell the lightest aroma of lemongrass and citrus floating about for a split-second before it was gone again.
King Wilbur nodded to the Captain, his hands skipping over the book he had in his hands as he fiddled at the edge of the pages, presumably to flick to the page he was just on. Wilbur gave Tubbo a fatigued but genuine upturn of his lips. “You may leave.” He said, dismissing the young Captain.
Captain Tubbo turned from the King, pondering the whole time he left the study and went about his regular business. He was confused still, wondering why the King had put such emphasis on staying close to his younger brother, Prince Tommy. Tubbo had already stuck by him during their youth, childhood best friends that had grown up together under cloud and canopy of the rich country, so why the extra need for him to not let Tommy out of his sight?
Wilbur’s mission was intriguing. Tubbo had gone to the King that morning expecting some sort of command in regard to the Wyrlornian army as per his role as the Captain, however he was basically tasked to be Prince Tommy’s bodyguard.
Was the King asking him to do more because he thought Tommy couldn’t protect himself? Was he asking this because he thought that somewhere in his mind that perhaps...Tommy couldn’t make it on his own? Did he think they weren’t going to make it at all…?
The thought troubled Tubbo, yet he pressed onward and forward with strength and all the beaming brightness of a lone sunflower in a field of weeds and decay.
King Wilbur remained in his study, breathing in and out the musty air of the room, eyes never leaving the pages of the journal in his hands. His dulling brown eyes searched and scanned every line on every page, over and over again, day after day and night after night. Amidst all the entries in Captain Sparklez’s journal there must’ve been something he could use, some kind of information about Dianite and the 1st Age that could help him try and get an angle on the Blood God.
It was an infuriating process, Wilbur’s forehead creasing constantly and his eyes narrowing in annoyance. Headaches lingered as shadows under his eyelids, and the King flicked through the journal restlessly. Some might say it was a fruitless venture, for it was a matter of rereading the paragraphs and repeating the same motions again and again with no differing results. At best, it was mildly concerning. At worst, it was almost barbaric.
Turning another page, Wilbur read through an entry from the journal dated some few months before the entry that details the aftermath of the war of the 1st Age. The words were all too familiar, yet the paragraph settled in the King’s mind differently this particular night.
It described methods found to vanquish wither skeletons. Of course, you could slay the beasts with a tempered blade and a harsh swing, but there was one other way to kill them. Wilbur knew of this, however he did not use it to his disposal before, as Phil and Technoblade had regarded it as inefficient for the smaller attacks on the border villages all those months ago.
With his sight never left the last sentence on the page, Wilbur’s mind pondered and deliberated back and forth. The King ran his fingers over the page as he let the words be scorched into his brain.
‘As they are raised in hell and fire, we have found that the skeletons may be razed by hellfire.’
Perhaps, this was something he should have recognised sooner…
The clinking of blade against blade sounded out through the small training courtyard, and Prince Tommy smirked in contempt as he threw his slew of small knives at Captain Tubbo, the two of them continuing to spar in competitive fun.
Hitting away one of the knives with a spin of his spear, Tubbo dodged the other knife that was thrown at him by doing a staggered back bend, one of his hands touching the ground briefly before using it to push himself back up with a slight shake.
The spear he wielded was an extension of his body, the dark grey metal of its blade strong but light in his hands. The brass colour of the socket reflected off small rays of sunshine, and the woven leather around the dark wooden shaft of the spear made for a quite unassuming weapon in the young Captain’s hands. One would not think that a Captain of the Wyrlornian army would take up anything other than a sword or axe, however Tubbo’s experience in tumbling and impressive agility gave the use of a spear in his hands an interesting dynamic.
The blond Prince smirked in triumph, pleased with himself that he threw his friend off balance. “I think I’ve got you beat this time.” Tommy declared loudly, breath short due to the rigorous activity.
“Nah, I don’t think so.” Tubbo responded with a scoff. “I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back.” He said confidently, twirling his spear in one hand whilst running the other through his warm brown hair, drops of sweat dripping down his flushed face.
Tommy narrowed his eyes, slowly bringing his hands down to his sides. “You think you’re so cool with your fancy steps and pointy stick-”, he started, instantly pulling out two daggers and lunging at the Captain with swift gusto.
The two daggers he possessed were a hallmark of Prince Tommy’s fighting style. Whilst the Captain had the graceful poise of wind through scattering trees, Tommy whereas was like that of jagged rocks through a waterfall. Whilst he had the flow and ferocity needed to deal some damage, it was more so a style that dealt in rapid and sharp attacks over time.
Clutched in Tommy’s hands were daggers of bright silver, the curved blades emulating the basic shapes of leaves in the spring, the Wyrlornian colour of viridian laid at its handle, with etched patterns of beautiful craftsmanship all along the blade.
Slashing at Tubbo in rapid succession with his long, sharp daggers, Tubbo blocked the daggers with his spear, the clashing of the blades on the shaft of the spear filling the air of the courtyard along with their grunts of effort and taunting shouts. “I am cool with my fancy steps and pointy stick.” Tubbo retorted with a grin, exhaling with effort as he fought Tommy off.
Using the head of his spear, Captain Tubbo managed to slap away one of Tommy’s silver and dark green daggers, the Prince watching it clatter to the floor with wide eyes. In a short moment of the Prince’s indecision and wavering composure, Tubbo motioned to further throw jabs at the other, Tommy quickly and nimbly jumping backwards as to get away from the Captain.
Now crouching closer to the ground as to keep his stance, Tommy glanced around at his scattered knives on the floor as he reached for a small holster on his belt, feeling around for his knives. He only had one throwing knife left. Looking up towards Tubbo, Tommy furrowed his brows in concentration as he huffed out a sigh. “You just wait ‘til I get more knives.” He warned, reaching into his holster and sneakily pulling out his last knife, hiding it in his hands as he slowly stood upright opposite the Captain.
“You just wait until I get my wings.” Tubbo fired back with a cocky expression. “If you can’t hope to best me now, you surely won’t hope to best me then.” He sing-songed, flitting his fingers down the spine and socket of his spear.
Seeing Tommy’s arms shift, Tubbo gripped his spear in his hands in anticipation, reading his demeanour and expecting one last attack from the Prince. Tommy threw his last throwing knife with a swing of his arm, the knife gliding through the air like it was flying and going straight for the Captain’s chest. Tubbo’s reaction was instantaneous, expertly deflecting the knife with one easy swipe of his spear.
Throwing his head down and letting his arms fall in fatigue, Tommy groaned in annoyance. Heaving out breaths, he stood back up and placed his hands on his hips to help steady himself.
Feeling like their sparring session was over, Captain Tubbo let his spear rest, holding it loosely with his hand as he flicked some of his hair out of his face. Grinning at his success, he smiled brightly in the light of the sun as he watched Tommy defeatedly stroll around, pick up his daggers, and place them back in his many holsters.
Tommy bent down to grab a few throwing knives from off the floor, letting out laboured exhales as he lifted himself back up to stand up straight and continue picking the rest of them up. “What did your father say about your wings?” He asked curiously.
Feeling the sweat building up in his sparring clothes, Prince Tommy shifted the chest piece of his more casual leather armour. The material had been dyed an incredibly dark green that appeared black to the eye until shone on by that of beaming sunlight or bright moonlight. It was much different than his other official armour, but he preferred this one as it made for much easier mobility when he was training with Tubbo or with Technoblade.
Tubbo gazed up toward the cloudy sky, breathing in the warm air as he thought about his father. Last Champion of the 1st Age, first Man to be blessed by the Void with immortality, angel of The Lady , former Captain of the Wyrlornian army: Captain Sparklez.
It was tremendous shoes to fill. To be able to live up to the story and legacy of his father was trifling and burdensome, and Tubbo often found himself anxious and weighted with the task of being as great as his father in the enigmatic stories of old.
He had lived a hundred lifetimes and done so much in the overworld before his resignation to fatherhood once Tubbo was born, and he had taken up the mantle of trying to raise his son as best he could, given his position in The Lady’s favour. It had only been 11 years since King Wilbur had been crowned King, and Captain Sparklez had since begun to regress back to take up periods of residency in the black realm of stars and space. This had Tubbo being partially raised by Phil and Kristen in his stead, the young man gradually finding himself in the care of many others that he had also come to call family.
Tubbo missed his father terribly though, only seeing him every so often when he would come and visit from the void. Captain Sparklez had told him that his time in this world was over, and that it now belonged to the next generation. It was for them to shape and lead this world, a long awaited relinquishing of the overworld to the sons of great forefathers.
He did not resent his father for this, however he did resent that one day he would eventually retire to the other realm forever, and peacefully live out the rest of his immortal life in the recesses of tranquil quiet and balanced exhibition. When he had spent his time in the overworld, Tubbo hoped that one day he could be granted access to join him. He hoped that he could live long enough to see that day.
Sighing into the fresh air of the courtyard, Tubbo tilted his head up to the sky, not paying attention to Tommy who was walking closer to him to pick up his last knife that was lying close to the Captain’s feet. “He said they would flourish when I finally realise what my wings would mean to me, among other little things that I kinda didn’t pay attention to. It’s all a part of that divinity stuff, ya know?” He said, eyes still flitting back and forth between the shadows of the clouds that were blocking out the sun.
Still catching his breath a bit, Tommy finally made it to Tubbo, waiting a few seconds to steady his breathing before bending down. “Yeah I know. You and your angel blood.” He said with a groan, crouching by Tubbo’s shoes and reaching for his throwing knife. “Well, I hope your wings come in soon, my friend.”
“Me too. It’s like I can feel them just waiting to sprout out.” Tubbo commented excitedly. “They’re definitely gonna come in soon.” He confirmed with a cheerful nod.
Grabbing his knife with a hand, Tommy glanced up to Tubbo momentarily, taking note of his distracted expression and flimsy stance. “Is that right…?” He remarked slightly, quirking a brow as his lips upturned to form a sly grin.
Hearing the smile in Tommy’s voice, Tubbo was brought back to earth. “Huh?” He said, turning his head as quick as he could to face a crouching Tommy. Sensing mischief, Tubbo gripped his spear as he turned, but he was too late.
With a skilled sweep of his legs, Tommy knocked Tubbo to the ground, the young Captain landing on his ass and hitting the stone with a harsh thud. Tubbo groaned in pain as he made contact with the floor, his spear rattling as it fell out of his hand, and his eyes closing as he winced.
Opening his eyes, he saw Tommy standing over him with his daggers drawn and pointed directly at his face, sporting a cocky grin and conceited expression.
That cheeky motherfucker...
“Ha! Looks like I can beat you after all.” Prince Tommy taunted, pulling his daggers away from Tubbo’s displeased face.
“You literally cheated! That was bullshit.” Tubbo argued, using his hands to prop himself up a bit from the ground.
The Prince began swinging his daggers around after he withdrew from Tubbo, and then started prancing around the small courtyard in uncontrollable laughter. “I win, you lose.” He sang out with glee.
Captain Tubbo rolled his eyes as he watched Tommy galivant about, annoyed at his friend’s tomfoolery and unwarranted pompous demeanour. Tubbo swore to the gods that one day if Tommy wasn’t careful, there was a high chance he would find himself saying or doing the wrong thing that he’d have to fetch him out of.
The clinking of Tubbo’s light Captain’s armour could be heard tapping against the grey, stone floor as he adjusted himself to sit more upright. It was his typical getup that he wore most often when he was on duty. Matching the dark metal of the head of his spear, it was a fitted outfit of plate steel; details of brass coated the edges of his braces and guard brace, with the rest of the armour being that of strong and flexible leather like the Prince. He enjoyed the feeling of the armour, and worked well to take every piece of it into account when he was fighting, diligently using whatever he was dressed in to his advantage.
Tommy stopped his haughty celebration before looking over at his friend. Noting Tubbo’s tired and frustrated demeanour, the Prince calmed himself down and halted his boastful actions, walking over to Captain Tubbo who was still sitting on the ground.
“Here.” Tommy said, extending his arm out to Tubbo and offering to help him up.
Tubbo glanced at him suspiciously, but Tommy gave him a reassuring smile that was genuine, so he shrugged internally before taking the Prince’s hand and lifting himself up. Brushing off some dirt from his armour, Captain Tubbo sighed heavily into the air as he bent down to grab his spear off the ground, inspecting it to see if it was scratched badly or blunted some more from hitting the floor.
Chuckling to himself, Tommy noticed a patch of dirt on Tubbo’s pants, putting a hand up to his mouth to try and stop the humorous situation from making him laugh harder.
The Captain exhaled in frustration and stretched out his arms and legs before staring at Tommy with a sunken expression. When Tubbo sighed more with slight anger, the Prince’s expression instantly went from playful smugness to brazen concern.
“You alright, Tubbo?” He asked worriedly, walking towards the Captain so he was by his side.
Tubbo turned away from Tommy, not looking at him as he stayed silent.
Oh Gods, he’d upset him, hadn’t he. He hated when they had small scuffles. Tommy didn’t mean it, and he didn’t want to actually hurt anyone’s feelings, let alone that of his best friend. He had a tendency to go too far sometimes, but he always had help to reel himself back in. People like Tubbo, Wilbur, Techno, Phil; each of them were there to help him learn and grow into a better man.
Inching closer to his friend, Tommy slowly placed his daggers back in their holsters by his belt as he spoke delicately. “Hey...Tubs, look I am sorry for chea-”
Whack!
In the blink of an eye, Tubbo had used his spear to knock Tommy on his ass in the same way the Prince had done to him by sweeping at his legs, watching as Tommy slammed against the ground with a grunt of pain and a thud of his body. Roaring out in laughter, Tubbo wiped a tear from his eye before taking a step away from the Prince, triumphantly standing with his spear in hand and the biggest smile on his face.
“That’s what you get.” He said with a hearty giggle.
Blinking up at the Captain, Tommy whined out as he made a sigh of grievous vexation, trying to hold back cusses. “You are stupid.” He spat out, irritated and salty.
“Yeah, sure”, Tubbo let out with a final chuckle. “That’s why I’m the Captain of the Army and you’re not.” He commented as he leaned to one side, holding himself steady with his spear, a shit-eating grin on his face as he kept looking at the Prince with mocking eyes.
“Hey! I’m a Captain too!” Tommy remarked.
“Of the Royal Guard . Very different kinds of Captain, Tommy. You stay in the palace and take care of our precious, royal friends whilst I’m out doing all the cool stuff.” Tubbo noted, feeling some warmth from the sun come out from behind the clouded sky and hit his skin.
Huffing, Tommy stayed on the floor, wiping his hands on his padded knees. “I’m still pretty awesome and great though. You wish you could be like me.” He said, humorously trying to make himself feel better.
Captain Tubbo scoffed. “Nah, not sure about that one. Also, I personally think I’m better, ask anyone really. They’ll all say I’m better. Even Technoblade says so-”
“No, no”, Tommy yelled out as he put a hand up to silence his friend. “Technoblade would never…”
“Oh, but he has”, Tubbo replied in a jokingly menacing tone. “As has Phil...and Wilbur.” He said, his eyes holding an over-exaggeratedly grave stare.
“Not Wilbur... ”, the Prince whispered out whilst shaking his head, playing along with Tubbo as he gazed at the ground near Tubbo’s feet.
“Yes, Wilbur . The King is on my side, Your Highness.” The Captain laughed out evilly.
His evil chuckling dying down, Tubbo reached his hand out to the Prince, offering him a hand up. Tommy kept his eyes on the ground, his expression changing to one of thought instead of playful banter.
“Yeah...seems to be that way doesn’t it?” Tommy said rhetorically, his mood very clearly dampening, and his eyes softening out as he glanced up to look at Tubbo.
Taking the Captain’s extended hand, Tommy grasped firmly as Tubbo pulled him up to stand on his feet, the Prince wiping his hands some more on his armour.
Tubbo couldn’t help but feel bad about his comment on the Prince’s older brother, and he immediately went to apologise. “Tommy, it’s- I’m sorry.” He let out caringly.
Tommy put his hands up to gesture that he wasn’t angry or anything. “You’re alright, Tubbo.” Tommy said, brushing some dirt off his backside and looking at the Captain with genuine eyes. “Sometimes I just wish Wil wouldn’t try and hang over me so much.” He elaborated, bringing a hand up to run it through his sweaty hair.
“You want him to be less overbearing.” Tubbo concluded with an understanding nod of his head.
“What does that mean?” Tommy asked innocently.
Tubbo subtly rolled his eyes again and took a deep breath before letting it out in a small chuckle. “It means you want him to let up on keeping so much control over what you do.” He informed his friend. Tommy really needed to attend to his studies better. But then again, all their friends and family knew that he wasn’t a shining example of the most studious habits or disciplined education. The Captain supposed that maybe it’d take him many more years to get there, and perhaps he would be more like his brother in that regard. Nevertheless, Tubbo continued consoling his friend. “I’m sure Wilbur just wants to keep you close because you can be a bit reckless at times, Tommy. He’s worried about you.”
Tommy groaned out in frustration. “I should be the one worried about him .” He voiced loudly into the air with a heave. In that moment, the Prince went from flashes of anger to flashes of solemn concern, his posture falling as his shoulders slunk down slowly. “You’ve seen him, Tubbo. He’s fading…”, his voice faltered out in but a whisper.
Moving to stand closer to Tommy, Tubbo gave him a fond nudge. “He’ll be alright, Tommy.” He said caringly, trying to meet Tommy’s pale blue eyes with his own pale grey ones.
And Tubbo hoped it would be the truth. He hoped that Wilbur would be alright. He hoped that by the time this was all over, and this war had passed over the valleys and woodlands of their country like water over stone, that Wilbur would still be there. That Wilbur would be fine.
Neither of them could not know what the outcome of Wilbur’s fate would be, but for all the trembling worry and shrouded doubt that lingered over their heads like storm clouds over the vast sky, they held faith in the King and kept hope that they could all make it out of this in one piece. They had to. There was no other option in their minds. No other possibility.
Groaning out and turning to pace a few steps by Tubbo, Tommy sighed out. “Still, it’s not fair. You were given an opportunity to prove yourself and follow in your father’s footsteps, but Wilbur? He wouldn’t give me that same chance.” He let out disappointedly, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Tommy stopped pacing and stared up to the sky, blinking at the obstructed view of the sun in thought before looking down to gaze at the Captain. “My destiny isn’t being stuck here, Tubbo, it’s out there.” He declared decidedly, gesturing to the world beyond the castle and city. “I can feel it.”
Going over to Tommy, Tubbo placed a hand on the Prince’s shoulders, staring with determination into his eyes. “One day, the winds of fate will sweep us away from here. We’ll go off to find our crossroads, Tommy, and from there we will go meet our destinies, together.” He proclaimed with an affirmative nod.
Tommy smiled at Tubbo, feeling the brightness from his friend warming his heart and reassuring him that there is more out there for the both of them, and that no matter what or where or how, they would go and fulfil their destinies together. No matter what, they were always going to have each others’ backs.
Seeing the Prince’s mood lifted, Tubbo gripped his spear and assumed his fighting stance, waiting for Tommy to get back into their training. Tommy smiled even wider as he tapped his fingers along his holsters, ready to pull out his daggers and throwing knives to continue their sparring session.
Laughter and banter filled the air again, and the clinking of their weapons could be heard once more. Another captured moment in the ever growing veiled wait of where they suppose fate should eventually call them to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The high sun of midday, the familiar coastline breeze through the windows, the small but open and clean room, the tapping of a pencil on the piece of parchment that was given to him by an old friend. Sat alone in his mostly unused study room, the young Sproalstonian King sat fidgety in his chair.
King Sapnap had read through the words a hundred times since that night at the docks. His research had consisted of finding everything he possibly could about Dianite, any accounts of the Blood God or even things that so much as might’ve mentioned even just his shadow were all retrieved by Karl in his efforts to help the King in deciphering the translation of the script on his father’s boat. This was not a particularly fruitful task.
In this world, in this age, there was only so much about the gods and affairs of non-mortals that he could find. Perhaps once a long time ago, there would have been more, but now, all that remained of Dianite in any kind of literature was only found in those of a couple of creation myths and legends about how certain things in the world came to be. If Sapnap was being honest, this information did not really help. But Karl had done so much to find and locate everything he could, and Sapnap refused to let his work and dedication go unappreciated or dismissed.
Of the books that Karl had found in King Halo’s study or other collections, Sapnap had not yet come across anything that he believed would be any sort of indication as to what the inscription on the boat meant. Bits and pieces of the Blood God’s influence had been noted in very few lines across only a few short stories they had found. Nothing particularly interesting either, except for some tiny detail about Dianite and a flower wand of power that apparently had the ability to conjure lightning? Again, not so useful in any way really.
Sapnap rubbed his eyes, focusing hard on the piece of crinkled paper that Quackity had given to him. Although he was mad at Quackity, he admitted that it was good to see him. He would very much like to see him again sometime…
Feeling tired, the King did manage to find some sort of zen in his thinking among the chaotic racket of puzzling thoughts and odd pieces of truths in his life. It was an interesting point of focus, a line between fatigue and serenity that he found when he put his thoughts away. He glanced over to a window, observing his reflection in the glass as he stayed in that moment of brief peace that he carved out for himself. A moment where he felt totally in control.
Then he saw it. A quick, dull flash of amber and light in his reflection. Eyes widening, the King got up from his chair, letting the pencil fall from his fingers as it clattered onto the desk and loose pieces of paper.
Did he see that right? Did he just…get his eyes to burn again? He must have, there was no mistaking it.
The feeling of power had momentarily flourished within him, and for that split second of his state, he had made his eyes flicker of his own volition, of his own control . He had controlled it. But this was not like the last few times. This wasn’t like when he had gotten overwhelmed, when he had gotten too lost in his emotions, when he had focused on all that brought him a vengeful anger of fire and flame. This had happened during a second of interesting and unintentional…balance? A balance he wasn’t too sure existed, or knew that he was even capable of even projecting.
Perhaps this was the key to controlling his powers. Perhaps he needed to find his balance, whatever that was.
Breathing out a sharp breath, the King returned to his chair, sitting down with a gentle thud as his eyes came to glare at the maddening parchment. Gods, this was going to drive him crazy. It’s about Dianite. It must be about Dianite. The ‘Blood’ part of the message can only make sense to him if it does. But then what about everything else?
The most burdensome aspect of the writing at that given moment wasn’t necessarily that he could not deduce it’s overall meaning, but that he did not know what any of the other words were inferring as individual parts of the translation. What the hell was this ‘Star’? Why did it even matter? What the fuck was even going on with his father?
Sapnap couldn’t help the flow of his thoughts polluting his emotions, his body feeling sluggish and brittle in the aftermath of his deep and tiring review of literature and the translation.
Why did it feel like there was nothing he could do? Why did it feel like he was just setting himself up for disappointment? Why did it feel like fate was against him…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The nights seemed more beautiful now. More alive. Quackity did not really know why it seemed this way, but he could guess.
With the tide drawing in with the push and pull of the waves and full moon, midnight was almost upon them, and it would not be long before it was time for him and the Darcretian Prince to venture across realms to the Nether.
Standing on one of many dirt paths that carved out walking routes on the main island of the isles, Quackity ran a hand through his black hair before folding his arms. Engaged in conversation with him was his first mate and trusted friend, Jack.
The young pirate was very laid back in comparison to other members of the Captain’s crew. He had a certain friendly charm that made him a person that one could talk to with ease, and he often tackled hardships and consolidation from a humorous stance that made him all the better friend that Quackity could count on to liven things up.
Jack often sported an off-black collared shirt with short sleeves and small, dark blue, striped details. It was an interesting colour palette for him given what he was, but it was fashionable and comfortable nonetheless. Laid over the shirt were grey suspenders, an item that he had a lot of fun wearing as it made him an odd match of casual and proper establishment. Matching his shirt and suspenders, his trousers were also that of an off-black colour that was more similar to grey, and the worn material had many broken seams and holes in it from years of sailing and traversing foreign landscapes. And of course, shielding his eyes were his iconic glasses of pearly white with one lens of red, the other of blue. It was a nice touch that completed his look, and he couldn’t imagine his image without it, the glasses being in his possession for as long as he could remember.
Spotting Dream a far way down closer towards the docks, Quackity and Jack watched as the Prince glanced around at the small island, exploring the layout with his wandering eyes. Jack brought a hand up to adjust his red and blue spectacles, clearing his throat with a cough before shoving a hand into his pant’s pocket. “He has no idea what he’s in for, Big Q.” He said, observing Dream walking around the shacks and posts of the area.
Quackity sighed into the clear air as he kept staring at an unaware Dream. “He’s got spirit. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be fine.” He said with a shrug, letting his arms fall by his side. Quackity did not look at Jack as he spoke, his vision still fixed upon the Prince, and his gaze holding a look of sincere concern. Dream was important. Whether to the people of his country or his family, Quackity knew that the Prince was someone that held great weight in many people's hearts. The thoughts floating around Quackity’s head began to make him foggy as he remembered words spoken to him not long ago. “He has to be fine, Jack.” Quackity iterated with a soft but declarative voice. “I made a promise…”
And to that promise, he would do everything he could to make sure it was kept. Until he could certainly say that Dream was safe and away from harm, he could not properly rest. He swore on the sun and stars that he would keep Dream alive, and he did not take this declaration lightly. He didn’t want to disappoint him , he didn’t want to let him down, he didn’t want to fail Karl …
Dream wandered mindlessly around the docks, taking careful and gentle steps as he eventually found and made his way into the small armoury.
Glinting in the light of the moon and stars through rafters in the roof, his eyes flitted around the place, sizing up all the different weapons that lay on racks or were hung on the walls. There were so many weapons to choose from, so many choices and not much time left to choose one. It was not as magnificent or refined as the Darcretian or Sproalstonian armoury, but there was something about each weapon that caught his eyes that just seemed so alluring. Many had appeared to have been used before, and the style of each sword, each axe, each hammer, and each bow was unlike anything Dream had ever seen before. It was like they were all from another time or another place unknown to Dream, and he wondered if perhaps they were indeed from previous times, or otherworldly places.
As Dream perused all the weapons that he thought he could use, there was one weapon in particular that entranced him, one that caught his attention, one that called out to him.
Hanging on a rack on the darkened and unlit armoury, lay a longsword of rugged steel and iron. The blade was dirty, as if it had been stained by blood and water many decades ago so much so that it branded into the metal itself, a collection of all the chilling horrors or great adventures it had seen in those previous lives. The hilt was curved in such a way that made it appear to be like the stem of a leaf, and he observed the weapon curiously as he reached out to the sword and took it down from its resting place.
Feeling the sword in his hands, he noticed how light the blade was, weighing almost nothing in his hands, and so easy to switch from one hand to the other. The handle of the weapon was interesting, being slightly longer than that of the average longsword wherein it could be used as intended as a one-handed weapon, whilst also allowing room for if it were to be used with two hands.
Dream gripped the sword tightly in his two hands as he gave it a slow swing and fling around to see how he fared holding the blade. It was so easy, so natural, so right, like there was no better sword for him to take. It was the kind of sword he imagined his father himself would have wielded, and that was an affirming thought, but also a reminder of his responsibility as the King’s son. He was going to have to do so much in order to survive, in order to be strong, in order to be great. To have a sword bearing any recognition to his father was an honour, and Dream would be damned if he was not going to wield it with all the might and valour that his father would have.
Grabbing a belt for the sword to rest comfortably in, the Prince hurriedly left the armour with courage and confidence, his new sword making him feel like he could do anything he set his mind to.
From the dark of night, Dream spotted Quackity briskly walking towards the east of the island, the very shadows seeming to engulf and aid him as he strolled down the paths and into the dark. To his knowledge, there wasn’t much over on the eastern parts of the main island as all the shacks and coastal housing units were clustered together much closer to the dock on the western side. He was about to go and follow him away when a very tall person approached him and stood in his way. Dream almost bumped into the broad figure, but he managed to halt his steps in time, bringing his eyes up to look at the person in his way.
The man before him was quite…unique. Dream wasn’t entirely sure what the man was, but he was too preoccupied with his upcoming mission with Quackity to question it further. The man stood at least 7 feet tall, with skin like gold and bronze that metallically shone and reflected in a flawless way, and his eyes glowed a bright and burning neon lime colour in the black of night. It was most astounding, and Dream was more stunned at the sight rather than intimidated by the foreign presence.
The golden giant towered over Dream with a wide smile and friendly wave. “I left the clothes you need for the Nether in your shack a while ago. Your boyfriend said it was okay.” He informed the Prince, still smiling and motioning his hand to the direction of where Dream and George were staying. “Get dressed quickly though, you leave when the moon is at its brightest and the tide is at its lowest upon the stroke of midnight. The Captain will come get you when it’s time to go.” He said, making sure Dream knew what he had to do before his venture to the Nether.
Dream ruffled his hair nervously, not expecting such a friendly and warm greeting from the man. “Oh um, thank you…”, he replied, trailing off as to lead the man to give him his name for they had not been properly acquainted yet.
“Foolish.” The man said with another smile and an endearing tilt of his head.
Dream returned his smile, also tilting his head to match the energy of their brief conversation. “Thank you, Foolish.”
Nodding to the Prince, Foolish trotted away with numerous clunks. The Prince presumed that the sound was either a result of his heavy armour, or the natural state of his skin and body chemistry. Regardless, Foolish seemed very nice and helpful, maintaining this image of interesting and unexpected hospitality from the other crewmates that he had initially speculated were hostile and cutthroat pirates. Whoever they were, whoever Quackity was, Dream had quickly come to recognise that they were also people who were more than what perhaps others had believed they were.
Making his way to his shack, Dream entered the shared space and peered over at the other bed that George was peacefully sleeping in. He was slowly and silently breathing in and out in the quiet, and Dream couldn’t help but feel warm and happy to see him in such deep sleep. Gods, he loved that man.
Now turning his head to look at his bed, the Prince saw a neatly folded shirt that read more like a chest piece of armour. He walked over and picked up the shirt, letting it fall out so he could see it better.
Not going to lie, it was kind of ugly.
Not a shirt he would ever wear back home in Darcretia or Sproalstone. The fabric was brown like it had been stained by black tea and left unwashed, but what intrigued him the most was how the fabric appeared to resemble a faux gold, a very poor quality and obviously fake gold. Right in the centre of the shirt however, was actual gold that had been sewn into the material in a great big and obvious circle. The stitching was tremendous though, definitely done by someone with expertise in the area of needlework. Still, unfortunately for Dream the final result of the clothing was this light brown shirt with a great ugly patch of gold in the middle.
Why Quackity needed him to wear this, he had no fucking clue. But, he assumed it was important so he slipped it on after taking off the shirt he had been wearing, and shifted the fabric around so it was sitting as comfortably as it could on his body. The shirt was baggy and not particularly fitting on Dream’s body, but it wasn’t an unpleasant size, and oddly enough was weirdly comfortable.
The Captain was a man shrouded in such mystery that Dream was on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more about him. The way he spoke, the way he walked, the way his eyes whispered out secrets in every stare he held. There was so much more to the Captain than he showed. Dream had so many questions, so many queries that he wanted to ask, but he kept them to himself, not wanting the Captain to punch him or worse. He could tell Quackity found privacy important, and he did not wish for him or George by extension to find themselves on the wrong side of his temper.
Dream had seen Quackity scurry off to somewhere on the eastern areas of the main island of the isles, and against all his better judgement, the Prince wanted so badly to see what he was up to. Alas, it was not his place to go chase the Captain down right now. Right now, his place was by George’s side.
Carefully walking over so as to not wake George up, he sat down by the sleeping figure and lightly brushed some of his dark hair out of his face. “I will return soon. You’re going to get better, George. I promise.” He whispered out softly, his voice ever so quiet and gentle, his heart squeezing as he watched the other sleep. He was about to press a kiss to George’s forehead when he heard steps approaching outside his shack.
“We have to go now.” Quackity’s voice hushed out, gazing at Dream with his piercing eyes.
Dream nodded to Quackity, taking one final glance at George before getting up from his seated position and following the Captain out of his shack.
They walked in silence, Dream following behind Quackity as he led the way. The Prince’s eyes scanned the area as he noticed how there was an decrease in torches and elevated lanterns with every step they took towards the Eastern part of the main island.
Getting further and further away from the more developed terrain, Dream began to feel an odd sense of understanding. In leaving the Eastern areas untouched, the Ankkar Isles maintained this sort of balance in its composition between the built-up inhabitation of its shores, and the preservation of its natural form and beauty. Dream wondered if the people of the isles had intended for this effect, and if Quackity perhaps wandered over here before to sit in its rendered tranquillity.
The paths soon disappeared, and all had turned to an array of rock and dry grass that stroked past Dream’s feet as he felt the cooling air of the ocean on his cheeks. Stars lit up the sky ever so clearly, even clearer than when he had stood atop the cliffside in Sproalstone, and the Prince felt this ambiguously enchanting but nerve-wracking aura of the dark isles. When the world couldn’t get any more wondrous, it had hit him with waves and waves of uncharted awe and dazzling sights that he only ever dreamed he’d see.
Jagged stone and shrivelled sand had littered the ground, and soon Dream and Quackity found themselves at a small drop off of the main island. Not a cliffside per say, but more of just a rocky edge with a ten metre drop to rocks and waters below.
Breathing in deeply, Dream let the air of the sea fill his lungs entirely before exhaling. For all the lack of light, the night sky still seemed to hold some shred of brightness, the shine of the moon high in the atmosphere bringing forth the highlights of the world as it turned slowly in tune with the flow of time.
Turning to the Captain, Dream saw how he stood at the edge of the land, fearless and strong against the wind, and his eyes softened out to gaze at the world beyond the horizon. It wasn’t necessarily a joyous expression, but nor was it devout of any emotion either. Rather, Quackity seemed to stare out to the sea fervently with raw feeling, empowered by the blackened tides and sound of crashing waves against rock and water, and Dream came to understand how much the Ankkar Isles truly meant to the Captain. This was his place of rest, his place of reflection, his place of peace. .
Instilled in the Prince was this profound and uncanny elatedness, an unweighted loosening of his chest that made him feel like he could float away with the current and up above the clouds. In the unforgiving presence of the Twilmor Sea, he could only feel the most united and seamless freedom. Freedom to be and exist at a point of starry intervention and perfectly imperfect balance.
From the corner of Dream’s eye, he saw the slightest silhouette of land a bit to the North that was attached to the main island, but his observation was cut short when Quackity started to speak. “It’s nice here, isn’t it?” He commented wistfully, eyes fixed upon the tilting horizon.
“Indeed. Being here really is like being at the edge of the world.” Dream breathed out, still taking it all in. He faced Quackity. “Now what?”
Looking up at the shimmering moon, the Captain turned to Dream with a grin and pointed down to below his feet. The Prince quirked his eyebrows in confusion before Quackity nonchalantly strolled over to a shadowed set of stairs that had been carved into the rocks beside the drop-off. Dream followed him down the rough stairs carefully, making sure to not trip on the slippery rocks. At the bottom of the stairs was an opening to a cave unearthed by the low tide, to which Quackity led him through with safe passage and ease, the Prince following directly in the Captain’s footsteps.
“Take a quick look around, Princey. This’ll be the last time you see this world until we get back.” Quackity said with a sigh as they furthered deeper into the cave, his voice echoing across the walls like it was coming from everywhere at once.
The tapping of their feet was all that Dream could see, and the tiniest bits of light had been snatched from the crevices of the cave but was slowly returning the deeper they got, a small glow getting closer and closer.
That was when Dream saw it. A ruined and crumbled formation of black rock that had been weathered at the edges by time and wind.
Quackity walked over and stood by the ruined gateway, bending down and picking up a broken off piece of the same black rock from a hobbled placement on the ground, and fiddling with it in his hand. His eyes narrowed as he reached out with the rock in hand, fitting it into a crack of the obsidian formation and slotting it in place with a smack.
From his pocket, Quackity pulled out a flint and steel, and with a few strokes of the flint he set the rock alight, the fire sizzling on the obsidian as it crackled and spread upward in the space of the gateway. The flames spiralled and flared, the blazing of orange and red changing and melting into one flickering pane of purple, a contained flurry of fire as a thin and mystical mirror of glass. Particles emerged from the outskirts of the obsidian portal, and Dream felt a rumble of the cave in his bones as the gateway gurgled out in a low grumble.
“Holy shit.” Dream marvelled, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.
Quackity looked to Dream with stern eyes. “This is the last chance to turn back. Are you sure you want to come?” He asked, his voice gravelly.
Dream grabbed at the longsword by his side, tapping it as he mustered up a deep breath. “I am sure.” He affirmed, nodding to Quackity intently with a hint of brave enthusiasm.
Quackity grinned as he gestured to the sheathed sword. “It’s a fine choice, that blade is as light as a feather. I hope it bears you better strength than those who have previously wielded it.”
The two of them stood side by side at the portal, ready to go through when Quackity put a hand out to stop Dream before they entered. “Okay Princey, listen closely. When we’re coming back through the portal, I’m going to break it at the last second so it’s closed from the other side and nothing can follow us back through. Understand?”
Dream nodded intensely, filled with the prickles of dread that bore drops of sweat on his forehead and made his hands go clammy.
“You go through first.” Quackity instructed, gesturing to the portal with his hands.
Closing his eyes, Dream let his feet step forward onto the obsidian as his body became engulfed by the purple flames, the fire spreading over his skin in a cool chill that brushed past every inch of his being.
He took another step through.
Then, he felt hot.
Dry heat hit his face and seeped through his clothes, and as he opened his eyes, Dream was met with the daunting sight of hell itself, red as far as his eyes could see, and the crackling of its air sounding out through the Prince’s ears.
He was actually here. He was in the Nether.
The very ground he stood on was hard as fortified stone, and as crimson as the faded stains of blood on dead grass. For all the lava that he could see in the distance of the fiery realm, was this looming and present shadow that seemed to fog up the entire land in a mist of unwavering ash and tremor. Molten rock covered the lower levels of the realm in scalding hot rivers and pools, and the harsh clawing of the temperature threatened to burn at Dream’s skin should he step too close to the damning fires of the Nether.
Behind him, Quackity too had stepped through the portal, scanning the ceiling of the Nether above them with diligent eyes before moving towards the Prince. “Alright, follow me. We have to be discreet. Don’t want anything or anyone knowing we’re here.”
“Okay, I’ll be careful.” Dream said, taking a careless step forward. Quackity quickly grabbed onto his shirt, stopping the Prince in his tracks as Dream had almost walked off an unexpected ledge into a deep hole with lava at the bottom. Pulling him back with a yank, the Captain snickered as he observed the Prince’s life briefly flash before his eyes.
“Yeah. Sure.” Quackity remarked with a grin.
Dream was still breathless, his pulse raised after almost throwing himself to his death. “I’ll just- follow you from now on.” He stuttered out, his chest heaving and his blood pumping.
Traversing the Nether, Dream and Quackity wandered through many areas of the foreign realm, the Prince noting everything he saw as they sneakily trod by unnoticed.
Biomes of red and cloud, of blackstone and asphalt, of fire and scathing lava; they snuck through it all under the expert guide and navigation of Captain Quackity.
Dream began to tire in the hour or so they had been stealthily roaming the Nether, his feet getting sore in his closed shoes and sweat pooling at his armpits and back, showing through the brown fabric of his very ugly shirt.
Upon setting foot in a forest of blue trees and flourishing aqua grass, Dream gaped at the lively sight, surprised that anything could grow or thrive in the barren land of fire. All across the rock was the short and scratchy grass, fluorescent vines of the same blue as the leaves of the trees hung from every branch in tendrils of bumpy plant, and similarly coloured mushrooms were scattered across the floor in close clumps. Particles of neon blue floated in the air, and if Dream were not so wary of the terrifying place, he might’ve come to admire and enjoy the scene before him.
A mere 20 or so metres away from them, Dream came to see something moving from behind the trees and vines of the blue biome. Something magical, something brooding, something that wasn’t human…
Dream hid behind the trunks of the warped trees and peered at the creatures with watchful eyes. Quackity chuckled to himself as Dream turned to him with a worried look. “Are we good?” The Prince hushed out with slight fear in his voice.
“We’re good, Princey. It's just a couple of piglins.” Quackity reassured with another grin. “You’ll be fine as long as you keep wearing some sort of cloth of gold”, the Captain said as he lightly wacked Dream’s chest. “We can just walk past them and move on. Besides, it’s the hoglins you need to watch out for. Tough pieces of shit. Let’s hope we don’t run into any of those.”
The Prince nodded in understanding before bringing his attention to the Captain. “You’re not wearing anything of gold, why aren’t they attacking you?” He asked with suspicious eyes.
Quackity averted his eyes from Dream’s, looking at anything but the Prince as he kept on walking through the forest. “Because...um- I have my fang. It’s made from gold so it’s fine.” He dismissed with a flick of his hand. He had only momentarily froze for a split-second before smoothing himself out with a roll of his shoulders, returning to his usual confident and composed self.
Dream was sceptical, and he could always tell a lie when he heard it. Clearly there was more to this than Quackity was letting on, but he could ponder that more when they returned to the overworld. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to, like not dying, and making sure he could come back to George with all his limbs intact.
Finding a clearing at the edge of the forest, Quackity led Dream to a small area of red rock that contained a luminescent cluster of a transparent glass-type material. The Captain let out a breath of relief and smiled happily at the sight. “Jackpot. Princey, I’ll get the glowstone, you watch my back and tell me if you see anything approaching.” Quackity instructed.
He dug into a small pouch attached to his hip, pulling out a small chiselling instrument as he began to tap and chip away at the final ingredient they needed for George’s regeneration potion: glowstone.
Dream nodded once again, giving the Captain some room as he strolled a few metres away to keep watch.
Mindlessly walking close by was another creature. One of rotten flesh and exposed bone that seemed to not mind or acknowledge Dream’s presence whatsoever. The creature turned to walk towards Dream, and he staggered back towards Quackity, afraid of the weird and probably dangerous foe.
Quackity glanced back at the Prince when he heard his shuffling feet on the steaming ground, halting his collecting for a second. “They won’t hurt you if you’re with me. Just stay close.” He consoled.
There he went again, saying things that were strange and ominous. It’s almost like the Captain was begging for Dream to ask more and more questions. Why did it matter if Dream was with him? How did being with Quackity protect him from whatever this creature was? What about the Captain would keep him shielded from the monsters of the Nether? Who really was Quackity…?
Some ways away, Dream could see a structure in the distance as he squinted. A building. A building of blackstone and metallic reflection against the light from the lava and flames. “What the hell is that?” He asked out, hoping that if Quackity could answer any question, it would be that.
Quackity quit chipping away, placing the glowstone into the pouch before spinning around with a sigh to see what the Prince was going on about. Seeing Dream but 10 metres away, the Captain’s gaze was drawn to the sky above them, eyes widening in shock and terror as he heard the shriek of the flying creature. “Dream!” He shouted out.
Dream’s attention whipped around to the sheltered sky, seeing a blast of charged fire headed straight for him. “Oh shit!” He yelled, instantly trying to flee from the blast.
In a flash of steel, Quackity immediately lunged and jumped in front of him, deflecting the attack with a slash of his cutlass, sending the blast back into the air towards the creature that fired it. It missed the flying monster, exploding in the air with a loud and clear boom, and Dream flinched at almost dying once again in this godforsaken realm.
Quackity stood fiercely in the face of the ghast and stared it down intensely with his seemingly blackened eyes. The ghast shrieked again, letting out a piercing cry that hit Dream’s ears in an uncomfortable stab, but Quackity stayed his stance, not backing down from the frightful monster. With a jolted twist, the ghast swayed as it turned, going away from Dream and Quackity, like it was scared of them .
Sheathing his sword with a clink, Quackity hurried over to Dream who had thrown himself to the ground to get away from the blast. “I told you to stay close.” He scolded. He did not mean for it to come out harsh, but that encounter had him fearing for Dream’s life. The fool had almost gotten himself killed twice now, and Quackity had one job, one task he had promised Karl he would see to.
“I’m sorry.” Dream said between laboured breaths, heart pounding again in the heat of the Nether, sweat dripping down his forehead profusely as he ran a hand across it and then through his hair.
“We should have enough.” Quackity noted, quickly opening his pouch and checking its contents with a nod. “Let’s get outta here before anything else happens.” He nodded, looking around at the Nether warily in a moment of slight fear that the Prince almost missed were the adrenalin not pumping through his veins.
What would the fearless Quackity have to be so afraid of?
The two of them travelled back the way they came with haste, trying immensely to maintain their stealth as they sped-walked through the blue forest and across the plains of red rock and blackstone.
They came back to the portal they emerged from in less time than when they travelled to the blue biome, the Captain fidgety and on edge the entire way back, frantically glancing around and looking back behind them, Quackity stuck in an underlying panic that Dream became concerned about.
Quackity checked around the portal to ensure it was all clear whilst Dream kept watch again. From the shrouds and darkened fog, the Prince saw something drifting toward them…a shadow of ash and flame, a great and mighty black wisp that never ended, a storm of hellfire and looming danger. In the darkness, Dream’s eyes could make out a figure, the figure of something, or… someone…
Coming to the Prince with a fast pace, the Captain beheld the shadow that Dream was staring at.
Quackity’s expression dropped, his face going pale, his blood running cold, and his body frozen in place as his eyes popped open in absolute and unadulterated petrification. He wasn’t just scared, he was terrified, and that fear chilled Quackity to his very core, keeping him locked still in the clutches of formidable fright.
“Captain?” Dream called out, eyes going back and forth between Quackity and the shadow, not sure what he should do. “Captain!” He shouted out, hoping he could get the other’s attention. Dream was met with no such luck.
The figure of flame and darkness approached more, slowly getting closer and closer, like clouds moving with the breeze of the wind across a valley of desolation.
An eerie voice cut through the air. “Quackity…”, it called out. Dream got chills as it permeated the air all around them, echoing out in his ears like tainted speech spoken by a vile tongue.
Flashes were brought forth in Quackity’s mind. The strike of Blood against Bone, the glinting shine of a blade that almost broke him, the screams of an old friend he failed to save, the horrifying face that haunted his dreams like a ghost of traumatic secrets he did not feel he was ready to share.
“I missed you, boy .” The voice said, resonating out and lingering in Quackity’s ears. The voice was all the Captain could hear, ringing out through his head like a series of curses that only he could hear. It was a disgusting and blackened voice, and Quackity grew very uncomfortable like he wanted to claw at his ears to be rid of it, feeling nauseous and sick to his stomach to hear it once more.
Panicking, Dream did the only thing he could think of, the shadow drawing nearer and nearer, almost upon them if they waited but a few seconds longer. With a firm hand and a wince of expected future regret, Dream slapped Quackity across the face with a loud smack. The sound combatted the ringing in the Captain’s ears, subduing the deafening of his movements and quaking of his body in a moment of onset hypervigilance. The slap brought Quackity out of his frozen stance, and his head snapped to Dream with his eyes still wide and fearful.
“Quackity! We have to go!” The Prince screamed, grabbing at Quackity’s arms and shaking him to get him to do something, anything! Shoving Quackity towards the portal, Dream looked behind them to the shadowed figure, the both of them now standing directly in front of the gateway. Dream met Quackity’s bright ultramarine eye with his own green ones, holding his stare and trying not to freak out as he stepped into the purple glass of the portal’s fire. “You have to break the portal, remember? Break it!” The Prince roared out, his voice fading, and Quackity soon disappearing from his sight as the portal claimed him, returning him back to the overworld.
Quackity nodded as Dream went back through with a flicker, harkening the words as he mentally composed himself for what he needed to do. His head turning to the figure of nightmare, Quackity glared at it with resentment before quickly stepping into the portal. As the fire devoured him, Quackity brought his hand up to the obsidian composition of the gateway, and despite his half-blindness, both his eyes flared up in a bright glow of ultramarine as he willed out a surge of purple fire from his hand that seemed to infect the very rock that led them there. Being pulled through, he heard the portal crumble behind him with a crack and rumble, ruining the portal from the Nether side so they couldn’t be followed back. Not like it mattered anyways, he wouldn’t have been able to be followed by him , but Quackity wasn’t going to take any chances.
Dream and Quackity were thrown out of the portal as they emerged on the other side, hitting the floor of the slippery cave with a dull thud. They had made it back. They had gotten out alive, and successfully with the final ingredient they needed to heal George.
The both of them heaving heavily, Quackity lifted himself up from the ground of rock and shuffled towards the entrance of the cave with staggered steps, clutching his chest as he went to leave the dark cave. Dream got up shortly after, heart still pounding as he followed behind the Captain, leaving a small distance between them as he attempted to regain his strength after that moment of trifling alarm that had even Quackity at the mercy of rooting dismay
What felt like 2 hours of wandering the plains of hell in the Nether, was in fact only about 20 minutes in the overworld, time warping between realms and whiplashing Dream like he had been whacked against the side of a diamond wall.
Feeling woozy, Dream found his way out of the cave, Quackity hunched over by the rocks as the Prince caught up with him, almost slipping on the wet rocks as he tried to keep his footing.
“Quackity?” He said with a small voice.
The Captain stopped by the entrance of the cave, his hands now clutching at his stomach. “Ah fuck.” He groaned out before chucking up his guts into the water of the ocean, the waves lapping his yak and pulling it out to sea. Dream placed a hand on his back, patting it lightly and using his fingers to remove some of Quackity’s hair from his face so it didn’t catch any of the puke.
The Captain was vulnerable in that moment, and he fucking hated it. Back there in the Nether he felt so weak. He completely froze upon even hearing his voice, and in the pits of his gut he felt the jabbing of shame eating away at his insides. He cowered in the face of the shadow, he was stuck in place, and that was not something he could just let go of so easily. He loathed it. “I’m fine.” Quackity snapped at Dream, pushing away his hands and trying to stand up straight to keep himself upright. “Let’s just get the glowstone to Niki.” He said, pushing himself on and making his way up the stairs of the drop-off.
Dream followed closely behind as they tiredly walked back towards the paths of the island.
Everything he had seen, everything he had witnessed, everything that entailed his brief journey there and back from the Nether only left him with more questions unanswered. It was strange and malice, but charming in its own right, a barrage of crimson and scarred land that boomed out great roars of the Night Realm. Had the circumstances been different, the Prince imagined it could be greater than what it had been cast as throughout history. He imagined it could have been more .
What stayed ingrained in his mind the most, was the figure they saw when they were returning to the overworld. Shadow and flame that bellowed a poisonous smoke, and sent the very chills of an icy breath down Dream’s spine that ached at his bones and blood, like all the joy and merry warmth of good had been sucked into a void that took all light with it as it swept across the plain. One thing was clear. Quackity knew of what the shadow was, he had definitely seen it before, and whatever or whoever it was, the being had him stuck frozen in his tracks with the most fear Dream had ever seen struck on a man’s face. Never before had he beheld someone with so much blood-chilling fear in his eyes, an infernal and scandalised trembling of unwarranted hysteria and apprehension.
Whatever shadow came upon them in the Nether, Dream knew it had taken a heavy toll on Quackity, and he only wished that in the coming days, the Captain could come down from the shackles of his fear and heal whatever wounds were still open in his heart.
Quackity had shuffled his way to Niki’s potion shack, promptly departing from Dream, and he and Niki had been sitting down for some passage of time already now, his crewmate close to finishing brewing the greater potion of regeneration.
Still shaken, the Captain’s voice wavered as he conversed with the short pirate. “-I didn’t think he’d find us but Princey got blasted by a ghast so- he must’ve heard us. I saw him , Niki...”, he whispered out quietly, his voice cracking and his arms crossed to rub at his body in comfort.
Niki threw the glowstone into the brewing stand, watching it sink into the glass bottles with a sizzle and a boil as it bubbled around in the liquid. “How are you feeling?” She asked, pulling away from the stand with a creak of her sturdy wooden stool and looking upon the Captain’s face with worry.
Quackity couldn’t meet her eyes entirely, his sight flicking back and forth between her clasped hands and the brewing potions. “I never thought I’d have to see him again. Ever.” He winced, brushing his fingers across his knuckles to soothe himself more. .
“You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to.” Niki said, pulling her stool closer to Quackity. “ We can destroy the ruined portal for good if you want.” She offered with a sincere and sweet voice.
“No, no I can’t. We’d lose our access to all the Nether resources, and the people here wouldn’t take that kind of selfish action lightly.” Quackity countered, shaking his head at the idea. “I’d be letting them down.”
“Whatever you feel you need to do, don’t let others influence the path you take. This is your life, Quackity, and you may choose whatever is best for you.” She softly affirmed, Quackity now lifting his head up to finally hold Niki’s gaze. “You’re the strongest person I know. I know you’ll make the choices that do right by you.” Niki said with a small smile.
But, he wasn’t strong tonight. In the face of him , his strength left him, and he reverted down to the shrivelled carcass of a coward. But Dream was strong. He stayed wilful and brave against the cloud of darkness and doom. The Prince had kept his nerve even when met with the worst horror of Quackity’s nightmares. Dream had stood his ground, and he had pulled Quackity back from the depths of despair. He saved him…
Hearing the loud bubbling of the liquid, Niki and Quackity peered over to the brewing stand where the potion was quivering in the glass bottles, the colour of its contents swirling around and around in the convection currents until it went from an ambiguous and shiny pale blue, to a rich and almost glowing magenta.
The potion had finished brewing, Niki moving her stool back to grab a bottle from the stand. It was still warm in her hands, but it quickly cooled down in her hands as she held onto it tightly.
Nodding to Niki, Quackity got up from his own stool and exhaled a nervous breath. The both of them took a step out the potions shack and made their way to Dream and George’s residence.
Entering the shack, Dream sat up in his chair beside George’s bed, George also sitting up a bit so he could greet the visitors properly. Niki stood at the foot of George’s bed whilst Quackity waited by the thin door.
With the potion in hand, Niki leant over to hand it to George, the ambassador reaching out to grab it with weak hands. “This potion is very potent and strong. It should heal you almost completely, but you still want to take it easy for a couple of weeks, because you are human, and you’re mortal.”
George pulled a small cork out the top of the glass, sniffing at the liquid inside as he observed how the magenta pink fluid seemed to sparkle and shimmer. His brows furrowed, George paused before ingesting the potion of regeneration. “You guys keep saying that… Are you not- are you not mortal?” George asked, as curious as his beloved and full of many of the same questions that Dream had.
Niki smiled to herself. “I am technically mortal-”, she began.
“But you are not then human?” George cut her off quickly, his ears keen and his interest piqued.
“No, I’m not human.” Niki confirmed.
George’s eyes went wide in intrigue. “May I ask what you are?” He furthered politely.
“I don’t mind.” She replied with an upturn of her pink lips. “I am ocean-born: one of the merpeople of the Aether.” She informed them.
White was her hair, and across her cheeks were freckles of aqua and mint green, her bright yellow eyes starry and full in the dim light of the shack. Her pale skin was soft and waxy, and upon her face were markings of silver that ran down from her temples to her neck and collarbones, giving the appearance that she was made of glitter. She wore a cream coloured shirt that airily flowed on her body, the short sleeves of the shirt embroidered with faded peachy frills. Her khaki brown pants were baggy and airy like her shirt, and was able to let gusts of wind flow through and past her like the currents of the sea. It was a freeing and light getup, suiting Niki’s style perfectly. A beautiful silver and green darling of fresh waves and open waters, able to fly through the ocean as a bird flies through the sky.
Dream spoke next, following George’s line of questioning. “A merperson? You possess magical properties of the sea?” He asked intently, eyes glistening with a hint of excitement.
“Yes.” She said with a widening smile. “You know about us?”
“I’ve heard of your people before.” He noted, recalling times from his past that seemed so far away now, scattered memories of the stories he had heard long ago reappearing out from his subconscious. “My mother used to read me stories when I was a child, but I don’t remember too much of them now.”
“Your mother has stories about us?” She quizzed with glee, her smile growing wider.
“Indeed.” He said, returning her smile happily. “She knows everything about the old legends and myths of the world.”
Niki hummed in delight, nodding her head in appreciation. “It is nice to know that there are some in this world who have heard of my people.” She confessed with a chuckle.
Dream continued smiling at her as she turned to face George who still had the opened bottle in his hands. “Drink up. The potion of regeneration will help you.” She reaffirmed caringly.
George brought his eyes from Niki to the potion, coughing a bit before bringing the glass up to his lips and gulping down the magenta liquid. It tasted of nothing in particular, save for the tiniest of hints of cherry accompanied by a fizzing sensation that ran all the way down his throat, burning at it as he downed the whole potion. It hit his stomach and immediately began to work, the effects of regeneration coursing through his veins and spreading to every corner of his body, fixating its concentration at George’s upper body near his sternum and healing deeply at his wound. He had been invigorated with energy and life, the potion reigniting his every cell to regenerate his health.
Seeing the effect of her handiwork and precise brewing, Niki smiled at George as she turned to leave the shack.
“Wait.” George called out to her before she could exit. “Thank you. For saving my life.” He voiced out in a friendly manner.
“It was no problem at all. You’re very kind, George.” She remarked, waving to Dream and George as she left with a clink of her shoes on the gravel and stone pathways.
Leaving Dream, George and Quackity to the quiet of the shack, the Captain kept standing by the door as he watched Dream beckon George to go to sleep so he could rest, but George was resistant, causing Dream to push the ambassador down to lay his head on his pillow as the Prince pulled the covers of his blankets up his body to cover him. Dream hummed to George, and sooner than Quackity expected, George’s eyes began to fall as the night settled in his soul and slumber took him off to a land of dreams and unconscious being. The ambassador had thus fallen asleep, lightly breathing in and out deeply in little puffs that clenched at Dream’s heart some more.
Dream laid a warm and gentle kiss to George’s forehead before turning to look at Quackity, getting up from his seat at George’s side and following the Captain out the shack to loiter around on the island pathways nearby. He waited with Quackity in silence, not knowing if it were better if he should say nothing to keep their moment of pondering and stillness after a long and egregious day of robbed exultation and insufferable merit.
The Captain stayed gazing up at the heavens, admiring the night sky and the captivating glow of the moon. The Moon reached out to Quackity, the Stars calling him up to sit and rest with them in wait for the Sun to bring about the balance of day, and Quackity sighed into the air as he wistfully thought of a place he’d rather be at that moment: with his Stars in wait for their Sun.
Deciding against staying quiet, Dream elected to try and talk to Quackity, hoping he might lend an ear to the Captain’s worries. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened back there? At the portal?” He trod delicately.
Quackity exhaled a deep breath. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.” He replied, shaking head slowly.
“That is alright, Quackity.” Dream backed down. “If you- ever want to talk about it, I have ears to listen, and I am greatly in your debt for saving George and I.” He mentioned, looking at Quackity with genuine eyes, his voice comforting and smooth.
Quackity hummed out, his gaze looking away from the night sky to stare at Dream in thought. “You know Princey, I promised someone that if by the chance of fate and time I were to find you two, that I would keep you both safe until I return you to Sproalstone.” He admitted in a low voice, his hands in the pockets of his trousers and his feet shuffling in place against the dirt and gravel path beneath him.
Sproalstone. Fate. Time…
The succession of words that came from Quackity’s mouth were not foreign to Dream, and the association had brought forth but one thing in the Prince’s mind. “Karl…”, he absentmindedly whispered out in a fond trance, trailing off and letting his eyes fall from the Captain’s face to the space behind him.
Quackity’s eyes narrowed as the name left Dream’ lips. “What did you just say?”
“Oh, nothing it’s just- reminded me of a friend of mine.” Dream spluttered out.
The Captain faced Dream completely, and Quackity held off the urge to grab at the Prince’s shoulders. “Karl? You know Karl?” He asked with urgency. Dream nodded. “How?” Quackity interrogated. Dream could’ve sworn that his eye had flared up in a blue glow, but that could’ve been just a trick of the light.
Clearing his throat, Dream elaborated upon Quackity’s question. “When George and I came to Sproalstone, us four had become friends instantly. They’re like my second family, away from Darcretia.” The Prince informed him with fond features.
“Four?” Quackity said with a raised eyebrow.
“Me, George, Karl and Sapnap.” Dream answered.
Quackity’s expression was filled with a sort of dulling burn, and his downcast eyes flitted down to stare at the ground by their feet. “Oh…”, he said with a low and raspy voice.
Be he really so disheartened by this revelation? He had no idea that they were all so close, and had become as family in such a short amount of time. Perhaps it was a matter of time that he should hope for such a thing that they had. A found family of chosen friendship and unconditional love.
Quackity wanted that. He wanted all of it.
It was not to the discredit of his crew, nor the fault of the occupants of the Ankkar Isles that he felt such this way. Rather it was the Captain’s own fault that his heart bore such a desire to have something he didn’t believe was attainable for him. What he wanted, what he truly wanted in this life, was something he had only felt when in the company of that which brought him the utmost peace and bliss of an eternal balance .
Balance given to him by that of constant Stars to which he could feel all through his body when he was with his dear friend, Karl. Balance that he achieved in the twinkling of Karl’s brightness. Balance that only required one more essence of light to truly land Quackity in the carefree springs and blooming fields of clementine tranquillity. Wherever it should be, Quackity longed to be cradled by the light of the Sun.
The events of the last few days were promptly calling out to him, and he could guess where his Sun may lie, he only needed to accept it. To overcome this guilt of a broken promise he made to King Halo decades ago, and hold himself steady to take on the darkness of night, so goes the rise and fall of solar embrace with the continuous turning of the world.
Fate would need Quackity to hear the call. Fate would need him to take up the mantle of his destiny, and fate would need him to take a plunge to resolve matters of a perilous path that had been laid before him centuries ago.
Noticing the Captain’s crestfallen demeanour, Dream felt he had accidentally struck a nerve. “My apologies for bringing it up, I don’t mean to-”
“It’s okay, Dream.” Quackity cut him off to assure the Prince, putting a hand up to gesture that he didn’t need to explain himself. “It’s just, before the night of the passing comets, I hadn’t seen Karl in a very, very long time. And Sapnap...I don’t know if he wants to see me so soon just yet.” He said in low-spirits, thinking back to their last interaction. Bittersweet that he had been able to see Sapnap again, the man now a King that sat upon his father’s throne, hoisted up with pride and honour to stand in the colours of his kingdom as they were faced with a war of God against Men.
The Captain fidgeted anxiously with his fingers, and it was only then that Dream had properly taken a proper gander at Quackity’s hands. Strong but slim with splashes of ink across his nails, hardened skin of sun-tanned colour that was littered with small cuts and burns from rope, and decorating his index finger was a ring that Dream had glossed over until this exact moment. Why didn’t he recognise it sooner?
The ring had sparkled in the moonlight and reflected a gorgeous deep purple with just the tiniest twinges of green in the pretty gem, the amethyst crystal catching the Prince’s eye as he recalled where he had seen it before. It was like Karl’s ring of the very same design, make and style. Dream wondered if this was the exact one that Karl had always worn on his index finger in the same position, or if maybe the Emissary had another one that he had given to Quackity some time before the Prince had known him. Dream could tell that it meant more to Quackity than he could understand, that there was some history he was not yet privy to, but a history that he hoped one day that Quackity would be comfortable enough sharing with him.
Dream watched Quackity fiddle with the ring more, his fingers twisting the jewellery back and forth. The Prince placed a hand on the Captain’s shoulder, giving it a few taps as he spoke. “Hey, whatever happened, I am sure that they would both want to see you again.” Dream reassured him with a small smile, nodding his head to the ring upon Quackity’s finger.
Quackity let out a strenuous breath, feeling some of the anxiety melt away as he took in more of the fresh air. Meeting Dream’s eyes, he let his face relax and soften out, allowing himself to be genuine and present with Dream. He let himself be vulnerable for a brief moment. Just that moment. “You’re right.” He sighed out with a shallow breath. “Thanks, Princey.” He said, feeling hopeful at Dream’s words as he looked into the Prince’s eyes.
They stayed in that short moment of kindling friendship, and Quackity found himself pondering thoughts upon thoughts, layered whispering that seemed to lap over one another in a stacked formation of jagged rock and stone.
Whether by the turn of time or by sheer dumb luck, he wondered if he could go and see Karl again. What should befall upon him as he lay underneath the crushing of time’s decay, he should hope that fate would give him but a chance to rectify that which he longed for so desperately.
Among this tower of burden on Quackity’s mind was also the recent events of his and Dream’s venture to the Nether. He had been overwhelmed with so much fear, so much woe, so much evil that scurried and hid in the corner of his heart. How this world could ever come to defeat such wickedness was beyond him. The darkened shadows and fiery blazes of Blood upon this world would soon strike at the centre of all that was remotely good, and leave this world to writhe and die in the desolate quakes of ash and dust.
And what of fate? The mystery and curse of fate wanted something from him that he did not know he should be ready to give. The song had already started, and the Captain prayed to the stars in a wretch, fighting the pull of an ineffable power towards a destiny that he did not care for. A destiny he never wanted…
A destiny he would come to realise, he could not escape.
Notes:
hello hello, im actually not too satisfied with this chapter either but i wanted to get something out anyways and i had already written like 8000 so i was like fuck it. hope that wasn't too much of a letdown or anything and i do hope the lore of this story isn't too annoying to follow along with, truth be told i almost drove myself mad trying to figure it out but hey, it is what it is ig
i will hopefully have the next chapter out in less time than this one.Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
Chapter 4: Dissonance Of Memories
Summary:
18 days left.
King Sapnap and Emissary Karl decipher more of the script written that was written on King Halo's boat, and Sapnap has a quick chat to find out more about his father from his advisor who has a few answers up his sleeves.
General Technoblade oversees a regularly scheduled sparring session between Prince Tommy and Captain Tubbo, and ponders his role in the war in a reflection of loathing thoughts against the design of fate.
Prince Fundy takes a walk with his grandparents through the forest, consoling words reaching out to him in a series of reassurances about his father, King Wilbur, as they hope for a future that is better than their present.
Captain Quackity wanders the dream of a memory, longing for something that seems so far away from him, whilst Prince Dream sets himself up for a heavy task.
Notes:
hello i am still alive and kicking this holiday season. for all that celebrate it, i wish you an early merry christmas!
this chapter is just shy of 14k words and ngl i did a lot of descriptions for the forest and some other stuff so i hope thats not too annoying to any of yall. if the events of each day that goes past is hard to follow along, i do apologise again i did try and space things out and specifically state the time of day in which each perspective takes place.
as always, i dont edit my work so apologies also for any spelling/grammar/continuity errors.Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The recent formation of new habits had King Sapnap going through the days with less and less care of himself. Later nights and earlier mornings, followed by immediate detective-work and training to develop this newfound power of fire and magic that flickered and surged through his veins, waiting to be unleashed. If it weren’t for Karl, the King might have lost what little routine and stability he had left, but thankfully, the Emissary was able to get him to eat enough of the right foods, drink enough water throughout the day, and sleep for as many hours as his mind and body would allow.
To the dismay of Karl’s efforts, there was only so much he could do to take care of his friend, Sapnap currently standing placid and stone-faced against the brightness of the late morning sun, the light coming through the large open windows of his father’s study that he had since occupied with all the books and notes and scribbles of theories relating to his father’s disappearance. It may have been minuscule but it was messy, and it only reinforced Sapnap’s fury and drive for more information.
Seeing the growing creases in the King’s forehead as he stood over the desk in the study, Karl began to worry again as Sapnap stayed staring intensely at the pages that lay scattered in front of him. In his chair, Karl scooted over closer to the King. “You holding up alright?” He asked out softly, Sapnap not turning to look at him yet.”
Sapnap breathed out deeply, his eyes not seeming to blink as he kept staring. “It’s all so much. There’s still so many things left unanswered.” He said, slightly dazed like he was in a shallow trance.
Karl tilted his head. “Anything particular on your mind?”
“It’s just- stuff about my father; Quackity saying he’s an angel, Skeppy telling me that he is also some sort of ‘disciple’ , whatever that means.” Sapnap elaborated, finally blinking as he shifted his gaze away from the desk, turning around to look out the window with his black eyes. “I just wish someone would give me all the answers already. I’m tired of waiting for people to tell me things that I should’ve been able to know a long time ago.” He relented with a huff.
The words hurt Karl a bit, and he shied away with a slump on his shoulders, feeling the twangs of guilt pinching at his chest like the small scratches of sharp branches in a thicket.
Sapnap turned his head to look at Karl, Karl fiddling with his fingers as he sat hunched over in his chair. The King’s expression smoothed out from his frustration, and he swiftly pulled up his chair to sit in front of the other with soft intent. “Hey, I don’t mean you, Karl…I’m just-”
“I understand what you mean.” Karl interrupted, his eyes staring down to his fingers that he was fiddling with. “I know it wasn’t directed at me, but heck do I still feel a little bad about…you-know-what”, he mumbled whilst picking at the skin around his nails.
The King shuffled his chair closer. “And I still chose to forgive you, Karl. I can forgive it all.” He professed, grabbing Karl’s hands and holding them in his own, cradling them as he rubbed his thumbs across his skin. Sapnap’s gaze trailed down to their hands as he continued to speak. “I’d just rather face every truth as it fundamentally is: no sugar-coating, no half-truths, no bullshit. I could forgive it all if it was just said to me plainly and simply, and not left to the mystery of my own mind, dictated by people who aren’t myself.”
Sapnap brought his eyes back up to look at Karl’s face, Karl meeting the King’s black eyes with his own shimmering green ones, as Sapnap squeezed his hands in comfort. “All I ask for is honesty, and you’ve always given me that as much as you could, Karl. Even if I didn’t forgive you at first, I could never send you away.”
Karl’s lips turned up slightly, feeling warmed by the physical contact of Sapnap’s strong hands. “You don’t know what that means to me, Sapnap.”
“I think I can guess.” The King softly returned his smile with a light-hearted shrug.
Entranced by Sapnap’s stare, Karl found himself briefly getting lost in the charcoal irises of his eyes. The light coming in from the window reflected off them, and Karl could’ve sworn he saw them flicker for a moment, like the sun itself had nestled its brightness around the King’s pupil. It was like the radiant star lived and breathed in Sapnap’s eyes, and Karl thought he could feel the sun beaming back at him through the King.
Then Karl tilted his head in recognition and deja vu.
Stars…
Oh no. No, no! For fucks sake it had happened again! He had forgotten something. Something important that had been buried in his mind and was on the brink of being lost to the recesses of thrown away time. Something to do with the ‘Star’. Something that had been floating down the currents of all that he knew about the world, and was circling a whirlpool that swallowed bits of Karl’s past against his will as the years flew past.
His eyebrows furrowing in agitation, Karl looked away from Sapnap and shut his eyes tightly as he began to shake his head. He couldn’t remember things, and it vexed him more greatly than any other trifling confrontation that had ever crossed his path before.
Sapnap reached out with his hand to cusp his friend’s cheek, halting the shaking of Karl’s head and trying to calm him down from his thorny, perturbed indignation. “Karl?” He called out gently.
“I can’t…”, he whispered out, eyes still shut as he settled into Sapnap’s touch with a lean of his head.
“Karl, it’s okay. Everything’s alright.” Sapnap promised, his thumb now stroking Karl’s cheek.
“I’m forgetting something... I hate when I forget.” Karl spat out with resentment, opening his eyes to meet the King’s. “I hate that part of my life, Sapnap. It feels like I’m doomed to forget everything and everyone that I care about. What if I wake up one day and can’t even remember my own name!? What if I forget you?” Karl choked out, his face distraught and his hands gripping Sapnap’s even tighter as his woe grew.
“You won’t forget, not if I can help it.” The King swore to him, his heart breaking at hearing the sullen words leaving Karl’s mouth. “Just take a second, Karl. Let’s work through this together.” He offered with assertion, pulling his hand away from Karl’s cheek and making its way back to holding at the Emissary’s ones.
Karl nodded slowly as he calmed himself down through Sapnap’s comforting presence. “Okay. Okay…”, he conceded, exhaling a deep breath and closing his eyes to organise his thoughts. Taking in deep breaths, Karl exhaled and began to meditate, feeling the very universe itself move behind his eyes as he sorted through the chaotic shards of memories in his mind.
“Keep breathing. Now, tell me about what it is that you are forgetting.” The King asked, his voice grounding Karl as to not get lost to the cosmos of his subconscious.
“It’s about the ‘Star’ in the inscription.” Karl said monotonously, the blankness of his face an indication of his deep and venturous concentration.
“Alright, let’s start there. Karl, I want you to think about the Star. What does it bring forward in your mind?” Sapnap instructed, leading Karl from the outside, hoping he could give aid to Karl like Karl has done for him so many times.
“Stars...starlight...Starfall...the flourishment...the magic”, he recited in a trance, eyes still closed as his hands fell loose in Sapnap’s grip.
“Good, keep going.” The King encouraged him, not sure where the other was going, but supporting him throughout nonetheless.
Karl pushed through, the shards of memories bouncing around and coming together to create a more cohesive image. Flashes of Blood sprung from the shards, splashing onto a canvas of empty darkness that appeared as a Void of purple and black until it was touched by a single and bright pale light. “Starfall...it- it is magic...it’s magic because it was a gift...a gift from the gods...no- just one god. The Star...” He noted, his eyes moving frantically from behind his eyelids as the memory came back to him, becoming clear in his mind as the light of a great and mystical Star burnt in a flurry of heavenly rays.
Upon seeing Karl’s face contort and crease, Sapnap felt the Emissary was on the cusp of unearthing the memory fully, so he beckoned the question, hoping the connecting dots of Karl’s memory could give them a name to this illusive ‘Star’. “Who is it, Karl?” The King asked with attentive ears and concerned eyes, his breath increasing with the rise in his own heartbeat, and his hand squeezing hard at Karl’s limp ones to help the other come back to him.
“Mianite.” Karl breathed out in an airy whisper, opening his glossy eyes and blinking away the daze as he came out of his trance-like state. Karl’s breaths were shallow as he tried to get more oxygen to his brain. It had felt like he was holding his breath the entire time, and he let his chest rise and fall as he blinked more, coming to stare back at the King as the fog of his memory lifted.
“Mianite? Like Dianite , Mianite?” Sapnap quizzed him, his eyebrows quirked and his interest piqued.
Moments from a time that seemed to transcend the years of the world of Men, the memory containing the name of ‘Mianite’ flowed unobstructed in Karl’s mind, bringing forth the information in a series of odd events and surprising circumstances. It was not much, but it was enough to give them help in moving forward with finding out what happened to King Halo. “I remember now.”
Sapnap shifted in his chair, keeping close to Karl as he recovered his memory. “Who is Mianite?”
“Mianite is the Star God, the god of life and light. Dianite’s equal and his opposite: his brother.” Karl revealed, the King’s eyes going wide at the words.
A light against the dark. A good to the evil. A Star God to the Blood God. Mianite was the name given to the force in the world that stood opposed to Dianite, and Sapnap couldn’t help but want to sit in the notion that there was a god out there that matched all the desolation and shadow that Dianite brought, and spited it with life and grace in its stead. He supposed it made sense. Surely in this universe, Dianite would not be the only great god to exist. Surely fate would not give way to such terror without some form of jubilation to counter it. Surely, there was always a balance.
Sapnap’s mind wandered as he became distracted with so many new theories. “So Mianite is the Star mentioned in the inscription?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Karl affirmed, his face growing darker in shame that he could not keep hold of something so important to their situation. What was wrong with him. Why couldn’t he just- keep it together. “I can’t believe I forgot about the gods…”, he commented in a low voice, still mentally beating himself up. They were harsh thoughts, and ones that only seemed to lower his self-esteem as he kept telling himself that there was something so wrong with him that he felt he needed to be eternally sorry for.
The dejection on Karl’s face was jarring, the King noticing his breaking composure as they sat there. Sapnap brought his hand back up to Karl’s face, grabbing his chin and slowly turning Karl’s face to look at him. “It’s not your fault if you forget things, Karl.” He stated gently, holding his stare with love and compassion. “That isn’t something you can help. There’s no shame in what happens to you. You know that, right?”
He hoped Karl knew that. He hoped that Karl didn’t think too critically of himself. It was not inherently his fault, just a tragic side effect of his tangles with time that encompassed a job that had been given to him to keep this world turning.
Hesitant, Karl eventually nodded. The King gave him a reassuring smile as his hand fell from Karl’s chin back to their cradled hands, and the warmth it produced reached Karl’s heart in embers of comfort and security. It was always such a relief, such a solace to have Sapnap there. The King was a great man, but to Karl, he was an even greater friend.
“So, Dianite is the Blood God, and Mianite is this Star God?” Sapnap asked for clarification. Karl nodded in reply. “What could that mean in the translation though?” He wondered out loud.
“Maybe it means that Dianite can only be vanquished by some spell of blood magic perhaps?” Karl said with a shrug.
He wasn’t really one for solving issues of Man. More so, Karl’s role throughout history was that of a guide, leading people through the years and assisting them in the formation and development of ideas and evolution that had progressed Man to the prosperous times of the 2nd Age.
“Perhaps. But then what does that have to do with Mianite, or my father? How does this relate to his disappearance?” The King furthered, mulling over what this new piece of information would mean for them, and what it entailed in the grand scheme of this war as well as his father’s disappearance.
“I’m not too sure, Sapnap, but we’ll keep at it until we have to leave for Wyrlorn. I won’t leave any stone unturned.” Karl promised, his hands now squeezing Sapnap’s as well. The two of them breathed in the air as they stayed in each other’s soothing embrace, the coastal winds fluttering through their hair, and the song in Sapnap’s mind twirling about as it got louder in their briefly shared silence.
After they had dispersed from the study, Karl had gone off to get a plate of food for lunch whilst Sapnap had taken to approving notions for the kingdom and city after he was to leave for the other continent. They would get back to the sleuthing after a short break. Karl recommended they give themselves enough time to collect themselves and rest before reconvening.
Sifting through papers that categorised grain regulations and crop reserves, the King came upon Advisor Skeppy, who tried to walk past the King with an avoidant gaze and hurried steps.
Sapnap stopped him in his tracks, standing in front of him with narrowed eyes as he let the hands with the papers fall to his sides.
Skeppy waited expectantly but anxiously, a single finger tapping on his clasped hands as he swallowed subtly. “Sire?”
Sapnap was nervous about asking, but there was no time like the present. “Is Mianite your Lord?” He threw the question out there.
The Advisor’s eyes went wide before returning to its usual calm and collected expression. “Where did you hear that name?”
“It doesn’t matter.” King Sapnap dismissed with a wave of his hand. “What matters is that you tell me about your Lord and my father, now.” He demanded in a stern tone.
Skeppy was reluctant, but an order of the King was something he could not refuse. As an advisor, it was his job to apprise and consolidate at Sapnap's request.
“My Lord Mianite had two angels. Your father was his right hand man: archangel of life and light through fire. He was tasked with overseeing the maintenance and care-taking of all that lives and grows in the overworld by the powers and nourishment of fire.” Skeppy informed with a deep exhale.
Sapnap took in the advisor’s words, small pieces of his life being put into place. “Fire... So that’s why I’ve been bursting into flames.” He acknowledged with a realising nod of his head, his voice trailing off.
“Yes. He had hoped your powers would not have been activated until years later, but it seems fate has decided otherwise.” Skeppy remarked nonchalantly.
“So, now what? Am I like you guys?” The King continued his line of questioning.
“Not quite, Your Majesty.” Skeppy retorted, his composure unwavering and his voice clear. “Your powers have been activated, but you have not yet grown into your wings.” He articulated with a roll of his shoulders.
“Wings?” Sapnap said out in confusion, his face in awe at the concept of him with two feathered wings at his back. The mental image was slightly amusing as he pictured himself like that of a chicken or a seagull, chuckling internally to himself as Skeppy elaborated.
“Your wings. They should come to emerge when you have a revelation of grace. Through this, you shall earn your divinity.”
Sapnap blinked out in even more surprise. “My what?” He exclaimed breathlessly.
Advisor Skeppy smirked at the King’s expression before smoothing his face out to communicate more about Sapnap’s angelic powers. “You must hear your calling and accept what it means to you. Then and only then, will you get your wings and receive the blessings of divine immortality.”
“I could be immortal…”
Skeppy nodded. “You could be, if you so choose. You would also be eligible for residency in the Aether, along with all the other higher beings of the Day Realm.” He added.
The King turned away from his advisor, eyes finding themselves gazing out a window of the corridor as he became immersed in his own thoughts.
His powers of fire, the possibility of gaining actual wings, his father being an angel of a greater God, the reality-shifting knowledge that he could be allowed to journey across to another realm. All bits and pieces of new information were pooling inside his head.
He did not think the Aether was real. Of all the tiny things he had come across about it were things of fantastical rumours and whispers. It was an incredibly ambiguous part of the world’s history, and all clarity of such things had been scattered to only the people alive who had lived long enough to remember it.
From what Sapnap knew, the Aether was a place of complete and total beauty, thriving off of an unchanging and pleasant magic that made it an idyllic realm of rest and tranquillity for all mythical beings of magic, as well as human souls who were granted the ability to be at peace in a designated level of the Aether where they could remain for all eternity in the afterlife.
The King thought of whether he would be allowed to go there if he were to die… Would the gates of the Aether be open to him even if he didn’t have his wings yet? Was he worthy enough for his soul to be at peace?
Sapnap could only hope that he was, for doubt often stirred in his mind if he was not heeding his emotions enough to notice it, and Karl was not there to console him. Now that he thought about it, perhaps he relied on Karl too much. He needed Karl, so much so that he wondered if he would be able to live without him. If he leant on Karl too much, then was he even really as strong as he led himself to believe? If he couldn’t do things on his own, then how could he hope to get stronger?
Maybe he wasn’t that strong after all, maybe he needed to stop looking to Karl to help him, maybe he had to do some things alone…
After a quick bite to eat, Karl found Sapnap and brought him out to a small courtyard in the palace. Alone and away from other people drifting around the castle, Karl had Sapnap stand in the middle of the courtyard, a bucket of water at the ready, and a thick blanket lying on the stone and marble ground just in case.
Karl paced around him with a piece of parchment in hand, going back and forth as he spoke out loud to the air. “Okay, I have a small list of activities I want you to try and complete, if you can. They’re things I think could help you figure out your powers, and maybe you could find a key to controlling them.” He said, halting his steps and handing Sapnap the paper.
There were a couple of dot-points on the single side of the parchment, and Sapnap read over the words with an open mind, noting the activities as he wondered what each one would include and might need him to do. The King shook away his nerves as his eyes met Karl’s, gripping the paper hard and folding it away to a pocket on his pants.
“Ready?” Karl asked with excited eyes.
The King took in a deep breath before exhaling. “Ready.” Sapnap nodded, taking a stance that grounded him so he wouldn't fall over so easily.
Hours of the early afternoon were taken up by their training and uncovering of the extent of Sapnap’s powers.
They began by trying to get Sapnap to flare up in flames again, the King using his anger and rage to try and elicit some sort of spark of fire in his eyes and body. It had worked successfully a few times, but the King was only able to hold the power in his veins for so long before it extinguished and the surge of the magic dissipated.
The next thing on Karl’s list was getting Sapnap to focus on his hands in hopes of conjuring up some sort of blaze from his skin. There was one moment, one particular moment during their training where Karl saw Sapnap’s eyes go amber, his hair start to smoke up in embers, and for just a fraction of a second he witnessed the tiniest of sparks of light and fire rise up from the King’s hands. For the moment when that was happening, Karl saw the wrath in Sapnap’s eyes glow so bright that it trailed down to the King’s fingers in the quickest flash of orange and yellow.
In that moment, Sapnap appeared to Karl as the burning Sun in the dark of space, bringing with him all the heat and fury of a firestorm that could rival even the Nether in terms of unforgiving temperature and raging temperament.
And during that moment, Karl thought it was a wondrous thing, to have his very own Sun by his side to warm his heart as the rays of his comfort reached out to him in flares. And yet, he did not feel they were truly complete. They were missing something, and it was noticed by both Karl and Sapnap as they moved forth against the turn of the world in their lives. But it mattered not that they were not yet complete, for fate would untwist the knots of unruly strife, and lead to them that which they needed most to be whole.
It was only a matter of time…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was around tea time over in Wyrlorn, and the afternoons gave way to frivolous gusts of winds that blew through Phil’s dirty blond hair in a frolicking dance, the former King smiling as he greeted the wind with familiarity and fondness. The winds were an old friend, and he could bask pleasantly in its breezes and blows from atop the balcony where he stood. Its mutterings and whispering were soon drowned out by the clinking and sharp clanking below him as Tommy and Tubbo partook in another session of sparring.
Phil monitored them with soft and nostalgic eyes, somewhat comforted by the young men having fun and throwing hits at each other. He remembered a time lost to the years where he once did the same thing, roaming about the wilderness of the overworld with friends that now mostly existed in his memories.
He glanced down to his clothes, noting the small rips in his black cape as he ran his fingers down the fabric. It was a shame that it had been worn down so much over the countless centuries, but he did his best to ensure it kept its value as best he could. Whilst he would’ve liked to have it be mended, unfortunately the skills of the person who made it had been lost, the unique tailoring also now only existing within his memories.
No matter. The rest of his wardrobe stayed in comfortable and distinguished fashion. The rich green robes that crossed over his torso and were tucked into a viridian cloth belt reflected majestically in the sunlight as a woven plant-like undergarment. Underneath those robes was a sleek, faded black turtleneck of silk that was embroidered with a red and gold heart in the space between his clavicles, and sitting on top of his almost medium-length hair was his famed brimmed hat of green and white stripes that kept his pale skin safe from the harsh sun.
Standing next to Phil was Technoblade. The General’s arms were crossed and his eyes stayed concentrated on the two below them who were engaged in training combat. He watched them like a hawk, noting their every step, every block and every parry, silently observing their progress and diligently making points of focus to their technique so they may better themselves.
The wind blew through Technoblade’s coral pink hair, and he slowly blinked away the dryness of his sparkling fuchsia eyes. “He’s not terrible.” Techno commented in reference to the Prince.
“I should’ve known he’d take a liking to the knives.” Phil noted out with a giggle, then sighing out into the air as he breathed in the day ahead of them. “How is his form?” He asked.
The General hummed in thought, shifting from one foot to the other as he felt the wind ruffle through and air out his frilly, white shirt, rolling up the long sleeves so they sat just beneath his elbows. “His form is adequate.” Techno replied, refusing to give Tommy such a blatant compliment. “Tubbo is just slightly better. Don’t tell him I said that.” He quickly added. Technoblade watched on as the two continued to spar, Tubbo using his spear to block Tommy’s throwing knives with a swipe and a flick as he rushed the Prince with an effortless pounce. “Tommy is strong and fast, but Tubbo has flexibility and greater versatility.” He remarked, observing more as Tubbo seemed to glide across the courtyard in energetic and unpredictable strikes. “No doubt a trait passed down from his father if I’m not mistaken.”
Phil smiled at the mention of his old friend’s name, missing the former Captain dearly. “Yes well, Sparklez was a famed warrior in my time. I don’t think I’d ever seen a more dignified Champion.”
He reminisced for a brief moment about the 1st Age, thinking back to times where he would watch over Sparklez and the other Champions as they went and sought out the greater Gods’ favour. It was such a different time back then, a time where gods spoke to Man during the day, and gave unto them quests of religious nature during their dreams, wherein they would be rewarded for their faith as acolytes of the 3 Great Divines.
But then the times changed, and the faiths that once existed side by side had become weaponized, a tool to try and get Men to tear themselves apart by the manipulation and corruption of Dianite’s fallacy.
Phil had fought alongside the Champions when fate had called them to be greater than their faith, and in the aftermath of victory and death, he had hoped that during the remainder of his immortality that he would never have to bear witness to another war again.
Guess it was just wishful thinking, as war had come to him again. Only this time it was left in the hands of his sons, a cruel and ruthless punishment that should have never been wrought upon them.
Moving away from his thoughts, Phil came to look at his friend, who was still intensely staring at Prince Tommy and Captain Tubbo sparring, the two of them laughing and poking fun at the other as their blades clashed and they seemed to dance around in a playful fight. Phil stepped closer to the General and placed a hand on his shoulder, patting it lightly as Techno’s folded arms came undone, resting at his sides as he turned to look back at Phil.
They never had to say much to one another. It seemed like Phil could read Technoblade’s emotions better than even he could at times, the ‘old man’ able to comfort and console him without needing but more than a few words to do so. Built between them was a green field of understanding; the blades of grass as unspoken words and intent that Techno could simply wander through without worry; flowers of yellow and white representing memories that had grown from their interactions over the years. Phil in many ways had become more than just a stand-in father figure, he had become Technoblade’s best friend, and that was an alleviating thought.
Still though, the General had much in his past that he felt he could not move on from, things he could not heal from yet. There were truths he refused to acknowledge, ties that he tried so desperately to sever, and someone he felt he needed to reunite with before this was all over. He only hoped he would not be shunned away, for the centuries he spent in the overworld had only left the tethers of their relationship to the wear and tear of time, and he was not sure if he would even respond to the letter he sent out those few days ago. He did not know if he was even going to come…
Fiddling with the edges of his own cape of crimson fabric and golden threads, Techno brought a hand up to his head and ran his fingers through his long, coral pink hair, some loose strands falling down his face and covering his eyes just a bit.
Phil gave Technoblade's shoulder one last pat before retracting it and leaning his hands against the balcony railing, his pale blue eyes going back to fondly look at the two young friends, who were now taking a short break from their sparring to catch their breath and share in their usual competitive banter.
Techno’s feet became heavy in his thick black boots, and he was suddenly overcome with this alluring feeling that beckoned him to start walking. He immediately shoved the feeling down, internally beating it away in brutal punches of his scarred fists and relentless slashes of his dark, metal broadsword.
The feeling then gave way to something that Techno could hear in his ears, but was not audible to the people around him. He attempted to quell the sound by subtly cupping his ears, and then clicking his fingers as to create a distracting noise that could hopefully divert the faint ringing of the soft melody that threatened to linger in his mind.
Agitated and monitoring the dread that grew in his heart, Techno called out to Phil. “You don’t suppose we can pick and choose who becomes Champions do you?” He asked in a quiet voice, afraid of the answer Phil might give, but needing some sort of advisory words from his friend.
“No I don’t suppose we can. Fate has already decided, and the song has already begun. It is too late to go back now.” Phil said, now holding the General’s gaze with a soft expression. “It’s calling out, Techno. Can you hear it?”
Phil may have asked a question, but Technoblade knew deep down the other already knew the answer. Much to his dismay, fate was calling him, and it did not stop or go away no matter how many times he tried. He did not take lightly to its call. He did not bathe in its music the way Tommy or Tubbo did.
Technoblade abhorred fate. He despised it. He did not want any affiliation to the blasted thing.
What others may have considered as an honour, or a privilege to have a higher calling that would somehow change the course and fortune of this world, Techno instead rolled his eyes at. To him, fate was wicked and tricky, imposing a future on him against his will that only filled him with the most sincere and blood-boiling resentment. He laughed in the face of fate, and hoped it would choke on its own twisted schemes as payback for the barbarous path it had supposedly planned out for him since his birth.
He spited fate as it had spited him, not wanting to play into its dirty hands, but for all that he refused to let it dictate his actions, he was not stupid enough as to dismiss Phil’s wisdom about the topic. Phil knew more than Techno ever could, and as much as he wished he could spit on fate’s face and bury it in the mud, fate was a force of nature similar to that of time: unyielding as it pressed forward and gave way to great changes in the universe.
Phil had spoken words to Techno about fate before, and he would be a fool if he did not at least keep them in mind as he traversed these next 17 or so days with caution and reflection.
Tommy and Tubbo finished their quick break, getting back to their training as Phil and Techno continued to watch them spar from on the balcony. The rustling of Wyrlorn’s trees culminated in the voices of the wind, bringing with it the chirping of birds and the swishing of flowing rivers that fell upon Phil’s ears as a vitalising choir. He breathed in the life of the kingdom around him, and wistfully let his spirit roam free to enjoy all the goodness and freedom of the sky above.
Standing in comfortable silence with Technoblade, Phil felt a chill in the air, and he shuddered slightly as clouds came to obstruct the open view with a looming shadow that covered the city only momentarily, before being blown away by the wind.
Usually Phil enjoyed the clouds. They were a collection of memory and transference that floated about the sky in wisps and delicate caresses. But these ones…they were not right. They did not come from the beautiful nature of the overworld that he had come to love and cherish. They were dark and full of forecasting doom. They were clouds of Dianite’s doing, his evil seeping into the overworld through the presence of his army, which was currently getting closer and closer every day to the valley.
Glancing back and forth between the clouds and Tommy and Tubbo, Phil prayed out to the Star God with a creased forehead and pleading eyes. If he was listening, Phil hoped he would grant them strength. Strength to keep their courage. Strength to protect themselves and others who needed it. Strength to stay alive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The day was cooling down, and the heat of the afternoon was leaving the air to make way for the setting of the sun in a couple of hours.
Humid air fell upon the Prince’s face that left a few drops of sweat forming at his hairline. Fundy sat on a rough, small boulder by a pond at the edge of the forest that lay just outside the city to the North-East, contemplating and staring into its shallow waters as he sighed. Poking a stick at the ground and using it to also swish about the water, Prince Fundy breathed in the rich air, letting his head fall to glare at the dirt and mud of the pond in disdain and contempt.
There was much on his mind, and much that had been tossed back and forth between his heart and his head that made the days go by ever so slowly and painfully. He was full of frustration, frustration that sometimes imploded into bouts of anger within the confines of his room or the open spaces just outside the city walls.
Everywhere he turned, the Prince met a crisis on many different fronts. Deep down, Fundy knew well who he was. He had always known such things about himself, even when he was but a little girl, but he pushed forward regardless and fought to own the aspects of his identity.
Now he was faced with another issue. A difference of how he wished to live and what his royal blood would decree him to uptake in the future.
Him, a King?
Gods, the position could not have been more undesirable, and he scoffed at the thought of one day being passed the crown. There was a sense of nervousness, a sense of guilt, a sense of fear that came from his wishes by the pond.
Nervousness about having to claim the throne and be anointed as the ruler of a kingdom that he did not feel he could bear the responsibility of.
Guilt about what his father and the citizens would think if he were to abandon the road that had been placed before him.
Fear about what would become of him if he were to turn away from this expectation, and leave it all behind. Because he did want to leave it behind. He did not believe it was for him. He did not believe that was part of his fate.
Aware of that which was around him, he heard the shuffling of paced and light steps approaching him but he did not raise his head to gander at who it was, still poking around at the wet ground with his stick as he left out a small, inaudible huff.
“Fundy?” Phil’s voice called out calmly, noting the little doodles of faces and animals that his grandson had drawn into the dirt and mud with his little stick.
Prince Fundy moved his sight from the pond to glance up at the two people by his side, unable to hide the emotion on his face as his brown eyes conveyed all the weighted and sullen feeling of his heart.
Reaching out to the Prince with a warm and graceful hand, Fundy’s grandmother seemed to radiantly brighten the area by the pond, her smile bringing about a kind and comforting spell to the Prince. “Come walk with us, dear.” She invited him with a sweet and airy voice.
The beautiful woman had not been touched by time in an age, her face as lively and as becoming as it was all those centuries ago, when the world was smaller and the gods more freely roamed the overworld, not yet bound more solidly to their respective realms.
The figure of a stone goddess, she stood tall but humble above the Prince and her beloved husband. The waves of her long, dark hair fell against her shoulders as thick locks of black, but shone a very dark brown when sunlight was cast upon her.
Eyes of medium brown, the deep irises held in it a certain light that stayed true in her eyes throughout the long years of her life. A light that made her warm-toned skin appear even warmer and brighter than perhaps it actually was, and she had a wide, calming smile, the very beaming of her luminescence like that of the pale reflection of moonlight on still waters.
Upon her body were very long and graciously elegant robes of black velvet and silk, the fabric falling off her arms and flowing down her stature like drapes of a midnight tapestry. The underside of the material reflected that of an incredulously dark green that also, at first glance, would appear to the eye as a faded black until shone on by some form of light, and it shimmered like specks of glitter when she opened her arms out to the world.
Threaded throughout the black robes were lines of silver and gold that detailed patterns of intricate floral swirls and feathered textures on her dress and sweeping sleeves that engulfed her arms. At her feet were stains of dirt and dried mud, but she did not mind the imperfections that blotched and smeared at the material. And lastly, on top her head was a titled, wide brimmed hat of matching black colour that was decorated with a few odd flowers that she liked to change every week, this week being a white rose and stems of meadowsweet.
Prince Fundy blinked a few times before taking her hand, pulling himself up gently from the boulder and walking in between the two, holding both their hands as they fluttered alongside the edge of the forest in comfortable silence.
Arriving upon a formed pathway of dirt, plant and pebble, the overgrown and untamed path appeared to lead deep into the lush forest, covering all the ground in rich grass and ungroomed thicket. The great trees that loomed overhead left no room for much light to come through, yet the forest did not seem dark in any regard. Something about the air inside seemed to bestow upon the nature a mystifying rendition of its own glow born of mystical and sparkling brightness.
Fundy stopped to take in the sight, reluctant to press forward on their walk. Phil and Kristin did not push him to go on, instead waiting for the Prince to give them an indication of what he would like to do. He was not necessarily afraid of the forest, rather he was overwhelmed by the thought of being back here after so long, and he could not imagine what it would feel like now to walk among the life of flowers and bushes without his father there.
But the forest was an old friend. A friend of viridian fondness and vehement stature that held in it all the wonder and fantasy of all that lay under the shadow of glistening twilight during a new moon. A friend of the past that kept the annals of his youth in the timeless beauty of bark, leaf, and petal, untouched by the troubles of all that remained outside its borders.
With Phil and Kristin, he was safe. In the forest, he could breathe. In the forest, he could have but a moment to leave everything behind.
Taking a glance at both his grandparents, Fundy nodded to them in affirmation, and they smiled reassuringly at him as they kept hold of his hands to begin their stroll down the wild paths of the forest.
Contained within its majesty was the green of a deep and prominent viridian. Green that lined every orifice of Fundy’s sight where anything good and pure grew. Trees as far as the eye could see of umber wood and memory encrusted bark, scars of wear at time’s behest that sustained cracks of sweet but musty sap, the fragrance permeating the air and mixing with that of the many other scents of the forest.
Winds of fresh air blew through the halls of the forest and shook at the branches above, rattling them in the quiet ambience of tranquillity, and making way for the racket of clattering nuts and leaves that fell from the trees with muffled thuds upon the soft ground.
Arched roots sprouted from the sculpted trunks of the trees, weaving in and out of the ground as great threads of wood with mahogany highlights heralded by the flitting in of the sun through the canopy. They carved their way around the floor as veins run through the entire body, breathing life and the blood of the forest into every orifice that touched soil and water.
Grass and moss veiled most of the entirety of the forest, blanketing the pathway in its overgrown hold as well as covering stones and boulders of every size in a creeping suede of lush velvet plant. Under his feet, the moss squished down with every step the Prince took, only disturbing the magical silence every other minute or so when he stood on a stiff twig or two.
The forest was breathtaking, a primeval giant made up of many individual parts that existed as underlying entities that contributed to a greater whole that remained slumbering and situated away from the rest of the world. Fundy’s grandparents, who so effortlessly glided through the path beside him, treaded with light feet as to keep the forest as beautiful and unblemished as the soft light of stars in winter. .
Prince Fundy’s face began to sink as his mind became troubled with unnerving thoughts, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips hinting at the slightest frown.
Observing this devolved expression, Phil unclasped his right hand from Fundy’s left one, and instead put it on his shoulder as they continued to walk. “Something troubles you, child.”
Still walking, Fundy’s hand remained in his grandmother’s whilst he conversed with Phil, Kristin enjoying and breathing in the forest with beaming eyes as she also listened in.
“It’s my father.” Fundy addressed with a huff, eyes flitting back and forth between Phil and the path ahead with small tilts and turns of his head.
“I’m worried about him too.” Phil validated, keeping his gaze forward. His hand on Fundy’s shoulder was warm, the touch a comforting gesture to the Prince.
“He doesn’t spend time with me anymore. He doesn’t eat well, he barely sleeps. He’s- it's like I’m losing him…”, Fundy whispered in dejection, heart breaking at the thought of his father. He had changed so much in such a short time, and the woe of the ever so present tilting of his fall from grace writhed around in the Prince’s swirling emotions as a parasite that buried itself in hopelessness and gloom.
Phil sighed into the air, regret and urtication of illusionary needles at his skin like the jabs and punctures of wasps, as he took more slow steps forward.
Kristin took the opportunity to speak up, her voice considerate and lulling. “He has taken up sacrificing his own wellbeing so the kingdom may survive, so we may all make it through this war. But he has neglected his heart.” She commented as Fundy’s foot stepped on a twig, breaking it with a prominent cracking sound. “He wears thin as of late.” Kristin said, her voice trailing off in ponderance. She turned her head to look at Phil and bore her eyes of medium brown into his pale blue ones with solemn worry and uncertainty.
Feeling the surge of anger spike up in his veins, Prince Fundy felt fiery. “His heart has grown cold.” He spat out with a choke, stopping dead in his tracks to mull in his seething flurry of rage, but it all quickly ran its course and retracted to that of a burning hurt. His eyes began to sting, and tears welled up at the corners of his eyes.
Delicately unclasping her left hand from Fundy’s right one, Kristin came to stand in front of the Prince, facing him with compelling and soft eyes as she brought her hand up to Fundy’s face and wiped away his salty tears, the tiny droplets like warm crystals across his cheeks.
Dabbing at his face with the edges of her long, black robes, she held Fundy’s cheek in a gentle press, cupping the skin lightly as she let out a breath through her nose. “My dear, Wil’s heart has not become so cold out of malice or enmity. It’s because he is losing hope.” She began, staring into Fundy’s eyes that so fondly matched her own, their brown eyes a trait of their shared blood. “But you…”, she continued with a small upturn of her lips, “his hope stays alive because of you. Because you are his son, and despite his disposition, he loves and cherishes you so, my dear.” Kristin consoled, her gentle expression caring and sweet as they stood placidly in the engulfing enchantment of the forest.
The words were comforting, and Prince Fundy felt he had gotten some of the weight of his low spirits off his chest. Whilst he remained in the aftermath of his hurt, he felt he could tackle it better. That he could come across it in the future, and persist through the crushing misery with greater insight and rationality.
In the mania of this war, Wilbur had hurt him, but the Prince felt he could face those struggles with improved strength and resilience now. Because Fundy knew the kind of man the King was, the kind of father he had been to him, and despite his detachment from things that were in the past, Wilbur still deserved a modicum of empathy. Not just as a King, but as a man like any other, crowns and sceptres be damned.
Fundy’s eyes flicked down to the floor, staying focused on the pathway but not taking in any of the details as his mind brought its attention to another thought, another wish. “I wish he were not the King. I wish I were not the crown Prince. Gods, I just... I wish this war had never happened.” He whispered out, tears halted but his voice scratchy due to the dryness in his throat, the dour melancholy of his wistful ask lingering in the air like the rueful refrain of a forlorn poet in an empty room devoid of all but his lonesome self.
Phil motioned to swivel himself around so he was facing Fundy head-on as well. Kristin pulled herself away from the Prince as Phil took her place in front of him, his hand still firmly on Fundy’s shoulder as he stepped closer to his grandson in a gesture of conveying wisdom.
Leaning in slightly, Phil made sure that Fundy listened to every word he said. “My boy, those who find themselves in the waters of great change wish they had not stepped onto the shores of fate, but all one can do once they’ve waded through the shallows is decide how they will go forth on the path they’ve been set on.” He uttered in earnest with a single nod of his head. “Wil, Techno, even Tommy and Tubbo; they have all been called to go on their own separate paths towards their destinies, Fundy. Will you join them?” Phil asked rhetorically, leaving the Prince with some food for thought as to what he would make of his future.
Prince Fundy reflected for a brief moment. If he gave his father hope, then that was where he should be: at Wilbur’s side, no matter what tried to pry itself in between them. Through himself, Fundy could keep his father’s hope alive, and remind him just what it was that he was fighting for in the first place. If he did just that, then maybe he could help Wilbur find his salvation. Maybe he could save his father from more than just monsters. Maybe he could save him from himself.
Fundy gave a small consolidating smile to Phil, and they shared in a nod before moving to further along in their walk, Fundy reaching out and holding their hands as he did before. Step after step, breath after breath, the aromas and feeling of the forest consumed Prince Fundy in its unyielding serenity of glazed beauty and fervently buzzing magic.
Free from the mar of untrustworthy hands, the forest blossomed and grew in mirthful quality over the centuries, life of all kinds able to thrive under the immaculate ecosystem it had come to create.
A testament of primordial sublimity that stood as a kingdom of its very own to all flora and fauna that called it home. The chittering of squirrels in the trees, the scuffling of rabbits on the layered floor, the cries of songbirds that run throughout the air; an untarnished requiem of tandem between the nature of life within the forest, and the caretakers who saw to the preservation of its pristine flourishment.
The cycle of time could be found everywhere Fundy looked, as bushes had grown and trailed their way from the roots and up the trunks of trees, wandering over to coil around rocks in thin, delicate vines. Dead wood and broken branches festered on the glades beneath the trees and Fundy could briefly catch a waft of it as he continued to walk past. Clusters of damp mushrooms and dirt-bound insects fed off the worn and decaying parts as a sign of genuflection to the circular proceeds of life, and although it was not a clean or typically delightful sight, the Prince found an odd charm in the simple nature of its presence.
The scent of the earth found its way to Fundy’s nose, and he could hear the faint tinkling and soft splashing of the water against rock in the streams quietly flowing nearby that crossed underneath the unkempt path taking them deeper into the forest. A playful mist of silver particles bespeckled the thick air as stars litter the night sky with their twinkling and sparkling shine, and it casted the mysteries of a protective shroud as evaporated water over the area, keeping itself in the steady hands of the unknown, adding to the prevalent wax and wane of its ancient energy.
A certain glare of unknown light met the Prince’s eyes, and it flashed as a lens of dark viridian green and saffron yellow as it hit his pupils. The very forest itself seemed to groan out low hums of content in the quiet of its atmosphere, lulling life into a pleasant trance of fertility and belonging, and Fundy could not help but feel the allure of the sound settle in his soul, like he also felt that he belonged there too.
Very soon, their feet had brought them along the path and to a small clearing that was shielded by the luscious leaves and brash branches of the thick trees.
The captivating remedy of the forest beheld beauty of many kinds, and the area that encapsulated the clearing was no exception.
Bundles of pretty pink foxgloves grew by the foot of the trees, the roots that curved and twisted about the soil were lined with the indigo hue of leaning bluebells that sat tiredly among the moss and grass like sleeping maidens.
The mellow caress of common gorse and lily-of-the-valley abundantly posted up near many rocks and lichen boulders that lay throughout the clearing, the fusillade of other flowers such as oxeye daisies and tulips imbuing the hallowed floor with a steeped, merry pleasantness.
Short, stubby mushrooms of red and white played in the damp dirt, the brown and hearty caps of tall fungi towering beside them, the picturesque view bringing smiles to Phil’s and Kristin’s face.
From the quiet of the forest came something of a tuned twanging sound from the breeze of the wind and the whispers of the leaves that blew through Fundy’s face in a gust of air that tickled at his hair, swaying the pastel orange locks. It was a chiming sound, like glass being tapped by a thin rod of metal. The melody conveyed this feeling to the Prince that brought him closer to the dreams of his heart, and further away from the burdens of his name. It was like everything was truly alive.
Purple and butterfly orchids sprouted up from the swards of the ground, and by an overgrown patch of lavish violets and wood anemone was the flurry of a handful of almost translucent butterflies. White and silver, the butterflies glowed in a way that mirrored starlight, an odd sight to see during the later afternoon, but Fundy thought not too much of it. Spread all around the edges of the clearing were small shrubs of primrose and honeysuckle, the sweet scent flooding Prince Fundy’s senses in a miasma of youthful bliss and nostalgic familiarity.
And there, at the center of it all, was a place Prince Fundy had not seen since he was just a small child.
“I remember this place.” Fundy said quietly, letting go of his grandparents’ hands and taking a few steps forward to really stand and revel in the old place.
Kristin smiled widely in fondness, cheery just by even looking at it. “We used to take you here with Wilbur when you were a babe.” She reminisced, her hands finding their way back into the sleeves of her black robe as she clasped her hands together, letting them rest in front of her.
Fundy’s eyes became enchanted, staring at the place with glossy eyes. “Your cottage.” The Prince sighed out dazedly in a small voice.
“The one your grandmother and I built all those centuries ago.” Phil remarked, looking at his grandson with easy and loving eyes, his hands by his sides and his head tilted ever so slightly in observation.
The structure stood the same as it had when he was young, unchanged and evergreen in its prominence as asters that bloom all year-round against the seasons. The cottage of spruce wood and stone bricks was still there, after all this time.
More moss surrounded the edges of the house, growing over rock, pebble and wood alike as it submerged the area in its tufts of stitched green. Sprouts of nightshade lined itself against the stone hubs and underneath the windowsill in shades of dark purple and black; beauteous flowers but unfortunately warrant the kiss of death. Overgrown vines ran down the wood like water and clung to the outside walls in a possessive manner, the cottage itself being a very part of the forest.
Hung from hooks attached to wooden beams were small, square lanterns of warm, orange light that illuminated the clearing as a dull touch of fire and sunlight.
It was a palliative scene, an opulence of wondrous and magical splendour.
Shrubs of berry bushes had given a softening to the corners of the cottage, and the intoxicating sweetness of their fruit filled the Prince with flashes and images of the past, tasting the smell on his tongue as he breathed it in.
Running about the forest, Fundy would let his feet carry him around the area of the clearing, able to explore and to feel the world around him. Back then he was so young, so malleable, so happy.
Phil and Kristin too had a moment of recall. A collection of memories of when Wilbur was a child also. The boy roamed about the forest like it was second-nature to him, no hesitation or doubt to keep him from the unparalleled joy that every tree and every flower brought him. It was a time when Wilbur was irrevocably free. Free from the binds of his future with all the blithe lax of the wind and sky, and far, far away from the call of duty.
With an underlying lament, Prince Fundy let show a small upturn of his mouth. “I’m glad it’s still here. It feels like home, more so than even the palace really.” He commented, turning his head to look back at the two immortals with rejuvenated energy, the light in his eyes glinting brighter than they had seen it be since the war started.
Gliding over to Fundy, Kristin met him with another caring smile. “You know, Phil and I have been planning to move to the Lunar Sect once the war is over. If you would be inclined, would you and Wil take care of our cottage after we are gone?” She asked him concisely, her voice as soothing as cool water on a burn.
The buoyant exhilaration of unbridled happiness poured throughout the Prince’s blood and into his body, but the exaltation of those raptures did not last, for the tinkering of Fundy’s mind overshadowed the will of his heart once more. What she asked of him was all he ever really wanted. To be with his father and live as a family in a place he found more comfort and safety in than even that of the castle. But too many things were not set in stone. Too many things were up to fate, and Fundy could only think of whether Wilbur would be alive to share in this kind of future.
Should Wilbur live to hear the clearing of brass trumpets, would he give up his crown as King to live out a simpler life? Should Wilbur survive the battle at Veerim Valley, would he even want to go with him?
Prince Fundy inhaled deeply as he gazed to the floor of the forest, closing his eyes for but a few seconds. Upon opening them, he lifted his head up to look at Phil who was now approaching him with gentle steps, the Prince releasing his breath to clear the hazy fog from his head. “I know not of what fate has in store for my father. I fear that even if he accepts this offer, he may not have the time to see it through…”, Fundy said with a sodden expression.
Phil came to him with understanding and care, ready to give his grandson more words of final consolation. “We cannot know what fate has in store for any of us, but I am certain that whatever happens shall happen for a reason. Trust in your father, Fundy.” He said, going in to embrace the Prince in a large and enveloping hug. Pulling away, he addressed Fundy with a hand on his shoulder and sympathy in his eyes. “Trust in yourself. Trust in fate. It will always guide you home.” He professed with sincerity, holding the Prince’s gaze and staring into his slightly fading brown eyes.
Home…
How he would love for it to be here. For him and his father to leave the rest of the world behind and settle in the cottage, a gilded portrait of portent peace. Away from the raucous shrieking and trembling apoplexy of the world brought forth by the shifting dichotomy of good and evil; where there was a myriad of things they could do instead by the blessings of sunshine and moonlight within the hopeful nature of the forest.
Fundy could sit amongst the roots and moss, and Wilbur could write songs in open cavalier, talking him through verbose lyrics and going off on story-telling tangents that Fundy wouldn’t mind listening to forever, especially if it meant he just got his father back.
Would it not be nice for this dream to become a reality… Would it not be nice if Fundy’s wish came true… Would it not be nice if Wilbur just said ‘yes’?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Towards the edge of the world, the night came to engulf the day, covering it in the black and blue of the sky that coveted everything under the moon with an iron grip.
Earlier in the afternoon, Quackity had gone on a walk down the beach of the Ankkar Isles, letting his feet sift through the warm sand, grains of worn down rock on the pads of his feet and squishing in between his toes as he kept his slow pace.
The sun had bore the afternoon with a lucent brightness, lambently reflecting off the glittering sea as creases of daylight that rippled across the clear, crisp water. It reached out to the Captain and he revelled in its touch as the skin of his face was met with its warm and healing beams.
The waves shimmered and gently crashed upon one another as the pull of the tides sounded out in Quackity’s ears, the water pushing and swelling out to the ocean and rocks, buckling as they hit the stone of the isles in a pulsing commotion of incandescent turquoise blue and bubbly foam: a pelagic canvas of otherworldly composition, it had been carefully orchestrated by careful strokes of a lively paintbrush that had coloured every corner of its ambit in arrays of divine markings that stood away from the world.
Foundations of basalt were laced with black obsidian, the rock appearing to possess a crystalline shine when hit by the sun, coveting the isles as a lost gem of weathering time that echoed out twangs of falling rain against stone. Quackity savoured all the sights, drawn to the call of the edge of the world as the days of his life in the overworld flitted by and faded out of memory.
His soul was cradled by the devouring quality of the oceanside as he waded through the sands, finally stopping to sit down on the beach with his knees drawn to his body and his hands wrapped around his legs, securing them in place as he took in the rest of the afternoon with slow blinks, watching the day go by with the passing hours.
Strong easterly winds blew through the open sky, the domain unobstructed by any conjured storms that lie to the West; gusts of salty air that ruffled Quackity's hair, circulated through his clothes as they tutted about frantically.
The hemmed shoreline brought forth a gleam of white sparkle, a mesmerising picture of tiny jewels that lined and scattered about the area as natural glitter. The white sand with faded, yellow granules were washed over by the soothing waves, passing over the ground and kneading where the damp sand met the Twilmor Sea at its shores, soaked in the refreshing coolness of its waters.
The aroma of dried seaweed that lay upon the beach brushed past the Captain’s nose and he could taste its remnants of the old vegetation on his tongue, the crinkling of it against the wind but a faint chattering that he could hear softly in the mumbles of the breeze.
He faced the horizon, eyes trailing across wisps of cloud as he maintained his pensive stare. Thoughts rattled in the corridors of his mind, and he couldn’t help but remain focused on the events of the previous night, unable to get a wink of sleep in the hours that followed his return from the Nether.
The swallowing shadow…the crackling flames…the harkening voice ...
When it had called to him, the flashes of his past ran rampant in his head and vision, ghosts of stirring failure and indelible regret speaking to him in whispers of disdainful scars that had not been fully healed yet.
Cries of an old friend fell upon his ears as Quackity recalled the daunting fear in his friend’s voice and the dwindling light from his eyes as the blade of Bone struck him down across the chest. Blood splattering out from the point of impact, the voice cackling out a wicked laughter, pleased with the pain it had caused to Quackity, proud of the heartbreak it had created as it slaughtered the Captain’s friend right in front of his eyes. Images of the dying man haunted Quackity’s dreams, melding them into nightmares that spontaneously had him relive the trauma time and time again against his will.
A single tear fell from Quackity’s aquamarine blue eye as he became wrought with morose intensity. Leaning backwards, he let his body fall against the sand as he spread his limbs out to rest on the soft beach, wet eyes tearfully gazing out to the sky as he breathed in the undisturbed ambience of the isles. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath of exhaustion, the emotions brought forth from his memories syphoning all his energy and strength as he lay there by the sea, stoic against the change of the tide and the shift of the day.
Before he knew it, he was whisked away to the stirred scenes of slumber, now lying in deep sleep upon the sand. He dreamt of the first time he felt he found some remark of balance, born of an accidental coincidence of time and fate.
It was a time from 60 years ago, when he had simply been roaming the Sproalstonian countryside, a vast land of meadows and wildflowers that had bloomed in the autumn season.
He had been lurking and wandering for weeks across the plain, taking refuge in the odd houses of kind villagers and small trading inns, when he had been bumped into by someone who seemed to appear out of thin air, the man falling into Quackity in a series of panicked gasps and profuse apologies.
It was an unlikely friendship, but one of uncanny pull and imperfectly perfect placement that was almost too good to be true. But it was real, and the Captain had spent a week getting to know the man in all his wonderful sincerity and gentle care before he eventually departed from Quackity with a warm embrace and an unforgettable smile that was strong enough even to battle the murky demons of his past.
The sequence of Quackity’s slumber was a waltz of longing and fond recall as he bathed in the happiness of seeing Karl once more in his dreams. He held onto it tightly, wanting to bask in its nostalgic memory for as long as he could, but the dream slipped through his fingers like falling sand, and he was brought from his dream into the waking world, eyes opening begrudgingly as he was pulled into conscious awareness.
Night had fallen upon the world, replacing the day with a dark sky and shining moon that sensuously hummed over the isles as a lullaby of static light. Quackity only felt he was dreaming for some 30 or so minutes, but he had in fact been asleep for hours, the horizon a line of ambiguity where one could see the very earth turn.
He sat up from his lying position and propped himself up onto his hands so he could gaze out at the sea. Sighing out into the air, he took one last look at the panorama before him before lifting himself up and steadily making his way back to the occupied rabble of the residents on the island. It was a walk of shallow meditation, where he sat still among the present thoughts of Karl and an autumnal landscape. He felt no need to think of anything else for the time being, staying within the pretty blur of the past for that fleeting moment of balance and peace.
Coming to the dull, illuminated clump of shacks on the main island, the giddy voice of Prince Dream fell upon Quackity’s ears as he quietly approached the small group of people seated on a small serried formation of rock.
Dream was in awe. He had spent the day chatting with some of the locals, absorbing their stories and learning a plethora of fantastical information from the people. Among the citizens of the Ankkar Isles were beings of magic from the circles of the Aether, people with beautiful coloured skin of all kinds of shades, the very elements they were born from prominent in their image as a varied assortment of feathers, scales, fur, and ephemera.
The latest of his quest to seek out the origins of the people on the isles, was the story of Captain Quackity’s first mate, the crewmate of the Withered Rose that had fiery skin of ashen texture, smoke rising off him in billowing puffs when he was particularly intense with emotion. Jack had a yellow and golden aura of flames, the blazeborn pirate, a man of fire magic, who had crossed over into the overworld from the Nether a long time ago.
It was strange to the Prince that he would seek to live on a series of isles in the middle of a treacherous ocean, the water his greatest weakness that had the power to burn at his flesh if but a splash came in contact with his dry skin. Jack told Dream of the extent of his powers, the man imbued with the ability to manipulate molten lava and volcanic rock, as well as the magic to cast balls of fire in rapid succession in whatever direction he wanted.
The Darcretian Prince relented in his anticipating questioning, restraining himself a bit from flapping his arms about in excitement. He sighed in content as he sat with Jack on the small formation of rocks, warmed by the pirate’s close presence as he spoke. “It’s still amazing to me. I’ve actually met beings from other realms. It’s incredible, your existence is incredible.” he uttered out with utmost sincerity, shamrock green eyes creasing as he smiled widely at Jack, Niki, and Foolish who sat with him.
Quackity stood some few metres behind the Prince, a small upturn of his mouth playing at his lips upon hearing Dream’s genuine declaration of their incredibleness. It was a kind of affirmation that the Captain was not overly used to, and he thought of how grand it would have been if he had heard words like that when he was younger.
It was still nice to hear them now though, and despite only knowing the Prince for a few days, Quackity sweetly regarded young Dream in his heart as something just short of a true friend. He was so open, so insightful, so curious, and that shred of decency from he who was soon to be king of his own country had sparked in Quackity some ounce of hope for a future founded on solidarity and collective spirit.
Quackity stepped closer towards the others, feet eliciting a crunching sound of gravel and loose pebbles that caught Dream’s attention, and he turned his head to look at who was coming. Upon seeing Quackity, Dream’s expression became even more bright, smile widening even more. “Captain!” The Prince called out with an energetic wave of his hand, ushering Quackity to come hang out with them.
Grinning at the seated individuals, Quackity waved back to Dream as he came to stand by him near the rocks. “What’s up, Princey.”
“I have decided something”, Dream said, correcting his posture to be upright and taking in a deep breath. “When George regains his strength and is in better health, I won’t be going back to Sproalstone. Not yet at least.” He stated firmly.
“What?” Quackity’s voice rumbled out in a baffled tone as he folded his arms, waiting for whatever reason Dream was going to give him as to why he would not be returning to the Southern continent.
“When the time comes, I will go to Wyrlorn. To join Darcretia’s army and fight Dianite’s forces alongside the men and women of my country.” Dream informed him assertively, his face not showing any signs of indecision, but held the tiniest creases of fear near his eyes.
“Do you understand what that means? Do you truly know what that entails, Dream?” Quackity asked with narrow eyes, inflections of held back criticism present in his deep, raspy voice.
“I do.” Dream declared with a grave expression, now standing up from his seat to meet the Captain on the same level. “I know the costs, but in my father’s absence someone needs to rise up and be there to lead the charge. If their Prince can lead them into battle, then I can hope to bring them courage and remind them what it is they are fighting for. They need me, Quackity.” He said with dire profession, his eyes holding the weight of the world in the swirls of his green irises.
The others sat down and listened in to the conversation, remaining as silent observers to bear witness to the up-taking of Dream’s quest.
“That’s very honourable of you Princey, but these aren’t regular men you will be crossing swords with. These are wither skeletons. They may not look like much individually, but put them together in legion, and you find yourself against a wave of relentless foes; a mindless force of sharp teeth and jagged bone.” Quackity reminded him, worriedly staring at the Prince’s face. “I’m sorry to say Dream, but I’m not sure you’re up to this kind of task.” He commented.
Dream rubbed his hands together nervously as he shifted weight from one foot to another, looking down to his feet as he rocked. “I know I lack training, and experience, and I am still finding my nerve which is why I was hoping-”, he started.
“No…”, Quackity let out with a slow shake of his head, knowing exactly what Dream was going to say.
“-you could teach me all you can before I am set to depart.” The Prince asked, stopping his sway as he stared at Quackity with hopeful and expectant eyes.
Unfolding his crossed arms, Quackity placed his hands on his hips, his sleeves rolling down slightly as he continued speaking. “You wanna learn how to fight…in 20 days?” He said with a disbelieving scoff. “Even if you had the greatest of natural skill, it would still take months upon months for you to develop your fighting style and master any kind of consistency in your form.” He discerned with a gesture of his hands. “If you were to spar with even the most standard soldier or knight, they’d still kick your ass, Dream.”
“Good thing I’m not going up against soldiers or knights.” Dream noted in a matter-of-fact way. The Prince sighed out again, face coming to rigidly hold a stern expression. “I’m not asking you to train me to fight other Men , I’m asking you to help me stay alive, and kill these…wither skeletons.” He said lowly, the intent reaching Quackity’s mind as he understood that there was no changing the Prince’s mind.
Dream was going to the valley no matter how hard anyone would try to convince him otherwise. The stubborn idiot would not falter from his decision, and Quackity knew there was no chance he could keep him from leaving unless he constricted him with chains and buried him 6 feet under the sand and rock. One way or another, Dream was going to be on that battlefield, and much as Quackity wanted to keep him here away from the spill of blood and breaking of bones, he understood that he should not prevent the Prince from adhering to whatever fate awaited him in Wyrlorn.
By the pull of the ocean and the call of the wind, Dream had a destiny. He knew where he was needed, where he was meant to be, and Quackity should help him on his journey to meet it.
If only he could relate.
At a shallow level, the Captain did not know where the hell he was needed, or what petulant fate would even require of him. But under the surface and deep down in the high walls of his heart, he knew there was a destiny of his own, suspecting a particular call that would summon him to be more than a mysterious figure on the seas. He was being called to entertain the title of ‘Champion’.
Why fate had wanted him to have a hand in the outcome of this war, he did not know, but it was a perilous plight that he was reluctant to listen to, not wanting much to do with the intertwined affairs of his past and the current world. Quackity had yet to accept his destiny, skirting and dancing around it warily, hesitant to take the plunge into the dark of the future.
Closing his eyes in decision, Quackity breathed in and out as he submitted to Dream’s request. Opening his eyes, he moved his hands off his hips and placed a hand on Dream’s shoulder. “Princey, this might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever indulged in, but …I will help you.” He said with an anxious voice. “I’m going to teach you everything I can in the short time we have.” He promised.
Dream smiled at the Captain in relief. “Oh Gods, thank you so much Quackity-”, he tried to say before he was abruptly cut off.
“You want to survive? Then I’m not gonna go easy on you.” Quackity informed him, squeezing at the Prince's shoulder with a warning exclamation. “You have a long way to go, Dream. We start at dawn tomorrow.” He instructed, removing his hand from the Prince’s shoulder and letting it rest on top of the hilt of his sheathed cutlass.
“What about tonight?” Dream offered with uncontained suspense.
Quackity laughed heartily, the short roar making Dream shudder and shy away a bit in embarrassment. The Captain grinned at the Prince, his golden fang visibly poking through his lips like a shiny snaggletooth. “I don’t think so. You should take this night to rest and be with George, because when we begin training, we’re gonna train hard , and I won’t be cutting you any slack.” He proclaimed, enunciating the commanding words in syllables that hit Dream’s ears as a serious and slightly mischievous declaration.
“Ah- okay.” Dream said with a stutter, running a hand through his golden blond locks as he bashfully looked around. “Goodnight then, Captain.” He waved goodbye with a small smile.
“Good day, Your Highness.” Quackity replied, turning from the circle of people and walking down the path.
As he grew further and further away from his friends, the faint sound of a tune fell upon his ears, and he recognised that Dream had begun to hum a particular melody that was familiar to the Captain, the first lines of the verse similar to a song that had plagued his thoughts and would not leave his head.
The humming trailed out of hearing distance, but within Quackity’s mind it continued its song as a loud echoing of plucked strings and airy flutes, stopping at the end of the first verse and repeating the same two bars over and over again.
He thought about shaking the noise away, but he was so damn tired, his eyes uncontrollably closing and his body feeling the dull ache of fatigue at his muscles. So he let the song run its course, waiting for it to stop, if it stopped at all.
Maybe he could use the song as a background mood to accompany his sleep. Maybe it could be a slurry of gentle music that floated about his dreams, where Quackity hoped he could elicit the same one he had on the beach. A dream of him and Karl in the countryside, leaves falling with the turn of the season from a warm summer into a chill winter, crunching and crumbling beneath their feet as they briskly strolled through the meadows of yellow grass and hills of sweet wildflowers; a strong memory of famed coincidence and happy accident.
Quackity longed for that time where he and Karl just spent a week together in falling bliss, no pedantic trifles anywhere in sight, for their time together was that of shared smiles and endearing stories of their long-lived lives.
In Karl’s company, Quackity could do all the jovial lolling in fields he wanted, and partook in all the plain, ubiquitous actions of a simple life, where he had a small taste of what Karl brought to his existence. A balance of twinkling light, Karl had been like that of Stars in Quackity’s darkness of a shadowed Moon, and he waited 60 years to feel that kind of balance again when he had reunited with Karl under the passing meteor shower.
Only this time, the Stars and Moon collided with Sapnap, the Sun creating a conjunction of light that seemed to just– belong with them…
And if that were anything, it was a prophesying notion that brought Quackity’s gaze down to his hands, the ring of purple amethyst on his left index finger a comforting and ever present sight in his day to day life. As for his right index finger, it lay barren and undecorated. It looked so lonely, and Quackity wondered if he could ask for more. If he could ask the world to give him the things he wanted most, and hand him this balance he so desperately craved.
He wondered if he could, along with Karl, have Sapnap too.
Notes:
im more happy with this chapter but ig that is to be seen when i read back over it in the future. i really enjoyed writing the forest scene and yes i made fundy a trans man in this story coz why not.
i will continue to write over the next few days but i will be starting a sort of training thing in january so my time may be limited in the new year. that being said, i want to try and get through as much of the story as i can which probs wont be much but thats alright. anyways, i hope you enjoyed this chapter and hope you are having a wonderful holidays.Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
Chapter 5: The Breaking Of Bonds
Summary:
17 days left.
Dream begins his training to try and become a competent enough fighter to ride into battle with honour and courage among the troops of his kingdom's army.
Karl overcomes a block in his memory and recalls how he and Quackity met all those years ago.
Tommy receives bad news from Wil to which he goes to Technoblade for consolation. Technoblade attempts to reach out to Wilbur only to be met with a cold shoulder, and Fundy recounts a time in his life when he last spent a simple moment with his father when they were both happier.
Notes:
hello i am back so soon coz i wanted to get out another chapter. hope you all had a lovely christmas (if you celebrate it of course). this chapter is roughly 13.5k words, there is one flashback about karl and quackity that is marked out and written in italics and i loved writing it ngl. we have some angst so im sorry for that but hopefully it's not too bad or yikes.
as always, i dont proofread any of my stuff so apologies for any spelling/grammar/consistency errors i promise ill fix them if i see them
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
At the crack of dawn the next day, Quackity led Dream to an area to the South of the main island. The sun was just peeking out from over the horizon, and the Captain had taken the Prince down a narrow walkway of rock to a skewed hexagonal platform that naturally formed as a somewhat flat surface they could train on. The formation of tessellated stone and patterned rock stood high enough from the sea level to remain safe from the high tide, a few small pools of water thrown about in the divots of the platform when the ocean had crashed against the rock and spritzed it with puddles from the sea.
Early mornings on the Ankkar Isle were a picture of utopian vacation, the cool, sea air a vitalising remedy for the soul as the sun awakened from its rest, ready to shower the world in its light. Dream lapped up the feel of the wind in his face and the sound of the ocean waves that hit one another in a displaced rhythm of slaps as he stood with Quackity on the hub of suspended rock that was surrounded by the salty water of the Twilmor Sea.
The Captain stretched out his arms and legs with expertise, rolling his shoulders out and tilting his head to release some tension from his neck. He turned to face Dream who was standing opposite him, sporting his classic grin that went ear to ear, his golden fang drawing the Prince’s attention for a short moment.
Quackity threw a long stick Dream’s way, the Prince catching it clumsily and holding it in his hands in confusion. He thought he was going to be using the sword he picked out from the armoury, but he supposed the Captain didn’t think he was ready to train with the blade yet. Dream unclasped the holstered sword from his belt, placing it gently over to the side of the rock as he familiarised himself with the feeling of the stick in his hand.
Drawing his cutlass ever so slowly from its holster, the menacing twinkling in Quackity’s aquamarine eye had Dream feeling uneasy as he took up a particularly alarming stance of offense.
Dream did not like the way he was looking at him…
“Let’s begin shall we.” Quackity said innocently with a shrug of his shoulders.
Lunging for the Prince, Dream had almost no time to react as Quackity slashed at him with a fearsome strike of his thick cutlass, Dream instinctively raising his hand to block the attack with his stick, staggering back as the blade made contact with the wood.
Quackity laughed, breath steady in contrast to Dream’s, who was letting out small heaves of panic, his blood pumping from the adrenalin of the unprecedented attack. “See, you’re already better at fighting than you were yesterday.” The Captain remarked with an even wider grin, baring his teeth at Dream like a ferocious animal.
If that wasn’t intimidating enough, the following slashes of Quackity’s curved blade at Dream were even more threatening, the Prince not entirely sure if he was meaning to actually hurt him or not.
Quackity threw an unexpected punch at Dream, steady on his feet and quick in his jabs that hit the Prince’s arm in a thud of knuckles against flesh, bruising Dream’s skin and inciting the receptors of pain in his muscles. In his moment of pain, Quackity took the opportunity to hit Dream again, the punch landing on his stomach, winding him as he wheezed out air from his lungs, his voice gone from the sudden impact.
Maintaining his grin of slight contempt, Quackity let up his attacks on the Prince, pacing back and forth whilst twirling the cutlass in his hand as he watched the Prince struggle to get his breath back. Dream tried to calm his nerves, letting the air flow in and out of his lungs as his heart beat profusely in his chest that sounded out in his ears.
Upon seeing him regain his amateur stance, stick in hand, Quackity cocked his head in amusement before he repeated the sequence of attacks he had just performed. Throwing a punch at Dream’s arm and stomach, the Prince managed to block the hits with his stick, but he was ultimately helpless against the Captain, as Quackity whacked the back of Dream’s legs with his feet, turning them to jelly.
Dream’s stance became yielding as his legs quivered from the impact and he tried to use the stick to keep his balance, Quackity sparing him no chance for redemption as he shoved the Prince’s chest with the hilt of his cutlass. His back unforgivingly hit the ground, Dream’s breath heaving more and the bumps of the rock scratching at his skin through his shirt.
“Fuck.” Dream groaned out in pain, still recovering on the ground from the fall. “Quackity, can we please refrain from performing the harder moves at the start?” He whined out as he propped himself up on his hands, glaring at Quackity with his eyes narrowed and beads of sweat at the corners of his forehead.
“This is war, Princey. You think the enemy will take it easy on you? They’re gonna try get their hands on you and rip the skin and flesh from your fucking bones.” Quackity grimly relented with seriousness, standing over Dream dauntingly with his cutlass in hand. “You need to fix your stance.” Quackity pointed at Dream with the tip of his blade. “Your centre of gravity is off, it makes you easier to knock over.” He diligently informed. “Spread your feet out more, keep your arms up and closer to your body so you can protect your torso.” He said, giving Dream a quick demonstration so he could match it.
Pushing himself up to stand on his feet, Dream took note of what the Captain had shown him, branding it in his brain as a basic principle that he needed to commit to memory if he wanted to improve at all.
Stick at the ready, Dream opted to strike Quackity first, coming at him with a burst of energy that emerged at something short of a sprint. It was a fruitless attack, as Quackity manoeuvred around it with impressive footwork. Dream got caught in his own momentum, following through in his path towards the Captain, but losing some of his balance as he began to lean too far forward.
Using the hilt of his cutlass again, Quackity whacked the Prince in the back with light force, Dream almost falling face-first into rocks this time. “You can’t show them any weakness, and you cannot show them any mercy, for they will show you none.” Quackity gravely lectured, strolling around on the rocks, completely unbothered and not even breaking a sweat yet. “They do not think, they do not feel, they are not human . Not anymore…”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Dream asked, curious about what Quackity was on about.
Quackity tapped Dream’s ass with the tip of his cutlass, the touch making Dream spin around defensively. “Focus!” The Captain ordered in a gravely shriek. “You don’t stop and have a chat with the enemy mid-battle. If you wanna make it out of Veerim Valley alive, then shut your trap, Princey.”
Dream let out frantic gasps as Quackity came at him in a rapid flurry of slashes. The Prince bit his tongue in concentration as he jumped back from a low, sweeping attack from Quackity’s blade, the Captain following it up with a fierce swipe that would’ve taken Dream’s head off had the Prince not ducked, avoiding the devastating blow.
Light on his feet, Quackity raised his arm one final time, his curved sword coming down like that of a guillotine about to strike at Dream’s torso. However, Dream rooted his feet in the rocks and took in a deep breath as he lifted his stick up, hitting the other’s blade in strong opposition and successfully blocking the attack. He did not stagger backwards, he did not falter from his stance, and he met Quackity’s eyes with a fiery expression of determination and raw power.
Quackity held their point of contact, eyes widening in surprise at the hints of savageness in the Prince’s expression. Grinning at the sight, Quackity withdrew himself and watched Dream as his chest rose and fell very noticeably. This was good. Dream was going to need to tap into that kind of feral drive moving forward in their training. He was going to need a pinch of ruthlessness if he wanted to stay alive.
They kept on like that for over 5 hours, Quackity knocking Dream over and hitting at him countless times, but without fail, Dream got up every single time, resilient and unwavering as he soaked in the pain and absorbed the little lessons Quackity had been giving him throughout.
Glancing to the sky, Quackity pulled away from their engagement and sheathed his cutlass. “The sun is high.” He breathlessly noted, inhaling through his nose to steady his breathing. “Get some water, Dream. We’ll continue shortly once you rehydrate yourself.” He commanded, observing how much the Prince had sweated and the fatigue was slowly taking hold of his body.
He was pushing Dream, and he was pushing him hard. Quackity did say he wasn’t going to cut him any slack, so they were proceeding mercilessly, spending hours at a time on preparing Dream for war. Quackity wanted Dream to be able to protect and defend himself at the very least, hoping that he could help the Prince survive the battle on his own if Quackity were not there to shield him.
Like an idiot, Dream had failed to bring with him his leather canister of water. Quackity had only enough water for himself, so Dream would have to go to the great hall of the isles and remember to bring some water back with him.
Dragging his feet as he walked, Dream made his way back across the rocky walkway and over to the hall, entering it with slack arms and overly warm skin. He grabbed a spare canister from a shelf on the walls and went over to the barrels of fresh water that were stacked in a corner of the hall, turning on a tap attached to the barrel and filling his canister up to the max with water.
Plopping down on a chair, Dream ran a hand through his damp hair. The locks had been drenched with sweat, but had been run through by the salty air of the wind, giving his once perfect mane a crispy feeling that could not have been healthy.
Niki had just walked into the hall, and she sat down next to Dream with a small chuckle of pity as she smiled at him.
“How goes the training with the Captain?” She asked, the shimmer of the silver markings of her skin illuminating so magically in the light of the building.
The Prince groaned in slight regret. “I feel like we’ve been fighting for days and it’s only been hours. I’m so sore.” He said, closing his eyes and focusing on his body.
Every muscle of his arms and legs were laced with a dull ache, his lower back and chest painfully stretched beyond what he thought his capabilities were able to do. His heart had beat so hard that it sometimes felt as if it would burst out of his ribcage and fall onto the wet rocks. Prolonged exposure to the sun had elicited a brief headache that lingered behind his forehead as a sharp stabbing presence, his vision blurry and his hearing muffled from the dehydration. The sweat had built up immensely over the hours, an occurrence that the Prince was not used to, the dirty feeling making him recoil from himself in slight disgust as he lifted his arm to see how it had pooled at his armpits.
As Dream let his head fall, strands of damp hair fell into his face and covered his eyes in an unhelpful obstruction of his sight.
“You’ll need to build up your strength over time.” Niki said softly, taking a spare lackey from off her wrist and handing it to Dream, the Prince grabbing it with a grateful nod as he fiddled with it in between his fingers. “Battles like the one to come could last for days at a time, longer even if you’re unlucky. There’s no telling really.” She continued, trailing off lightly.
“Have you ever been in any battles, Niki?” Dream asked curiously, using the lackey to tie the longer strands back so they kept out of his face, the restrained hair like the small tuft of a tail behind his head.
“No, I have not.” Niki replied, smiling at the different hairstyle on the Prince. “I did not know many trials of life before I left the Aether. It is a place of otherworldly peace for people like me and others of the higher realm.” She commented, looking off to the space behind Dream in fond remembrance.
Dream thought back to what Quackity had said before, about the wither skeletons, and his interest had remained piqued ever since the words had been uttered. Not wanting to pry but unable to restrain himself, he brought the topic up in the form of an innocent query. “Is it true that all souls go to the Aether when they die?” He questioned, hoping Niki would share some more information about the other realm with him.
Niki took in a deep breath, her yellow eyes shining at Dream as she spoke. “Mostly. If you have been damned however, then you will find your soul in the clutches of Dianite after you pass.” She began reciting to Dream. “You’d be a mindless slave to his will in your afterlife, and join his ranks by becoming a wither skeleton or some other corrupted creature of the Nether.”
The words chilled Dream, his skin prickling with dangerous excitement. “Damned? One can really become damned? I thought that was just something parents told their naughty children to get them to behave or something.”
“Oh it’s real alright.” Niki said, holding Dream’s attentive stare “If you make a deal with the Blood God, then you must pay him back in blood. If you do not, then your soul is his to claim.”
“Is it so hard to pay the god your blood then?” Dream asked further, firmly interested in the vast knowledge of Niki’s mind and all to do with the gods and magic.
The oceanborn pirate dryly scoffed, not necessarily at Dream but rather at Dianite himself. “The Blood God demands blood, but he never says where it shall come from until the deal has already been struck and he seeks his payment.” Niki informed, head turning away from Dream and a disturbed look on her face. “Dianite is twisted, Your Highness. He would not ask for your blood or the blood of a stranger that you have no ties to, he would ask for the blood of those you love and care for.” She said, her eyes wry at the thought of the vile deity. “He’s a beastly immortal, believe me. He has done his fair share of damage to the innocent.” Niki concluded with a sour taste in her mouth, deep in thought like she was recalling some memory of the god.
Noticing her expression, Dream couldn’t stop the words as they left his mouth. “Like Quackity?”
Niki gently snapped her head back to face Dream with knowing eyes, and the Prince realised he had crossed some sort of invisible line. “It was nice talking to you, Dream.” She said, standing up from her chair and politely dismissing herself from their conversation. “I best be getting back to my work now.”
Fuck. He shouldn’t have asked that. He should’ve kept his intrigue in check. Gods, curse his stupid brain. It was not for him to pry, and yet he did it anyway, trying to claw his way into people’s pasts under the guise of friendliness and innocent words.
All the shame aside, Dream knew there was something Quackity and his crew were keeping from him. Although it was none of his business, whatever it was that they were all hiding, there was some kind of unsettling truth that they were all barred from revealing. Some kind of formidable experience of the past that brought a shared hurt to the pirates by that of either sympathy or empathy, or perhaps both at the same time.
Dream did not really know. But at that moment, he knew this: this truth that had such a grip on Quackity, that seemed like it was an unspeakable notion, it had something to do with Dianite. And for now, that would be enough.
The Prince could only hope that one day, the Captain and he could be close enough for him to share that truth. For the time being, it would start and continue with them training and spending time together in practiced combat, so that was what he should go do if he wanted to even get anywhere near that level of trust and vulnerability.
Dream left the hall with his leather canister of water, making his way back slowly to the area where they had been training. Quackity was waiting for him, the Captain performing deliberate and calculated poses in the wind that Dream could only describe as entrancing, like a slow dance of energy that made his limbs appear elongated and free from any tension or hindering stiffness.
Quackity greeted him with another wide grin. “And here I was beginning to think you had given up.” He said playfully, rolling up his sleeves so they sat higher above his elbows.
The Prince shook his head as he bent over to pick up his stick from where he had left it leaning against the rocks. “Never.” He rasped out, sporting a grin of his own.
Quackity stifled a smile of genuine regard at Dream’s fierce determination. “Don’t be late next time, Princey. We’re burning daylight. Now, show me your form.” He directed, pulling out his cutlass and holding it tightly in his hand. “Again!” The Captain yelled, engaging with Dream in a sequence of hits, jabs, and slashes.
They trained for only another hour or so, Quackity seeing the wear in Dream’s stance and the fight leaving his body. He was spent, and there was no way he was going to last into the afternoon or night, Dream looking like he was about to pass out any second.
“Alright, I’m calling it for today.” Quackity said, breathing in and out deeply. “I think you’ve had enough.”
Upon hearing the Captain’s words, Dream let the stick fall out of his hands and clatter to the ground. He dropped to his knees, bent over as he panted frantically to get some oxygen back into his lungs. He coughed a few times, his throat dry and his body worn out as he slowly shifted his position so he was now lying on his back.
Taking in more laboured breaths, Dream let his body lay limp as he spoke. “So, how’d I do?” He asked breathlessly.
Walking over to Dream, Quackity then crouched down to talk to him. “I’m gonna keep it real with you. Overall, you kinda suck…”, he stated plainly. “ But , that’s to be expected. It is only your first day after all, and you do show promise.” He countered, tapping Dream’s chest with a calloused hand. “If the circumstances were different and we had all the time in the world, I think you could go on to be a great swordsman. Your father would be proud, Dream. I know I am.” Quackity said warmly, letting a genuine smile be expressed to the Prince.
Dream sat up, staring at Quackity with grateful eyes. “Thank you.” He mumbled bashfully with a small upturn of his lips.
“Don’t get too happy now”, Quackity groaned as he helped Dream to his feet. “There’s a lot more to learn. We’ll go again at first light tomorrow.” He said, patting the Prince’s shoulder as he grinned.
Beaming at the Captain, Dream nodded happily before moving to return to the area of the main isle, but Quackity did not follow him.
Dream tilted his head in confusion. “Are you not coming?” He asked in a small, gentle voice.
The expression reminded Quackity of a child a bit. Truth be told, compared to him, Dream was a child, only having lived on this earth for but a fraction of the years Quackity had. His presence was somewhat comforting, and the Captain wondered if he was ever like that in the past. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit. You go on ahead.” Quackity shooed him away with a light-hearted wave of his hand.
Buzzing, Dream nodded again and started his short trek back, dragging his feet as he shuffled down the rocky walkway. As he was leaving, Quackity heard the Prince begin to hum absentmindedly. It was the exact same tune as the one he was humming last night, and Quackity watched him as he eventually faded from his sight.
In deep thought, Quackity resigned to a feeling in his heart and a song that refused to leave his mind. Exhaling in tire, the Captain proceeded to trail down the walkway as well, only he instead remained by the edge of the island, strolling along the rock and beach and sand towards the North-Eastern part of the main isle.
There he could sit in his contemplation. There he could consolidate his doubt. There he could wrestle with the call.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The early afternoon was warm, the sea was beautiful as it ever was, and Karl sat placidly on the open balcony in thought, gazing out to the view of the ocean as it rippled and reflected the sun so brightly across its waters.
Boats flooded the docks far down by the waterline, the jetties a great framework that housed the many vessels of the city. Karl exhaled wistfully, mind wandering about until it landed on one thing, and one alone: Quackity.
The memories of the tanned pirate lay as fragments of crystals in his mind, and he tried hard to piece together his time with the shrouded Captain. Parts of Quackity had been lost to the archives of Karl’s memory, stored somewhere within the books of years upon years of lived experiences and catalogued events of history.
Although he had forgotten aspects of his time with Quackity, he did not forget the things he had felt with him, blurs of happiness and bittersweet bliss still within arms distance of recollection. He clutched those feelings firmly, holding onto it desperately as the months and years went by in Quackity’s absence.
Frustrated, Karl closed his eyes tightly as he tried to shape the fragments and place them together, the flashes of their time together just out of reach but almost close enough to touch.
He huffed out an agitated groan, clenching his hands so hard that his painted nails began to dig into his skin. Then he opened his eyes, defeatedly glancing down to his hands as his vision became wet with the elicitation of tiny tears, but he stopped his fretting when the shine of something caught his eye.
The ring that Quackity had gifted to him. The ring that Quackity had hoped would bring the memories of them back to Karl. The ring that held in it the deepest affections of Quackity’s heart. A band of black opals, the ring glinted in Karl’s green eyes, the sight bringing a smile to his face as he ran a finger over the piece of jewellery.
Focusing on it hard, Karl closed his eyes once more, breathing in and out steadily as he honed in on the thought of Quackity, pulling the memories of their past together until it formed a coherent image that Karl could picture clearly.
It was 5 years ago for him when it had happened, the very night before he was set to go to the Sproalstonian city and become a member of the Royal Court, and Karl was having an intense dream of prophetic recall and maddening instructions. By whatever resting powers that lay in his blood, Karl’s mind attempted to save itself from the burden by jolting him awake in a vigorous manner, unintentionally pulling him from his sleep as well as pulling him back in time to an unknown point in history.
Karl let the memory unravel as it shifted and flowed, taking hold and bringing him back to the time when he and Quackity met.
—flashback—
Karl landed a few feet off the air and bumped into a cloaked stranger, gasping shallowly as he looked around in a panic, unaware of where or when the hell he was, his memory becoming hazy behind a wall of magic amnesia. He acted first when he came into conscious awareness, letting out a series of fumbled apologies as he helped the stranger up and brushed the dirt from off his cloak. Karl’s voice was anxious and his face in a state of apprehension.
The stranger noticed the trembling of Karl’s hands, and took them confidently in his own rough ones. “Are you alright?” He asked with concern, his voice deep and raspy like a warm blend of smoke and honey.
Shallowly breathing, Karl met the stranger’s gaze, taking in his features as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “I- I don’t know where I am…”, Karl whispered in a daze, his light green eyes meeting the striking aquamarine eye of the stranger who he noticed was blind in the other eye, a great scar running down the left side of his face.
The stranger rubbed Karl’s hands with his own, warming them up in the chilling air. “You’re in the countryside, in the kingdom of Sproalstone.” He informed, Karl’s eyes darting around to observe the village they were currently in. “Can you tell me your name?” The stranger asked gently.
Karl brought his attention back to the man in front of him, his hands sheltered from the cool wind as they remained engulfed in the stranger’s. “My name is Karl.” He answered with a shaky breath, breathing in and out to calm his nerves.
“Hey Karl, my name is Quackity.” He said with a sweet smile, withdrawing his hands from Karl’s, Karl feeling the absence of warmth and wanting it back the second it left.
“What… what happened?” Karl muttered out as he clutched his head that was in the aftermath of a spinning churn.
“I’m not too sure, Karl.” His name left the stranger’s lips so nicely, and Karl found himself feeling an odd sense of ease settle in his skin. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I- I can’t- I don’t remember.” Karl stuttered out, his own memories barred from him that he scratched at, hoping to claw his way through the thick mist. “I was just having a bad dream, and then…then nothing.” He recounted, trailing off in sadness, a pessimistic expression falling onto his face.
Quackity grabbed Karl’s hand, holding it so their clasped hands filled the space between them. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s gonna be okay.” He said caringly, giving Karl’s hand a squeeze in hopes of comforting the shaken man. “Are you hungry?” Quackity asked softly, tilting his head.
Nodding slowly, Karl’s stomach grumbled in time with the mention of food, Quackity smiling kindly at him as he kept holding the other’s hand.
“There’s a bunch of food in the markets.” Quackity gestured with his head to further into town. “Let’s get you a hot meal and we can figure this out, yeah? Let me help you, Karl.” He offered, his bright blue eye meeting Karl’s in an extension of silent acquaintanceship.
His lips turning upward at the corners of his mouth, Karl felt a certain brightness illuminating from Quackity like a pale light of shadowed bloom and mystery. “Okay.” He agreed with a nod of his head, letting Quackity take him through the village as he maintained his hold in the other’s hand.
Lively and quaint, people flitted in and out of the small streets like twigs and leaves in a flowing river in blurs of bodies that flew by Karl with every slow blink of his eyes.
Autumn colours ran over the village in a lens of oranges, reds and yellows, with the leftover twinges of bright green lingering in the flora of the area. Trees of incandescent marigold, crimson, and golden butter stood tall beside thatched roofs and brick walls, the leaves falling from the branches with every gust of wind that rustled past, and blanketing the grey, stone paths in a thin veil of the seasonal palette.
Breezes that preluded the winter fell upon Karl’s face as a familiar chill that gave him goosebumps through the fabric of his light sweater, the purple and green material keeping just warm enough from the cold.
There was a particular dampness to the air, an indication of the passage of the first rains of autumn that left behind an earthy miasma of petrichor along with the tiniest smell of almost rotting leaves that lie on the paths. The leaves lay underneath Karl’s feet as a rolled out carpet that got squished with each step he took, bruising as they crinkled in muffles throughout Karl and Quackity’s brief wander about the village and into the markets.
Quackity seemed not phased by the cold, his dark, navy blue cloak apparently cosy enough to protect him from the changing weather. Karl stood by him the whole way as he held casual conversation with the locals, the villagers greeting him with friendly waves and content hums. After only a few short minutes in the market, Quackity had managed to score a small bowl of hot pumpkin soup for Karl and a curled pastry covered in white, powdered sugar that smelt of cinnamon and apples.
Now holding the warm bowl in his hands, Karl watched steam rise off the soup, blowing on it to cool it down in anticipation of its potentially scalding effect on his tongue if he consumed it as is. The aroma of pepper and herbs filled his nose as he breathed in the scent of the hearty soup, and it brought a smile to Karl’s face. He let it cool down for a few minutes, Quackity taking paced bites of his scrolled snack as he observed Karl with his soup, staring at him with curiosity and an odd feeling of endearment in his heart at the strange man that was, Karl.
Karl managed to cool his soup down enough to eat it, gulping it down with a slurp and licking his lips afterward to savour the flavour. He beamed brightly at the simple moment, his eyes creasing from the delightfulness and his heart feeling a sense of consolation in the half an hour or so he had been awake from his dream.
There was something about Karl… Something in particular about the way his green eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and he seemed to glimmer as he smiled at the world around him like he was reaching out and stippling the area with his softly shining presence. It reminded him of the stars, and the association placed Quackity in the arms of a binding partnership that represented certain celestial lights that shone in the darkness of night.
Quackity had not met anyone like him before, feeling a very alluring and very comforting sense in his company that made him want to be around Karl a lot. It was bizarre. He must’ve been crazy. There was no way he had become attached so quickly to a complete stranger. He didn’t even know Karl, the guy seemingly appearing out of thin air and crashing into him just by the entrance of the village without warning. But Gods, he had this charm about him. This friendly charm of beckoning trust and pleasant company that felt almost…timeless.
Taking the last bite of his pastry, Quackity spotted something around Karl’s neck that had gradually slunk out from behind his loosely buttoned sweater. “That’s a pretty watch.” He said between chews, his voice unintelligible as Karl brought his attention to Quackity, quirking his head in confusion to indicate he had not quite heard what the other just said.
Quackity finished chewing his sweet treat and swallowed quickly. “Your stopwatch, it’s very pretty.” He complimented genuinely, using his head to gesture to Karl’s upper chest where the stopwatch was resting on its chain around his neck.
Karl glanced down to the brass and gold stopwatch, the ticking of the instrument suddenly growing louder and louder in his ears, ringing out in echoes that reverberated in Karl’s ears heavily. Then he became hit with consuming hits of his activated memories. Flashes of information flooded his senses in a series of images and conversations, the knowledge of who and what he was coming back to him as a whiplash of his own briefly lost memories.
He remembered.
Getting dizzy from the overwhelming situation, the empty bowl dropped from his limp fingers, and he staggered noticeably. Quackity immediately rushed to his aid, grabbing Karl’s shoulders and holding him steady as he looked at him with concern in his eye. In Quackity’s arms, Karl put together a few pieces, silently figuring out that he must’ve accidentally travelled back in his sleep. Gods that was so fucking annoying.
“Karl?” Quackity called out to him in a delicate voice. “Are you okay?” He asked worriedly, keeping his grip on Karl firm as Karl steadied himself.
“Yeah, I just- I remember…”, Karl said, his hands naturally finding their way to Quackity’s, intertwining his fingers with Quackity’s casually like he had already known him for an age.
“So, what happened? What’s your story?” Quackity queried with an interested gaze.
Karl was reluctant to tell him anything of deep merit or anchoring weight, but there was just- something about Quackity… Something about the way he wandered about the world in a dull sort of grace, a subtle but prevalent glow radiating from him in such a rounded and distinguished way, a gentle and pale gleam that reminded him of the moon as it waxed and waned through the course of time. The thought brought a fond smile to Karl’s lips as he sat in the idea of Quackity being his moon. Why he felt that way was a mystery to him, but he did not mind the ambiguity, rolling with the feeling as it came to him.
He had decided there and then that he would share his time with Quackity and tell him the story of his life. For all he knew, it was a harmless action, and something in his heart told him that he could trust Quackity. That Quackity wouldn’t hurt him.
The two of them began to talk, the hours flying by as Quackity took him on a calm and beautiful walk through a meadow that stretched out over the land just outside the small village. Soft grass littered the meadow in a rich hue of life as the colour began to fade from the bright green to a pale yellow in line with the change of the season. He told Quackity everything, from where he had come from, to the more intimate details of what he was in relation to the wider world and the unwritten memories of history.
They trailed along at a slow pace, going past all kinds of daisies and cornflowers, the sound of swallows in the swaying trees of scarlet red and ginger orange faintly hitting Karl’s ears in a chorus of pretty tweeting. Quackity listened attentively to every word he said, making Karl feel seen and heard as he kept spilling bouts of information to him, ensuring to nod along and meet Karl’s eyes with sounds of affirmation the entire time they talked.
Sunlight hit their faces in a brisk shine of warmth, the autumnal winds also flushing their faces in tandem with the sweet smell of buttercups that lay scattered about the meadow as well, the buzzing of dragonflies prominent in the quiet air of the countryside. Karl looked around the meadow, seeing cowslips among the other flowers that grew in a cluster of lines throughout the grass. He took note of every flower that he passed, the petals becoming wrinkly with the shift from summer to winter, some petals falling off onto the ground as they continued to wilt, so goes the waltz of time.
Quackity had taken all of Karl’s life story with sincere regard. Not once did he falter in his focus on Karl. Not once did he let fall any expression of snide judgement or vexed remark. Not once did he make Karl feel ashamed for all the faults he could not control.
It was the most comfort Karl had ever known in the eternity of his life, and he had come to find something in the hours with Quackity that he had not had the privilege of ever having: balance. A balance that yielded a freedom of his soul and released him from a lifetime of obsessive, pragmatic responsibility. It was like a dream. One of tantalising indulgence in rest for the sleepless duty that was his burden of time. But even if it was just a dream, Karl would choose to stay in the fiction of it all.
After a few hours had gone by, Karl was forced to remind himself of his responsibilities. He stopped his shuffling stroll and turned to face Quackity with a hankering but regretful stare as he brought their intertwined hands up to their chests. “I have to go back soon, Quackity. This time doesn’t need me.” He whispered out in low spirits, longing for his circumstance to be different to the reality of what it was.
“Will you stay a bit longer? Just for a short while.” Quackity said in a small voice, holding onto Karl’s hands rigidly, like he was afraid Karl would slip from his fingers and fade out of existence.
Karl thought the request over deeply, his head saying one thing and his heart saying another. He really shouldn’t-
“Please?” Quackity pleaded, his voice airy and his eyes bearing into Karl’s with vulnerability.
He couldn’t say no to Quackity.
“Okay.” Karl gave in softly, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’ll stay just a bit longer.” He said, pulling Quackity in so their foreheads could rest together as they breathed in the air and stayed in the slowly transforming ambience of the meadow in autumn.
Over the next week, Karl and Quackity had spent the days in balanced bliss. In those moments, the two of them had blossomed a friendship of deep understanding and fond affection. Throughout the days, he came to know Quackity in his entirety, who he was, where he came from, the kind of scars that wounded his heart, and Karl took everything on board with gentle kindness and assuring validation.
The sentiments of Karl’s care nestled itself in Quackity’s soul, his aura shining all the more brighter with him around. With Karl he shared truths that he kept buried underneath layers of hurt and guilt, astonished that Karl didn’t want to flee to the hills upon knowing who he was, but touched by the level of commitment Karl was constantly promising to him. Quackity had come to learn at that time that Karl was in some way, his. That whether by the chance of sheer luck or the written decree of fate, Karl had given himself to Quackity willingly as a friend for life, a companion of entwined souls that in one way or another, simply belonged with him.
Then the end of the week had come, and their time was finally up.
Karl had especially asked for them to depart back in the meadows, so Quackity had done just that, having one last look at peace before Karl had to return to the time of whatever present needed him.
Karl took Quackity’s hands, holding them with all care he could muster, the warmth of his skin seeping into Quackity’s. “It’s time…”, he called out to the air, hearing the ticking of his stopwatch get louder and louder as the projections of a vision came to fill his mind and dominate his thoughts.
It was a vision of the Moon, the Stars, and the Sun. The ticking got more clamorous in Karl’s ears.
Tick. Tick. Tick, tick, tick, tick!
Flashes of Karl and Quackity under starlight and moonlight of the night. Flashes of another man who had black hair and amber eyes of flame under the sunlight. Flashes of 3 pairs of rings that decorated all their index fingers in a coordinated fashion.
Flashes of the 3 heralds of light together, smiling happily in a picture-perfect frame.
It was a vision from the Lady of things yet to come, a glimpse into the future of Karl, Quackity, and someone else’s fate. The vision did not hinder Karl’s health in any way like the usage of time did, the images fading as he blinked at Quackity with glossy eyes.
“Will I ever see you again?” Quackity asked in a low voice, as if he was scared to disturb the peace of their final moment.
“You will, Quackity.” Karl promised in earnest declaration. He removed a hand from Quackity’s and took off one of his amethyst rings to gently place it on Quackity’s index finger, the ring perfectly slipping right on. Quackity stared deeply into Karl’s eyes, face soft and longing, touched by the gifting of Karl’s ring to him; a token of his affection. Karl placed a hand on the other’s face, cupping it slightly, Quackity leaning into the touch with a content sigh. “You will see me again when the stars pass over the sky in a shower of blue light. When the call of the winds pull you back to the city, and a time of great need reunites our souls. I will see you again when the world shifts, and one day, we will all come to be together. All of us.” He stated somewhat ominously.
Karl retracted his hand from Quackity’s cheek, inhaling and exhaling deeply before pulling him in for a great, big hug, the comfort of Karl’s tight embrace wrapping around Quackity like a fleece of love and eternal friendship.
“Until next time, Karl.” Quackity said into his shoulder, dreading the second Karl would be gone.
Karl smiled into Quackity’s raven black hair. “Until next time, Quackity.”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The ticking of Karl’s stopwatch began to pick up again as a metronomic tap that rang out in Karl’s ears. This was their time. An end and a start at the same time.
The ticking of the stopwatch also found its way to Quackity’s ears, but at its normal volume to all who weren’t the wielder of the instrument.
And just like that, Karl was sucked into time and space, warping from Quackity’s arms and disappearing from his embrace, the pirate left with only the remnants of his warmth that faded with every passing minute he stood alone in the meadow.
Karl came to, finding himself exactly where he left off in the safety of his bed, thankfully in a reclined position that aided his mind-altering daze that occurred whenever he travelled through time. But it did not outweigh the coldness he felt from Quackity’s absence. Time and the Lady had told him he would see Quackity again, but what would be only a few years for him, would be decades for Quackity, and Karl could not help but feel guilt that he was going to have to wait for so long.
—end of flashback—
Karl remembered their encounter vividly, recounting the joined fragments of his fragile mind in a trance of enamour. But for all he could recall, something itched at his brain and gnawed at his subconscious. There was something else… Something he had not successfully remembered. A detail he was forgetting about Quackity that lay in another fragmented memory that he had yet to piece back together.
But the recollection of how they met had taken the life out of Karl, exhausted from the energy it took to get his memory of them back, so he left it, deciding to work at that on another day. He would slowly get every memory of their time back and build it up bit by bit before this war was all over. He would get it all back, and he would go to Quackity if he could and tell him that he wasn’t to let him go from his memory.
Not if he could help it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scuttering feet sounded out in the corridors of the Wyrlornian castle as Prince Tommy walked and lurked about, seeking to cause some mischief or stir up some trouble to entertain himself like a little goblin boy.
He came down a hallway with a skip in his step and saw Wilbur standing fixedly by a window with his hands clasped behind his back. Tommy had thought his brother was just setting his sight on the city or enjoying the view of the sky, but as he approached the King, he realised that Wilbur’s eyes did not stretch past the window pane, Wilbur stiffly gazing at his own reflection in the glass with piercing intensity.
Prince Tommy took careful but energetic steps towards the King, wondering if he could engage in some cheeky banter with Wilbur. “Hey Wil.” He greeted him with a rasp and a playful tone.
Wilbur’s eyes trailed slowly from the glass with a turn of his head as he came to face Tommy properly with a slightly strange aura. “Hello Tommy.” Wilbur greeted back, his arms remaining behind his back as he spoke with precise enunciation and a monotone voice.
The oddness of Wilbur’s behaviour wasn’t anything particularly new to Tommy, but he refrained from his antics as he reminded himself that Wilbur probably had a lot on his plate, and he shouldn’t be overly obnoxious given the immense stress and pressure his brother had been put under.
Tommy faltered a bit, not sure what he should talk about, but Wil thankfully filled the brief awkward silence. “How’s your training with Tubbo and Techno going? I hear Technoblade is pleased with your progress in the daggers and throwing knives.” King Wilbur asked casually, hints of emotion in his voice that Tommy couldn’t quite place.
“It’s going really well, Wil! I’m doing fucking awesome.” Tommy proudly replied, his smile wide and his stance boisterous. “I’ll have those wither skeletons by the balls at Veerim Valley.” He said with a clenched fist, his pale blue eyes determined and riled up.
Whatever blank expression lay on Wilbur’s face, Tommy could barely read it as Wilbur turned from him to glare at the window again, presumably to stare at his reflection once more. “Tommy…I am sorry, but you will not be joining Techno, Phil and I on the battlefield.” The King stated dryly, his eyes not blinking and his hands still behind his goddamn back.
“What?!” Tommy exclaimed in offended disbelief, his face contorting to one of confused shock. “What are you talking about, Wilbur?”
Wilbur let out a tired exhale. “I need you here with Tubbo to take care of the city and my son, should we be defeated and fall to Dianite’s forces.” He stated plainly, strain evident in the King's neck as he spoke, like the notion he just mentioned was pulling him underwater and holding him at the bottom of the ocean with a great weight at his chest.
Anger and denial stirred in Tommy’s mind, fogging up his head with a burning rage and stinging betrayal. “What the fuck, you can’t do this! I’ve been at this for months so I could fight alongside you and the others.” He yelled out some more, stomping a foot loudly on the ground as he grew more frustrated at the fact that Wilbur wasn’t even looking at him.
“You are to stay here when the army departs for the valley.” Wilbur ordered, the pricks of assertiveness apparent in his command that Tommy could actually discern for once.
Shaking his head, Tommy took a small step towards his brother. “Wilbur, you can’t-”, he tried to protest.
“My word is final, Tommy.” King Wilbur cut him off instantly, his voice never wavering from its tone of forced apathy and kingly profession.
Wil stood rigidly the entire time, distanced from the bonds of familial regard as he held himself high on his regal pedestal, keeping any potential weakness from weathering at his wit or clouding his judgement. He had to make the hard choices, and he could not indulge in anything he believed to be too close to danger for any of the little ones. Not for Tubbo, not for Fundy… Not even for Tommy.
With a huff and puff, Prince Tommy spun around and immediately hurried away from Wil, his feet clunking in aggravation with every step he took as he went through his stage of bursting ire to unwanted hurt that stayed and swirled together in his heart.
In the span of 30 minutes, Tommy could not contain or wrangle his emotions whatsoever. The effects of his conversation with Wilbur became ever so prevalent during his weapons practice with Technoblade, the young Prince still seething and reeling from his own fury and upsetedness as he tried to pour that heated energy into his training.
Technoblade monitored him like he always did, with watchful eyes and folded arms as he stood observing Tommy in scrupulous concentration. Tommy was way off today, and whatever plagued the Prince’s mind was hindering his performance greatly, so Technoblade took it upon himself to do what any other adult should do when a child seems to be having a rough time. “Tommy, your stance is riddled with faults and your form is sloppy. You’ve been distracted today, what’s wrong?” He asked with a preparatory exhale.
Tommy groaned out in frustration, his arms falling to his sides as he opted to stand by the General. He spent a few minutes recounting what Wilbur had said, making sure to elaborate and convey his overwhelming indignation as bouts of annoyed shouts and grumbling remarks.
Techno listened to Tommy’s venting with a stoic expression, holding a certain amount of consideration for the young Prince as his whining and wrath reminded him of that of an angry kitten. Tommy was but a tiny sapling, Techno a tall tree, and someone like Phil a mighty forest of lived life and many experiences. It was sickeningly endearing, but Techno could not help the aggressive hold it had on his heart.
Approaching Tommy’s dilemma with present care and concern, he tried his best to constructively give the Prince some criticism. “You’re still a child, Tommy. I know you think that going to war may make you great and mighty, but truth be told-”
“I don’t care about being mighty!” Tommy declared with a shake of his head, interrupting Technoblade hastily as he gazed intently into the General’s pink eyes with his pale blue ones. “I care about it being my choice. To go out and find my destiny. If Wilbur keeps me here then how am I supposed to do what I’ve been called to do?” The Prince lamented with soft conviction, his face sunken but his posture strong as he turned to face the sky.
There it was again. More talk of destiny that Technoblade tried to refrain from rolling his eyes at.
Destiny that was calling Tommy through promises of meaning and greater purpose. Destiny that the General despised and resented with a passion that sat deep in the centre of his soul. Destiny, that wouldn’t just- leave him alone.
It seemed he was the only one around there that did not quiver or become enamoured by the song that was calling to people, except for maybe Wilbur, but then again, he could never be sure about anything with Wilbur.
The King was a sort of loose canon at times, a weird and chaotic buzz around him that seemed to just come naturally. Wilbur was for all intents and purposes, a wildcard. There was a level of mystery to him, and this layer of profound thoughtfulness that often made it seem like he had all the questions of the universe in his mind at all times, like he had been cursed at birth to hold the burdens of existential pondering forever.
Still, what could Technoblade do really? Tommy was upset about being kept away from what he perceived as ‘his destiny’, and he had opened up to him about his feelings. People were going their own ways, heading down their own paths at fate’s call. Even if the prospect of destiny made Technoblade’s blood run cold, he shouldn’t invalidate what Tommy was feeling, no matter how badly it hurt to think about his own situation in regard to his own fate.
“Why can’t Wil just trust me and let me go with you guys?” Tommy said dejectedly, turning back to face the General.
Technoblade breathed in and out steadily, the breaths quiet and controlled as he placed a reassuring hand on Tommy's shoulder, patting it lightly to console the child. “Wilbur does trust you, but he worries and fears for us, for all of us. He doesn’t want his family to get hurt.” Techno explained to Tommy, patting Tommy’s shoulder 3 times in hopes that the Prince would find some regard of comfort from it. “He will do whatever necessary to keep us all together and alive.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of…”
Tommy may have been an idiot teen, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. Wilbur was a man of grand scale, of theatrical spectacle, of brazen action and underlying entropy. There was a certain darkness to Wilbur that had been around as long as Tommy could remember. In his 17 years of life, Tommy had come to understand that Wil fought day by day to keep certain intrusive thoughts in check, but with the recent times and the enormous strain on his character, it was very possible that Wil could cave.
That he could give in...
“You don’t suppose Wil might- go too far, do you?” Tommy asked with troubled eyes, a distressed look upon his face as he thought of the things that could go wrong should Wilbur grow darker.
Techno patted the Prince’s shoulder one more time, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest in concern and anxiousness. “I don’t know, Tommy. I don’t know.”
After their talk, the Prince trained for another hour before Techno let Tommy retire from their training, the General deciding that he could take the afternoon off to process and deal with his angst, most likely by hanging out with Tubbo or watching the yellow and blue butterflies outside the edge of the forest.
The General was going to take a nap or engage in the comfort of silence with Phil, when Wilbur had emerged from inside the castle and joined him in the training courtyard, a bow in hand and a soft smile on his face. He had gotten changed out of his usual kingly robes and was now just wearing an off white, long-sleeved shirt much like Technoblade’s one, and for a moment it seemed like he was with just ‘Wilbur’. Not ‘King Wilbur’. Just, Wil.
Techno hadn’t seen Wilbur look like this since he became king or the war had started, and the familiar presence of how Wilbur used to be brought a fond smile to the General’s face, happy that he could still see parts of the old Wilbur still in there somewhere. In the courtyard, Wilbur did not wear his crown nor any of his decorative rings that bore the Wyrlornian seal of a dark oak tree. He was wearing his old clothes from when he was still Prince Wilbur, an outfit that closely resembled Techno’s in composition save for his lack of cape that the General often wore.
During the next 2 hours, Wilbur and Technoblade had been practicing with their weapons of choice, the King with his dark longbow and the General with his dark broadsword. The sun was just about to start setting, the sky getting ready to paint the clouds in the orange and yellow and pink of the falling sun.
In odd places around the courtyard were various targets of differing sizes and tricky angles, and in those 2 hours, Wilbur had almost hit the bullseye of every single one. Sure he had missed quite a few times in his attempt to get each one, but given the range and precision one needed to do such a task, there was no shame in missing as few times as he did. It was very impressive, Wilbur’s borderline mastery of the mystical longbow enough to receive Techno’s recognition and internal praise.
They practiced mostly in silence, conversing a handful of times as they demonstrated their skills with concentration and diligence, every strike of the blade against air and every hit of the arrow on the targets a kind of beat that kept them in rhythmic tandem.
As the sun began to dip, Eret approached the King with a small rolled up piece of parchment in her hands, a message from one of the many crow friends that had offered their services to Phil and his family throughout the years. “My Lord, I have an update.” She declared with a quick bow of her head, her dress of red fabric looking as lavish and chic as ever.
Wilbur brought the longbow down from its readied position, retracting the arrow from the bow’s string and placing it back in its quiver as he wiped a drop of sweat off his face with his exposed forearm. He had rolled the sleeves up earlier when he began to sweat lightly from the exercise of dynamic rolling and clumsy sideways tumbling as he went about his training session pretending he was in a fight.
Techno caught the King wipe that bit of sweat and smirked at his lost touch. “Weak.” He threw at Wilbur in a snarky voice, dragging out the word. It really did feel like old times.
Stifling a laugh, Wilbur gave a small smile at the comment, the expression lingering on his face as he addressed Steward Eret. “Proceed.” He said with a gesture of his hands.
“Dianite’s army has come to the tundra. They’ll be at the mountains in 4 days.” Eret informed the King
The news pinched at Wilbur as he held Eret’s stare, his small smile fading tragically to Techno’s dismay. “Thank you Eret. Inform me of when they get to the mountain range pass.” Wilbur instructed them with a serious expression. “That’ll be all.” He dismissed them. Eret and Wilbur shared momentarily in a knowing look before the Steward nodded to the King and turned away from the courtyard to go back inside the castle.
As soon as Eret left, Wilbur gripped his longbow tightly and pulled an arrow out of his quiver, drawing an arrow back fully as the bow bent to the force with a croak. He let the arrow fly, going through the air with a whistle as it hit the bullseye of the target, splitting a previous arrow in half with a loud crack.
Technoblade was going to practice his balance with his sword again, when he heard Wilbur begin to hum out something in a frustrated tone. Watching the King, Techno figured he didn’t even know he was doing it, the melody of Wilbur’s hum all too familiar to Technoblade that opened a tiny door in his heart that made him feel vulnerable. But he could be vulnerable with Wilbur. At least he thought he could, especially if he and Wilbur were privy and victim to the exact same tune that had been eating away at the General’s mind.
Wilbur let a succession of arrows fly with disturbed ferity, Technoblade noticing the other’s bothered expression and intense state of thought. “Wilbur.” Techno called out to him as he approached Wilbur cautiously with light steps.
“What?” Wilbur snappily replied with a whip of his head in Techno’s direction, his trance broken but his face riddled with exhaustion and a wild look in his fading eyes as he went to place another arrow on the bow’s string.
Technoblade put his hand on the bow, lowering it down as Wilbur’s grip on the longbow began to loosen. “Stop.” Techno said delicately, his voice low in the quiet of the courtyard.
“I’m- I’m sorry, Techno.” Wilbur apologised, his eyes softening as they held a mix of anxiousness and…horror? The King removed the quiver from his back, letting it fall to the floor as he drifted his eyes and hands down the longbow in ponderance and unease.
The way the King ran his fingers down the string of the longbow brought memories to Techno’s mind, and he reminisced about the strings that he and Wilbur used to pluck and tune together. “We haven’t played in a while, Wilbur.” Technoblade commented, noting how Wil for some reason wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“I have not the time to play.” Wilbur muttered, trailing off as his voice wavered.
“I think in these times Wil, it might prove beneficial to-”, Techno tried to rebut.
“I’m going to wash up.” Wilbur stated plainly with a roll of his shoulders, now looking at Techno with still eyes and a blank expression. Just like that, he was gone again… “You should go too, General .” The King said, placing a soft but sad emphasis on Technoblade’s title, like he was reminding himself that he and Technoblade had a dire responsibility to their kingdom and the race of Men that they could not forget, not even for a moment.
Watching Wilbur walk away with a sway of fatigue tore at Technoblade’s steely heart, the sight of Wil’s change in behaviour, a disheartening plight of duty and stress and all the madness of trying to save a kingdom and the world from destruction.
Wilbur was much younger than Techno was. A mere shortage of 200 years separated them in sequential age, and Techno for quite some time now had regarded him as a good friend of commemorative spirit; someone who shared the same kind of wit and intellect as him, someone who he could terrorise Phil with as they made remarks about his old age, someone also anchored by the notion of their place in this world and who they were going to be remembered as in books of history.
He and Wilbur had surely been cut from the same cloth. Much like the perspective on his own life, Technoblade believed it was cruel of destiny to take this boy and force him to go through trials as a man that had been unfairly imposed on him, weighed down terribly by the fear of a certain fate that would either set him free or throw him to oblivion…
Wilbur may have been over a century old, but he was still too young for any of this, and the similarity of the situation brought forth more memories to Technoblade’s mind.
He had known a young angel once, fresh out of the Void and ready for an eternity of truth and service. An acquaintance with pure intentions and strong conviction. Someone who had great faith in balance. Someone Techno had failed to save when he should have been able to. Someone he just- failed…
Those scars of his past remained unhealed to this day, still wounding him as but a single tear of unresolved regret and heavy emotion. Technoblade looked down to his hands and stared at the dark, metal broadsword that was clutched in his fist. In the last light of day, he could clearly see his reflection in the polished blade, the sword glinting in the dwindling sunlight as he kept staring and kept thinking.
Unaware to himself, Techno had hummed out something whilst he was deep in hefty thought and regretful reflection. The couple of bars of a second verse of an unfinished song. A song that he found more difficult to ignore with every passing day. A song that harrowingly called out to him, begging for him to accept and follow his very long awaited destiny.
The dying light of the sun filtered in through the glass of the window, and Prince Fundy sat motionlessly at a piano in the forgotten music room of the castle. It hadn’t been used much since the war started, and in the several months during this time, it had begun to collect dust and grime on every instrument in the room; the grand piano, Wilbur’s 2 acoustic guitars, Tubbo’s flute, Tommy’s ukulele. They all lay stationary in their cases, waiting for the day when their owners would remember they existed and come to play them once more.
A faded, saffron yellow coat of paint covered the walls, the floor planked with polished, dark oak wood that had also seemed like it faded with the passage of time. Bookshelves lined the walls and the smell of old paper and dust found its way to Fundy’s nose, the scent nostalgic of times where the royal family and friends would all play together, sharing in hearty jigs as they played and danced the night away in years gone past.
The room was so quiet, so unstirred, like the Prince was the only one who had entered it in months, and the deafening silence put an odd pressure on Fundy’s ears like it caused him pain to have the air devoid of any sound.
Prince Fundy raised a hand and rested it on the keys of the piano, dust clinging to his fingertips as he pressed down lightly on a single key, the note ringing and echoing out in his ears as it bounced off the walls of the small room. It was a note full of melancholy and sad longing, a note that was not followed by any other key or commencement of any further melody. A depressing reminder of what it used to be, and by extension, who all of them used to be.
He reminisced about the times when his father would take him to the music room and they would simply play for hours on end. Sometimes Wilbur would write compositions of his own whilst Fundy would practice, and then they would work on each piece together in collaborative spirit. Fundy always saw his father smile when he was in the music room, and that itself would bring a smile to his own face, happy that they could just spend time together in a place that always brought their family members together.
When Fundy was young and Wilbur was still Prince of the kingdom, in this very room he had told Fundy that he had the freedom of expression at his fingertips, that music was the key to the soul and the fire of one’s heart. Wilbur had told him that as long as he kept playing, he could keep things close to his heart in fond remembrance. Every pluck of strings and every press of the keys, Fundy could see a soft twinkling in his father’s eye, and he knew it was due to the special place music had in Wilbur’s heart; the reason why his father and mother had actually met.
They met 20 years ago by the edge of a lake to the North of the city that led out to the ocean, and Wilbur was playing his guitar under a lone willow tree. He played passionately in the shade of the sweeping branches and leaves, the song one of his own works that conveyed a certain combination of sadness and wonder, like the gentle caress of tears upon one’s face when they see the awe of the full night sky. It was a lament to beauty found in death, and the song had attracted the attention of a creature that stirred in the placid water of the deep lake.
She was a water sprite of damp, pastel orange hair, and she had the most sparkly blue eyes Wilbur had ever seen. The magical being was blessed with a red tail and glittery gills to match, as beautiful and breathtaking as a vibrant conch shell on a lively beach. Wilbur had come back almost every day since their encounter to play her songs on his acoustic guitar as she accompanied him with alluring vocals and sweet lyrics.
He had been enamoured by her, and they shared in many nights and days before one day she had disappeared, or at least that’s what Wilbur had always told Fundy when he asked about his mother. Wilbur had made excuses that she’d gone to a place that he could not follow, and for the longest time Fundy had assumed that she returned to her realm in the Aether, but it wasn’t until more contemporary years that he had come to realise that she was most likely in a place that transcended even the Day Realm… That she was most likely dead.
So Wilbur spent days upon days in the music room, keeping the memory of her alive in the many songs he had written and the many melodies he had made for her, the very image of her kept strong and breathing in the face of his son who resembled her so closely except for his eyes, which mirrored the legacy of Wilbur and his own mother.
In the music room, the light of their family had remained strong and mirthful throughout the years, but now, that light was waning with the fall of King Wilbur and the breaking of Fundy’s heart as a result of his father’s decline from grace and hope.
Now, the air of the music room was still and musty, and particles of dust floated about as specks of fluff. The room was so cold, and not even the wind coming in through the windows could liven the room up. It was so lifeless. So lonely… and Prince Fundy wished it could be as it once was, hoping that someday they could all play together again like the good old days.
Once the sun had been long gone from the sky, King Wilbur had since had his bath and was now getting changed into his night robes, the water in the tub no longer hot and the wind coming through the window of his quarters chilly with the change of the season.
His King’s quarters were grand and open-spaced, the walls painted a dark, viridian green, and the stone floor littered with dirty clothes and spare pieces of stained parchment. The outside breeze ruffled the long drapes on his king-sized bed and rustled the withered petals of a dead rose that lay in a small vase on his bedside table, the balcony attached to his room closed off with the curtains drawn to give him some privacy whilst he was bathing.
The aroma of lemongrass from the lit candles in his room filled the air, combatting the dark of the night and the lingering staleness of his room that came from his unwashed clothes on the floor. A flickering sound from the yellow candles opposed the quietness of his quarters, crackling away during the hours and becoming a point of focus for Wilbur as he tried to ignore the faint song that played over and over in his head.
After finishing his bath and getting into his dark green night robes, he was at his wardrobe just absentmindedly staring at the collection of long, brown coats as well as his pale yellow and grey sweaters that were hung inside.
He regretted not taking Technoblade up on his offer to play together. Maybe it would have been nice to get the old guitar and violin out and play their special song, ‘Rulers’ Rhapsody’, that they had created together as an emotive homage to their shared burdens and the tales of their lives. It had been so long since they had played together just the two of them, the last time being 11 years ago the day before his coronation.
Over the years Wilbur had played less and less, the final memory of the last time he had played at all being once just before the war had started where he attempted to play one of his compositions in the old music room with his son, his fingers falling and his heart feeling extinguished as he struggled to find the passion for music that once surged through his veins. He faltered and could not find it within himself to muster up the motivation to play anything, and he remembered the look on his son’s face of sadness, the shame of failing to feel the music prominently settling in his gut like he had eaten stones.
After that happened he couldn’t bring himself to play again, too afraid that the love and light that came with the expression of music had all but gone from his blood: a possible truth that he refused to confirm.
If he were to play his guitar again, if he were to play one of his songs again, it would only remind him of the song within his mind that sung of his call to fate and graced him with the prospect of certain destiny that awaited him on the battlefield.
It would only amplify his unruly emotions, and lead him to the feelings that held a firm grip on his throat, choking him with the notions of his fate and this horrible feeling in his heart that he was not going to make it through this war; the feeling that he was going to die, and all that was once good and beautiful would come to darkness by a great shadow of evil.
Staring into his wardrobe, Wilbur’s eyes landed on an old article of clothing that he had not touched in 95 years since the darker times of his youth. It was a time when he was free from all burdens of the present day, and the only thoughts on his mind pertained to what sinful acts he could commit next. A quick flash of a memory came to mind: his beanie of maroon red and another beanie of dark navy blue lay on top of each other on the planked floor of a room, on a fast ship with black sails.
Wilbur closed his wardrobe and went away to recline back onto his bed, his back up against the headboard and a tabbed book in his hands.
Consulting the pages of Captain Sparklez’s journal, Wilbur was rereading it once again to try and find anything else he could potentially use to get an angle on the Blood God. The old Captain had given him his book when they discovered Dianite was the one behind the attacks on the kingdom led by the black and white demon, handing it to him with a worried look as Sparklez bid him good luck before returning to the Void.
The information was right there, Wilbur just needed to keep reading and keep formulating.
9 times out of 10, King Wilbur would read the book with a fine-toothed comb in his search for knowledge that he could use to his advantage, but the 1 time where he wouldn’t do that, he would simply read the journal from a historical perspective instead of a strategic one. This night was one of the 1 times where he did so, taking a moment to look at a drawing that preceded a particular page in Sparklez’s journal that recounted a certain event from the old Captain’s past during the 1st Age.
The picture on the page was of Captain Sparklez and 3 other people, the names of each person labelled above the drawing in order: Sparklez was standing in between a man with a worn down cap who posed proudly with a giant sword, and a woman of cat eyes and fox ears who stood smiling widely next to the Captain with an owl on her shoulder and cicadas on her clothes. The last man in the drawing wore a black suit of sorts and was standing on the end, hunched over with a mischievous grin and a lit match in his hand.
The writing that followed the sketched portrait laid out a specific day that Wilbur read with an amused expression on his face.
‘July 17th, Eighth Fall of Rain, 1st Age:
Last Tuesday I was forced to make an alliance with the acolytes of Mianite upon provocation and rising tensions between all followers of the 3 Great Divines. I was approached this afternoon by a paranoid Syndicate, who came to me asking for a “loan” of goods to rebuild his personal wealth and restore damages that had been done to him after he had a bit of a scuffle with the followers of Mianite.
Upon hearing of my brief league with Jericho and Firefoxx, Syndicate became frantic and hysterical, accusing me of all sorts of treachery against him and my Lady for forming a union of mutual benefit, claiming that he did not know me anymore and that he thought I did not choose sides. He rode around on his horse and threw many curses and feverish conclusions at me as he loitered around my hillside house in nothing but plain iron armour, the only thing he could salvage after he painfully lost all his goods in a foolish scheme. Syndicate remarked that he could not trust me anymore, and if I didn’t give him anything that he would incite a riot, attack me and “take all my shit”. This was not anything new, yet the hollow threat did have some truth or intent behind it, and if Syndicate remained as unhinged as he was this afternoon, that made him very dangerous…
The Gods have us all under their thumbs, leading us to develop grander structures and take up more sophisticated weaponry in the name of protecting ourselves against one another as storm clouds brew over the land of Mianite. It is a dangerous path we are going down, and the objectivity of the Lady during these times may not remain lawful and balanced like we so claim her to be
I do not believe we shall see the end of this Age without seeing the gods purge this land of everything it currently is. I do not see a future where Man makes it to see the turn of the century. I do not feel that the gods will ever be satisfied.’
This ‘Syndicate’ fellow had been detailed many times throughout the journal, and Wilbur could shallowly make out his personality from each page that recounted days with him in it. He seemed to be an over-the-top kind of guy, and completely driven by chaos and power.
Albeit, Wilbur did read over times when he was not as calculated as he believed he was, the descriptions from Captain Sparklez’s recollection naming him as oftentimes an idiot that as well as someone who had an interesting, lovable charm to him, like he was almost a younger brother to the old Captain in some odd way. The notion made Wilbur chuckle to himself in the dark and quiet of his king’s quarters, the candles burnt down so much that they would naturally go out soon.
It was a strange thing, to read over another person’s life and string together the details and experiences of their life through words and sentences and paragraphs within the unchanging pages of a book. Wilbur did not know any of these people, for their time was over a millennia ago and lost to the festering decay of time. He did not know the people of Captain Sparklez’s journal at all, yet he knew enough to form a picture of who they were in his mind, their personalities decently clear from the interactions written between them and Sparklez, and the mysteries of the 1st Age somewhat apparent in the combined entries of the journal.
Wilbur was reading another man’s life, and there was something so profound and overpowering about that, that he could reach such a level of wonder and immersion in the old Captain’s lived experiences through something as minuscule as words on paper.
Time and history. That’s what was kept stored in Sparklez’s journal. A forgotten legacy of faith and blood, of friendship and betrayal, of foreboding consequence and death. King Wilbur often wondered about his own legacy when he would read the journal. Would history remember him in the way the old Captain was? Or would the narration of others have him be something else? Something that was not a saviour nor a hero. The King thought about who he might be seen as from the perspective of people he has since increasingly distanced himself from: his mother and father, Tubbo, Tommy, Technoblade, Fundy…
Would he be more akin to be seen as the righteous King who resigned himself to save his kingdom, or would he become the anti-hero, the villain in others’ stories?
He could only hope he would have a different fate…
Notes:
ayeee hope you liked the karl and quackity origins of how they met and stuff i thought the idea of them in autumn was kinda cute. i really liked that lil flashback so i sincerely hope yall did too to some degree.
happy holidays to people who partake in the celebrations of christmas and new years and whatnot, i hope you have all had as lovely of a year as you could. i will be getting onto the next chapter asap wink wonkThank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
Chapter 6: Within Fear And Fate
Summary:
16 days left.
Captain Quackity decides it's time to pay fond friends a visit as he sets sail for Sproalstone.
King Sapnap recounts the time he and Quackity first met, and how he feels that there is more to his, Quackity's, and Karl's fate than he first thought.
Prince Dream progresses in his training to become a competent enough fighter to participate in the final battle at Veerim Valley.
Phil consolidates Captain Tubbo and Prince Tommy before he reminisces about his own love story. An emotional conversation with Wilbur has Phil fearing for the King's life, but more painfully so, Wilbur's mind.
Notes:
hello people, hope you had a lovely christmas or general holidays, and happy new year. i kinda died but its fine i'll be right. anyways i got this chapter for ya and it's about 12.7k words so this fic is really getting way longer than i initially planned for it to be but oh well the show must go on.I try to get out chapters every week give or take but life often gets in the way you know how it is.
fyi there are 2 flashbacks for sapnap and phil so i hope that's easy to follow along with, apologies if any yall hate that btw
id like to just mention smth coz i didn't do it earlier but i refer to some characters as representations/symbols of themselves tthat ive incorporated into this story e.g. Quackity is the Moon, Karl is the Stars, Sapnap is the Sun etc. (there are a few others but ill get to them later)as always i do not edit or proofread my work so if there are any spelling/grammar/consistency errors, i do apologise.
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was the early morning, so early that not even the light from the coming sun could be yet seen from beyond the horizon, and Captain Quackity was sitting on the wooden docks of the Ankkar Isles, just thinking and thinking and thinking.
A book lay in his hands, one of thick leather and etched markings of old magicka runes: an extensively labelled and informative archive that Quackity had tried to get rid of, but somehow it had mysteriously found its way back into his possession the day King Bad had disappeared all those months ago.
Staring at the book, he thought about the last time he had seen Sapnap. The desperation on his face, the warmth and steam radiating off him as they stood in the cool of the night on the docks, the absolute look of hurt on his face when Quackity had refused him and turned away.
The young King’s words rang out in his ears like a banging twang that echoed and echoed throughout his waking mind.
‘We were friends, weren’t we?’
The guilt from letting Sapnap down ate slowly away at Quackity’s conscience, and in the passing days since he left Sproalstone, the mulling over of his ties to Sapnap and Karl had been a pressing matter that he could not leave unresolved. After all, if he was reading Karl’s words correctly then by the promise of time, they would all come to be together. All of them.
Quackity had not slept much the previous night, spending the hours of the rest of the day wide awake and at war with himself. It was all so much, all so heavy, and when he came out of the buzzing and incessant clatter of thoughts and internal voices, he could only conclude one thing. He had to help them.
He had to get out of here and go back to Sproalstone. And he would help them by giving them this book in his hands. The contents of said book stirred up a whirlwind of anxiety and fear in Quackity, but it had information, and this information shared between the book and Quackity was something the Captain believed could aid them in finding out what happened to King Halo.
He was the only one who could help them. It was a fact of Quackity’s survival that he could not go about doing things alone. When he had first come to the overworld, he had been met with decency, kindness, and help. The old souls of Sky and Earth had helped him all those centuries ago, and now he should show Sapnap and Karl the same courtesy. Because they were his friends. Because he cared about them. Because he needed them, and Quackity hoped silently to himself that they needed him too.
The journey to the seaside kingdom would take but a day by his ship, the Withered Rose being a vessel of amazing speed and resistance, and if he left now he could make it there just after sunrise tomorrow against whatever tide or wind came his way. No amount of force from nature could best or match the magic of him nor his ship.
He was approached by his first mate, Jack, the strapping lad standing beside him as he remained seated on the docks. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you, Big Q?” He asked considerately, a hand resting comfortably in one of his pant pockets.
Quackity let out a breath before getting up and standing so he was now facing Jack. Looking at him earnestly, he gave Jack a small sincere smile. “I’ll be alright, Jack.” He said with a nod. “I need you and Niki here to take care of the Isles. I trust you two to keep the people and the rest of the crew safe. I’ll be back in 3 days time.” Quackity told him, exhaling deeply as he rolled his shoulders back and readied himself for the small journey ahead of him.
Now at the helm of the Withered Rose and pulling out from the port, Quackity gazed out to the open ocean in front of him, the waves rocking the boat and the salty spritzes of the Twilmor Sea hitting his face as a fine mist of cool water. As the magical ship glided through the waves and water and tide effortlessly, the black sails flapped in the strong winds as it ruffled the fabric of Quackity’s navy blue beanie, and he smiled weakly at the moment of nervous anticipation that awaited him back in the oceanside kingdom.
Before Karl had asked him to translate the script on King Halo’s boat, before he had gone to deliver the translation to him and Sapnap, he had sworn he would not go back to Sproalstone. Guess the time for breaking promises was upon him, for it was too late to go back now.
King Halo’s words echoed out in his ears like that of ghostly whispers:
‘I told you to stay away.’
‘You said you wouldn’t come back.’
‘Leave my son alone. He is not your concern.’
But he couldn’t. Sapnap was his…friend. They were friends . Quackity had gotten to know the Prince, now King, and it was some of the best few months he has ever had away from the Isles. He came to know Sapnap by his virtue as a man, not his stature as a Prince, and that tiny detail of anonymity of Sapnap’s identity made the development of their relationship all the more clearer in Quackity’s mind, and all the more sweeter in his heart.
Maybe it was the way that Sapnap’s being melted so nicely with his own. Maybe it was the way Quackity could tell that Sapnap held him in fond regard.
Maybe it was the way King Halo looked at Quackity that final night last year when he had called Sapnap ‘friend’, that had kept Quackity’s hope alive. King Halo wanted him to keep his promises, but there was a moment of vulnerability that night where he gave Quackity a quick once-over and his eyes settled on the purple ring that was attached to a chain around the sailor’s neck, the ring just visible behind a few loose buttons on Quackity’s shirt. That moment had set in motion something outside of Quackity’s knowledge, and it would come to pass at the behest of time in accordance with Quackity’s fate. If only the Captain had known what he knew now back then.
Quackity rolled up his sleeves so they were loosely taut at his elbows. He looked down to his hand and arm, the large, faded tattoo of black ink a reminder that the piece was in fact only one half of a whole. It was like cracks of broken bones that lay branded upon his skin in stylish design, and whilst he adored the delicate but bold print on his skin, it remained as a lingering symbol of a path he had strayed from centuries ago. A path that he defied.
A road not taken.
A road of Bone and Blood.
The sun slowly crept up from the horizon behind him, and with no one else present on the ship, Quackity found himself at the mercy of the tune in his head that played without distraction or obstruction from any other noise than that of the beating of his own heart, and all the sounds of the ocean around him. Like last night, he indulged in the alluring and beckoning melody, whistling the few bars of the unfinished song that would not leave his mind and was only getting louder and louder as he traversed closer to Sproalstone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was the late morning in Sproalstone, and King Sapnap was sitting down on a hub of stone walls in the courtyard he had been practicing his powers in. The grey rock was cool, and it met the King’s skin with a huff each time it touched his flesh. Still and quietly in focus, his black charcoal eyes worked hard to bring forth some sort of fire.
He was getting better at his powers already, able to make a single, small flame emerge comfortably from the tip of his fingers, as well as holding the angelic power more steadily in his body without it resulting in him blowing things up in sporadic fireballs. Thanks to Karl’s methods, Sapnap had a very basic but decent grounding for channelling his fire powers and letting the magic of his blood flow throughout his body more purely. It was unruly but strangely glorious, the King often using his newfound progress to spark up his eyes and emit the flickering flames from his shoulders as strands of his hair crackled away in glowing embers: a neat trick, and one he was proud of seeing as how he used to blow up every time he got angry and overwhelmed.
Unfortunately, what he had in strength and determination, he lacked in discipline and serenity. He did not yet have the required level of patience to properly perform clean bouts of fire magic, for he did not have something pertinent to mastering any kind of elemental magic.
Sapnap did not have balance.
Sure, he had some regard of it, especially when Karl was there by his side to cheer him on and give him his support, but Sapnap’s light shone too brightly, and it burnt out too chaotically for him to have full control and direction.
Practicing magic was very, very different to practicing ways of the sword or bow. Wielding his axe came like second nature to him, the weapon an extension of himself over the years he had trained in fighting.
Sapnap stared at his hands, shallowly breathing in the fresh air as his mind wandered off. He didn’t consciously let it drift away, but there were not many moments left for him to simply sit and breathe and feel. As his hands began to tingle with warmth, he lifted his head up to the sky and closed his eyes, his mind taking him back to memories of last year, when he was still just Prince of Sproalstone, and all that had occurred since then had not come to pass yet.
When he first met Quackity last year.
—flashback—
Jaded days of overcast sunlight, bellowing gusts of crisp wind, light sheets of pearly snow: winter in the seaside city had been infused by magical influence from the southern lands of the continent, a side-effect from Starfall that seeped into Sproalstone, giving it an altered season of cold weather.
The crunching of snowflakes underneath Prince Sapnap’s feet were a delightful sound as he strolled around the lower levels of the city by the docks. Down tiny streets and through archways of grey brick, the Prince wandered around in his cloaked “disguise”, eyes trailing along the snow and dirt-filled ground.
He was passing by the front of the infamous tavern, the Grey Gull, where most sailors and boat-folk took a liking to, when a body was flung through the rickety doors and came hurling towards him in a series of staggered steps backwards.
Colliding with Prince Sapnap, the man turned his head to look at him with hooded eyes.
“Sorry ‘bout that, handsome.” The man slurred as he smiled at Sapnap with pink cheeks and a toothy grin. Sapnap noticed a giant scar that ran down the side of the man's left face, his left eye milky white from presumably going blind, and there were many stains on his shirt from liquids that Sapnap would rather not think about too much.
The Prince could smell the cheap alcohol on his breath as he spoke. What kind of man gets this drunk during the afternoon? It wasn’t even tea-time yet.
Following the limber man as he fell back onto the Prince, was this large, hunky sailor with a gruff chin and scruff beard. The sailor looked very, very pissed off at whoever had bumped into the Prince, and he was standing huffing and puffing in the small street.
Sapnap was oddly intrigued, looking at the scene in amusement with narrow eyes and a stifled smirk.
Pulling himself up and off of Sapnap, the man tried to stand up straight as he stared down the sailor with his fists sloppily raised in defence. The sailor strode up to him and was about to throw a punch when he looked behind the man and saw Sapnap’s face despite the Prince’s “disguise”. His face immediately changed, and the sailor’s eyes went wide before keeping his head down and scurrying away from them down the street.
The man let his fists fall as he watched the sailor hurriedly walk away. “Ha! Can dish out the punches but too afraid to take ‘em?” He laughed out between laboured breaths. “Fucking coward.” He muttered under his breath. The man turned around to face Sapnap, slowly shuffling over to him as he grinned widely at the Prince, his golden fang prominently showing through his teeth. “Sorry you had to see that, beautiful. Kids these days don’t have any manners.”
Gods, this guy was drunk. As the man got closer to Sapnap, he faltered a bit as he tripped over his large boots, Sapnap catching him as he fell. “Woah, easy there. Appears you took quite the beating.” The Prince remarked, observing the bruise by his eye and the small cut on his busted lip.
“Nah, I’ll be fine.” The man groaned out as he regained his footing. “I’m like the toughest guy in the country, I'll tell you what.” He said tiredly, waving his finger around in a gesture that encompassed the area around them.
“Oh?” Sapnap said with an eyebrow raised, his interest highly piqued and his hands just itching for another poorly-decided, spur of the moment challenge. “Think you could take even me?” He asked, smirking more as he pivoted his foot in place, feeling some snow crinkle beneath his shoe.
“Yeah maybe.” The man said with a shrug, fixing his hat that had gotten crooked from getting punched. “I don’t know, are you supposed to be good or something, handsome?” He followed up quizzically, leaning into Sapnap’s personal space as he held his grin.
Sapnap held back a scoff. Did the man not know who he was? Did he not realise that he was in the presence of the Prince? Interesting… This guy must not be from around here then.
“You could say that…” The Prince commented nonchalantly.
The man hummed in thought. “Alright then…”, he trailed off, indicating that he wanted the Prince’s name.
“Sapnap. My name is Sapnap.” He replied, black eyes staring into the man’s single, aquamarine blue eye.
There was no way. Did he really not know who he was? Even if people did not know the Prince by appearance, they were at least aware of his name. But this guy? He had no fucking clue who he was talking to. For all he knew, Sapnap was just another guy in the street. No prior expectations of regal propriety. No preconceived notions of a Prince. It was refreshing to meet someone who he could talk to with a completely clean slate.
This could be fun…
“Alright then, Sapnap - cute name by the way- let’s see what you’re made of, shall we?” The man said, clumsily rolling up his sleeves to reveal a long tattoo that went from his hand to just behind his ear. “You, me, backside of the Grey Gull, sundown. What do you say?”
Sapnap didn’t hesitate, the offer irresistible to the young and confident Prince. “I’m in.” He agreed instantly. “You’re going down, sailor.” He declared, staring at the man with dark, intimidating eyes.
His gaze did not seem to pierce the other’s courage or esteem, as the man bore his own gaze right back into Sapnap’s with the same kind of power and potency, except it held a different energy to it. The Prince was fired up, hasty, wild. The man was cool, strangely composed for a drunk guy, and buzzing with underlying danger and mystery through the artifice of faux vulnerability.
“Please I’m so much more than that.” The man commented as he somehow managed to execute a sweeping bow. “I’m Quackity, but you, handsome, you can call me Captain.” He informed playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he stared at the Prince with an alluring gaze.
Chuckling at the notion, Sapnap folded his arms as he spoke. “Yeah, I’m not gonna do that. Besides, I like Quackity much better.” He said, eyes looking away and off to the side like he was trying to make it seem like a throwaway comment.
“You do?” Quackity exclaimed, his voice laced with dark velvet. “I’m flattered.”
“Gives me a name to make fun of when I beat you.” Sapnap mocked with a snarky tone, smirking deviously at Quackity.
Quackity raised an eyebrow at the Prince. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He slyly questioned with a wide grin.
“Would you like that?” Sapnap shot back, getting all up in Quackity’s face with an even more contempt smirk.
“Touche.” Quackity nodded back, impressed and charmed by his character. “Looks like we have ourselves a little duel, Sapnap. I look forward to kicking your ass soon, handsome.” He whispered close to Sapnap’s face so only they could hear it. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go pass out on a bench. Too many blows to the stomach, too much grog, you know how it is.” Quackity groaned out like he was in pain or was going to throw up as he clutched his abdomen and tapped his hand on his face like he was trying to get some feeling back in them.
Prince Sapnap was a bit taken aback by Quackity’s bluntness. He did not try to delicately excuse himself or provide any kind of decorum that Sapnap was so used to. It had the Prince a little flustered at first, but it was all so… exciting. So new. Between them for that brief moment, Sapnap could feel a certain gravity around him and Quackity like a push and pull of blending whirlwinds. It was strange, but not unpleasant. Quackity was very much opposite to him in many regards, but there was something there that had Sapnap itching to see where this could go.
The slow hours ticked by, and it was past sundown now, Prince Sapnap on edge the entire time in anticipation for his and Quackity’s duel. Assuming Quackity did not go back to the tavern to drink some more, he should hopefully be sobered up enough by now to engage in their fight. Hopefully.
Winter darkness took the cracks, crevices and corners of the lower kingdom where the dim lights could not reach. The Prince wandered the alleys behind the small buildings until he came upon a small square directly behind the tavern, the stone walls lined with crates and snow that could be seen more clearly in the light of the moon. It lit up the sky through the clouds above, gleaming with a shiny luminescence and buzzing with a mystifying glow. It was strange and entrancing, Sapnap basking in the moonlight with deep breaths as he waited for the other to show up.
This was where Quackity had told them they were going to duel. The sun had been set for maybe 20 minutes now. Quackity was running late. Where the hell was he? Had he overslept in his quest to alleviate his inebriation? Thinking about it now, Sapnap had expected the charlatan to keep promises made whilst he was absolutely drunk, which the Prince admits, was not the most thought out decision he’s ever made. Guess Sapnap just thought that Quackity had stakes to this and- cared about it as much as he did…
Tap.
It was the lightest tap to ever fall upon his ears, the sound swept away by the air and snow as it blew away from the area behind the Grey Gull tavern as a feather in the wind. It was so quiet that Sapnap almost didn’t catch it, but in his state of concentration as he bathed in the full moon, his ears picked up on the subtle noise and alerted him that he was not alone.
His eyes popping open, Prince Sapnap whipped his axe out with the greatest sleight of hand. Snapping around with instantaneous force, he struck down at whatever made the noise behind him, his axe coming into contact with another blade as it made a tumultuous clanging sound that twanged out into the air of the quiet, winter night.
Grinning under the moonlight and holding a large cutlass with one hand against Sapnap’s axe was Quackity, and he had the smuggest expression on his face as they stood breathing in the whistling wind.
The Captain grinned even more, his teeth and golden fang bearing with a small shimmer. “Jumpy are we?” Quackity hummed out melodically, slowly dragging his words out as he spoke. “Didn’t peg you to be that kinda guy.” He commented, withdrawing his cutlass from Sapnap’s axe but keeping it firmly in his dominant hand as he paced around the Prince.
Rolling his eyes, Sapnap let his axe fall to his side, gripping it loosely as he rebutted the Captain. “I’m not jumpy.” Sapnap denied with an airy voice, his heartbeat just a little bit elevated. “I just always land the first hit.” He iterated, flicking some strands of his black hair out of his face that weren’t secured by his white headband.
Quackity raised an eyebrow in a very dashing manner. “Oh yeah?” He said, trailing the back of his cutlass with a finger, maintaining eye contact with the Prince, Sapnap staring back at him with dark eyes. “Let’s put that to the test then…” The Captain challenged, his grin even wider and his feet ready to engage in this duel with Sapnap as he lifted his cutlass to point at the Prince.
They sized each other up, looking each other up and down with analytic and suspicious eyes, and perhaps just the slightest bit of something else…
There was something about Quackity that Sapnap could not quite explain. Something that was pale and cold, but not in a lonesome and desolate way. No, he was like the first morning of winter; the deep rouge and scarlet of blood splattered against glistening snowflakes that had fallen from the clouded skies like kisses of pretty ice and aquamarine glass; the calling darkness that lies beneath the endless waves of the ocean.
Seeing the Captain in the full light coming from above them, Sapnap wondered how it managed to compliment the other so- perfectly? For that brief second, Quackity reminded Sapnap of the moon; whether at full lambency or in the shadow of its new cycle, Quackity had settled in Sapnap’s mind as a herald of moonlight. He simply was- the moon.
In a matter of seconds, Sapnap lunged at Quackity. He fought against the Captain with sporadic bursts of heated energy, hacking and slashing at the other in aggressive attacks that would have had many others fearful or on their knees in submission. Sapnap had kept his own for long enough with the strength of his arms, the speed in his feet, and the unbridled fire that constantly burned in his heart, and he wasted no time bringing the full force of his might down on Quackity. He did not hold back at all.
But Quackity was not like other people the Prince had fought before. He had matched Sapnap’s every move with defensive techniques and narrow eyes, blocking the Prince’s axe time and time again like he could read his mind and knew exactly what Sapnap was going to do next. Quackity did not strike first ever during their duel, save for when he executed a few counterattacks following Sapnap’s all-consuming ferocity. He maintained a preface of composure and most impressively, patience. Quackity was patient.
If Quackity was pleasantly surprised by anything, it was Sapnap’s strength and power. And oh, he had power alright. Quackity could feel something between them flickering, slowly boiling in his blood and burning just under the surface of Sapnap’s skin, waiting to be let out. It was interesting indeed to feel the warmth from Sapnap’s being begrudgingly seep out and permeate the air around them, the chill of winter no longer nipping at Quackity’s nose and fingertips. Sapnap was not exactly like him, but he was definitely something…
After a steady 30 minutes of their wonderfully matched duel, there was a moment where Quackity seized an opening to disarm Sapnap, so he struck down on the other with great force, breaking his precedent of not striking first and throwing Sapnap off a bit as he blocked Quackity’s cutlass with his axe.
In the Prince’s tiny second of poor footing, Quackity used his light feet and years of experience to shove Sapnap backwards and pin him against the wall behind him, the grey stone appearing damp in the moonlight and the hand wielding his axe restrained by Quackity’s strong grip on the Prince’s wrist.
It was a single moment. A moment where time stood still, and they simply gazed into each others’ eyes as they heaved in deep breaths in complete silence between them.
The very second Sapnap’s back hit the wall, Quackity’s grin faltered as he saw something in Sapnap’s eyes. It only happened for a split-second, but it had happened, there was no mistaking it.
Sapnap’s irises had flashed a bright amber colour, shining over the charcoal black of his regular eyes for just that small moment. As quickly as they changed, they returned back to normal, Quackity’s face softening in genuine awe and interest. It was a moment that followed another. One of vulnerability that Quackity did not mean to let show, and one that Sapnap had not seen or even expected to see at all that day from the Captain.
Through Sapnap, Quackity felt so warm. There was something about Sapnap. Quackity had not felt this way since… someone else... a long time ago. It was illuminating to be with Sapnap, like he was being engulfed by rays upon rays of melted sugar and hot water from shallow springs. There was this feeling of untamed heat and rage that came from Sapnap, and when his eyes flashed that amber orange colour, it surged through Quackity as a channel of power that could only be described as one thing in the Captain’s mind: it was like harsh sunlight. And it reached out to Quackity like an extended hand of blazing flames that were intoxicatingly filling him with something he didn’t think he would ever feel again. With Sapnap, he felt another odd sense of imperfectly perfect balance.
Just like how he felt with Karl… but even still just- slightly different.
They let the silence of all around them devour the moment, staying still in the moment they were obliviously sharing. Blinking away the glossiness from his eyes, Sapnap caught Quackity off guard during their moment as he pushed the Captain back with a mighty kick of his leg. When Quackity stumbled back in mild shock, he inadvertently tripped over his feet as he tried to regain his stance, but Sapnap was too fast, grabbing Quackity’s shirt and using the Captain’s body weight to keep him in a tilted position as he held him upright by the worn out material.
Smirking at Quackity in triumph, Sapnap kept him at his mercy as he watched Quackity’s eyes go wide before they returned to their sly, narrow stature, the Captain coming back to hold his very classical grin.
Quackity was impressed. Very impressed indeed. He immensely enjoyed this duel with Sapnap; watching the beads of sweat form on the younger’s head, seeing his breath quicken and try to steady itself out, looking at the absolutely feral look in Sapnap’s eyes as he swung his axe at him with no restraint. It was a hypnotic thing, to see Sapnap all sweaty and breathless and ragged from the fight.
“Looks like I win…” Sapnap whispered hoarsely, throwing off Quackity’s train of thought as he looked down at the Captain who was still being held up by the fabric of his shirt.
Quackity huffed in defeat, Sapnap easing up on his shirt and letting him get his footing back so he could stand up straight on his own. “No fair.” He whined out airily. “You ruined our moment...” Quackity tried to mutter under his breath, but their close proximity did not spare Sapnap’s ears from the comment.
Sapnap’s head tilted in quizzical confusion. “Our moment-”, he began.
“Well Sapnap, it was a pleasure. But don’t feel too cocky, I was going easy on you.” Quackity shrugged, cutting Sapnap off as he sheathed his cutlass and started rubbing at the joint by his wrist.
The Prince rolled his eyes again as he barely stifled a loud laugh. “Sure. Whatever you say, loser.” He mocked, the sarcasm dripping from his deep voice.
“Oh, do I detect a bit of attitude.” Quackity questioned, raising an eyebrow in amusement before rolling up his sleeves. “Just know, beautiful, that next time I’m not gonna hold back.”
Sapnap matched Quackity’s expression, quirking a brow and smirking confidently at him. “Is that a threat?”
“A promise.” Quackity grinned widely, his fang showing. “I will absolutely wreck your shit, Sapnap.” He said, pacing around the Prince absentmindedly.
Eyes following Quackity, Sapnap scoffed again in contempt. “You can try if you want. I don’t mean to brag but I am kinda well-known for being pretty much the best in the continent.”
“When?” Quackity asked innocuously.
“When, what?” Sapnap asked with a confused look.
“When did I ask?” The Captain laughed out heartily, the sound genuine and warming Sapnap’s heart up as the area around them seemed to get a little brighter.
Listen, Sapnap was shocked at the bluntness of Quackity’s joke and the level of tact it was said with, but he couldn’t deny, he just got roasted. “Okay asshole-” Sapnap loudly chucked between humoured breaths.
“You’re a fiery one, aren’t ya?” Quackity cut him off again, leaning into Sapnap’s personal space and getting all up in his face, sporting his grin and hooded eyes that seemed to sparkle in the light of the moon and stars. “Bet you get angry real easy.” He followed up.
“You don’t know anything about me.” Sapnap said, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink as he averted his eyes from Quackity with a slight turn of his head.
Quackity hummed as he stayed in close distance to the Prince. “From what I’ve seen today, I know enough.” He informed in a low voice, like he was on the brink of sharing some secret with the Prince. .
“And what is it you think you know?” Sapnap questioned, eyes eventually finding their way back to Quackity as he stared at him fiercely. It felt like if they remained that way, that they could combust from the power and vehement emotion that encompassed the deep black of the Prince's irises.
“Handsome, pretty boy with an axe. Feisty as hell too.” Quackity quietly listed out loud, his gaze trailing shamelessly up and down Sapnap’s body as he nodded to himself in thought. “Good thing I like feisty.” He added, bringing his eyes up to look at Sapnap’s face.
“Good thing I didn’t knock you on your ass.” Sapnap fired back, Quackity’s words making him feel butterflies in his stomach as the compliments stoked at the embers of his ego.
“Oh just you wait.” Quackity exclaimed, seething with jittery anticipation and the need to prove himself. “Let’s go again, 2 days from now. Same time, same place. See how well you do when I’m actually trying.” Quackity proposed expectantly, hoping Sapnap would take up his challenge to another duel.
“You’re on.” Sapnap agreed immediately, watching as Quackity paced some more around him, getting closer and closer to the shadows of the back alley.
Quackity grinned, but it swiftly smoothed and softened out to a smile of sincere calibre that Sapnap was oddly delighted to see. It was a pretty smile, one that he wouldn’t even mind seeing again if Quackity would let him. “It’s a date. I’ll see you then, handsome.” Quackity called out as he walked backwards into the darkness, soon disappearing from Prince Sapnap’s sight.
Whatever this was, Sapnap felt oddly inclined to pursue it wherever it may go. There was a certain edginess to Quackity, and a shrouded mystery about him that was so charming it had the Prince almost missing him the very second he left- Oh come on now, that was bogus. He knew nothing about Quackity, how could he even think that? Why did he even care…
The feelings that stirred within Sapnap were so uncanny, so foreign, yet still somehow very familiar. Duelling with Quackity reminded Sapnap of the back and forth banter between him and his best friend, Karl; a kind of tenderness layered the foundations of the Prince’s relationship with the Emissary, and he found that similar kind of gentle softness in the deep pool of Quackity’s eyes, genuine and fond as he stared at the Prince for that moment when Sapnap was pinned up against the wall.
If they have more time ahead of them, Sapnap would explore the nature of Quackity with no hesitation or doubt, completely enamoured by the alternate balance that he felt with the Captain, a clashing of cold and warm light as a dance of the Sun and Moon across the endless bounds of the night sky.
The next few months of Winter were planned out in foggy secrecy and muffled giggles in the dark, Sapnap and Quackity meeting each other out the back of the tavern at whatever time they had decided to duel and fight each other in raucous laughter and smug remarks.
Winds roared out, concealing the clinks and clatter of their weapons in the loud whistling and shrieking that blew through Sproalstone, tossing and twirling about piles of falling snow all throughout the air as they maintained their dances of elegant footsteps and fighting styles of excellent formation. The moon passed through the sky as the world slowly turned with each coming night, waxing and waning during the weeks of time they spent together meeting behind the Grey Gull. Time faded in and out of their awareness, letting them be lost to many nights of hilarious banter and the unbridled expression of their growing relationship.
At first they only duelled a couple of times every week, then a couple became a few, and before either of them knew it, they were spending most of the nights of the week simply in each other’s company. And as the frequency of their visits increased, the prevalence of their duels fluttered away like the snowflakes in the wind, Sapnap and Quackity quickly coming to just have normal conversation with one another.
They spoke with a veil of ambiguity, but they chatted about all kinds of things from what their greatest hope for the future was, to what they currently desired most in the world. Sapnap did not know much about Quackity in terms of where he was from, how old he was, or if he even had a family, but he came to know everything about the Captain that he believed truly mattered.
He knew the things that Quackity valued like freedom and patience, he knew that Quackity believed people deserve second chances, he knew that Quackity had so much adoration in his heart for simple but beautiful things like autumn colours and the sight of stars in a clear night sky.
He knew that Quackity wanted to love.
But somewhere in his heart there was something holding him back, just stopping him from truly and fully opening up everything that lay hidden in his soul to Sapnap. There was some kind of hurt that burdened him, and the Prince could see it on his face every time Quackity would look at him with a gentle expression and a fond stare. In the swirling of his unblinded eye was this tiny light that Quackity almost seemed worried to kindle and keep alive. It was something that the Prince could not quite place, for every time it flickered it would be sealed away, back within the safety of Quackity’s sheltered heart.
Spring was just around the corner now, the snow beginning to melt and the winds beginning to die down. It was warming up all across the continent, and sprouts of new flowers and leaves were waiting for the sun to call them out from their slumber during the winter season.
Just when Sapnap thought he was on the cusp of breaking down Quackity’s walls entirely, they were interrupted one fateful night by the unprecedented presence of King Halo himself, who had followed Sapnap unbeknownst to him and then ordered the Prince to go back to the castle with Advisor Skeppy at once.
The very sight of the King had Quackity’s jaw hung open in shock as he stared at King Halo with wide and apologetic eyes. It almost looked like he knew of his father...
"You're- the King's son..." Quackity airly breathed out, eyes going back and forth between Sapnap and King Halo.
Acting first, Sapnap stepped in between his father and Quackity, trying to stand up for the sailor. “Father, this was just as much my idea as it was Quackity’s.” He protested with desperate eyes. “Please, the fault is not his own-”
“We shall discuss this later.” King Halo dismissed him with a stern tone.
Resigning to his father’s command, Sapnap turned to look at Quackity one last time, mouthing an apology before he trudged over to Skeppy and began making his way back to the castle.
He assumed the worst. That Quackity was going to be punished for cavorting about secretly with the crowned Prince in an improper way behind the King’s back. The thoughts left a sour taste in Sapnap’s mouth, and he did not sleep a wink that night as the concern muddied his mind and all the worries about Quackity’s fate flooded his senses. But there was nothing he could do about it, because he was just the Prince, and he did not have a say over his father’s wishes.
Sapnap burned away as he lay in bed that night, aching at the perilous thoughts of what became of Quackity once his father returned to the castle shortly after the Prince did.
The days after that ticked on and turned into weeks, and Sapnap quickly realised that he would not be seeing Quackity anytime soon, if at all. He did not know if he would ever see Quackity again…
Sapnap didn’t know what hurt more. The thought of not seeing Quackity again, or the fact that his father actively decided to remove Quackity from his life. There was a level of resentment that fizzled into anger in Sapnap’s heart that King Halo would take Quackity away from him.
After all, Quackity was not like anyone Sapnap had ever met before. Quackity didn’t even know who he was, which made their relationship all the more real and untouched by ridiculous royal treatment. He came to care for Sapnap for who he was, not the Prince he was meant to be. And Sapnap came to care for Quackity as more than just a stranger he met in the street, and as more than just a sparring partner.
Over those months he had come to regard Quackity as…a friend.
—end of flashback—
Prince Sapnap missed Quackity dearly, having not previously seen the sailor since he had left suddenly last year after they had been caught. There were no words that could describe how strong the pull towards him was. It came as naturally to Sapnap as breathing really.
It was the same type of pull that he had felt the night Quackity told him he was a nephilim, when he found out Karl had known about it but kept it from him anyways. Sapnap stood all by himself and wanted to be alone as he processed his thoughts and emotions, but something in his soul wanted him to go to Karl, despite all that was going on at the time, his heart begged him to find Karl and never be too far from his side.
With Quackity, it was more of the same. Sapnap pushed and Quackity pulled, just as Karl pushed and Sapnap pulled. Sapnap cared for Quackity just as he cared for Karl. One in the same, Karl and Quackity were to Sapnap like beacons and auroras of light in the night sky, keeping it lit up and beautiful in his stead while he rested so the light of hope would never die. Karl always had the Prince’s back, and in the reaches of Sapnap’s heart, he felt that Quackity did too.
In both Karl and Quackity, he had found something that he never knew was available to him. A wonderful balance between tethered souls and interwoven fates. When Sapnap had heard that Karl and Quackity were already acquainted with one another, a course for the future was revealed to him.
A pathway of sunlight, starlight, and moonlight.
A path they could maybe walk…together…
It was a silent wish, but as he felt the days since then go by, they became a prevalent and growing presence in his mind. Perhaps, they could walk together. Maybe they could brave the unknown hand-in-hand. What if they were meant to be?
He wouldn’t mind that one bit. If anything, he hoped it to be true, and that what he felt with Karl and Quackity was not one-sided. That it was all real and as intense for the other two as it was for him.
Sapnap hoped that they were all fated to be together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dream’s skin had never been so imperfect before. Bruises upon bruises lay across his arms, legs, and the front and back of his body as well as his face. Scrapes and cuts from the rocks grazed his hands, elbows and knees in a painful fashion, the Prince feeling the stings every time he applied too much pressure to the wounded areas.
It was the late morning, and Dream had been training with Foolish for about 4 or 5 hours now give or take. He had wanted to ask earlier, but he put the question off for as long as he could until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but where is Quackity?” He said between deep, uneven breaths, sweat dripping down his face and his limbs very, very sore.
“He’s gone to help his friends in Sproalstone.” Foolish informed him, swinging his trident around as he flexed his back innocently, the sight almost making Dream speechless with how impressive his toned muscles were.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts as he stood with his hands on his hips, his wooden stick lay on the rocky ground by his feet as he continued. “You mean Sapnap and Karl?” Dream furthered.
“Yes.”
Dream hummed out in thought as a small upturn of his lips graced his face. “I did not realise that Quackity had crossed paths with so many people before. Seems like he knows everyone.”
Foolish then proceeded to briefly tell Dream about how Quackity knew Karl and Sapnap, recounting the story that Quackity had told him about his fervent relationships with the King of Sproalstone and his Emissary. Dream took it all in, listening to the rundown synopsis of the Captain’s tangled encounters with Sapnap and Karl.
“I heard that you and Quackity have also been friends for an age.” Dream commented, enthralled by the stories of Quackity and wanting to know more about people of the Ankkar Isles.
“Yeah, he and I built the Isles some time ago.” Foolish replied, smiling kindly at the Prince. “When I first came here, it wasn’t like how you see it today, but Quackity had a plan. He wanted me to use the isles to create homes for lost beings of magic who were just trying to find their place in the overworld. Together, we made it a safe haven where anyone of any blood or power could find asylum.” Foolish informed, casting his gaze out to look at the main island. “Quackity made sure it stayed protected by encasing the isles in a radius of unrelenting storms that stretch over our part of the Twilmor Sea, so any unfriendly visitors would be warded off.” He concluded with a sigh, fondly staring at the open ocean.
Dream was engrossed by the information, thinking to himself about how powerful Quackity must be to cover an entire portion of the sea with such great thunder and lightning storms. To be able to keep up this merit of protection and safety for over a hundred years according to what other people had said, was something Dream used to believe only gods had the power to do.
Yet another thing about the Captain that he desperately wanted to know more about. What were the lengths and depths of Quackity’s power? How had he come to be so great and mighty? Why was he so passionate about creating a safe place for magical beings in the overworld. So many questions played out in Dream’s head, yet even if Quackity were here for him to ask, the Prince needed to wait until the Captain was ready to open up to him.
Whatever Quackity was withholding, it was something big.
Tilting his head at Dream, Foolish held an expression of soft consideration, like he wondered if they should take a break from their training and pick up on it in an hour or so. Dream stopped him before he could say a word, bending down to pick up his stick and holding it out in a challenging gesture as he tried to control his breathing.
In all his golden glory and 7 foot frame, Foolish smirked in amusement as he readied the trident in his hand, giving it a few twirls before he took his stance against the eager Prince. Dream could see that the metallic builder had dimples on his cheeks that gave him a certain endearing quality, and Dream fought hard to hold back the urge to poke the divot of his dimples with a boop of his finger. The bronze in Foolish’s skin shined out in the sunlight, matching the highlights in his dark brown hair as he kept smiling through his perfect teeth, his neon lime eyes staring right into Dream’s as they waited for the other to strike first.
With a stifled chuckle, Dream threw himself at Foolish, focusing extra hard on keeping his steps light as he darted around the area. Foolish noticed the concentration on the Prince’s face, approving of the integration of his advice that he had been giving to Dream throughout their sparring session.
Dream was improving already. He was a quick study, and that was a relieving thought when he had been tasked by Quackity to continue training the Prince in his absence. If they kept this up and Dream kept getting better as he was so diligently doing, then Foolish truly believed that come the time when he must leave for Veerim Valley, he will be equipped and prepared enough to make it out of the final battle alive. He had faith in Dream, and he could see even now the picture of the kind of man he would surely become.
A great man of selfless character and good intentions. A man of honour and grace that had the potential to rule the Southern kingdom of Darcretia with wisdom and love. A true King.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the afternoon, a curious and anxious Captain Tubbo wandered around the edge of the forest outside the city, looking for the person he thought could bring some ease to his worried mind.
He strolled for quite some time near the forest, eyes flitting about as they searched for the former King among the thicket, bushes and darkness that seemed to engulf the inside of the forest with silver mist and a deep, viridian green hue. Tubbo walked around for no more than 20 minutes before his eyes spotted a cloaked Phil by a large tree that sat on the edge of the forest, Phil’s fingers trailing along the umber bark in a gentle and caring way.
Sensing the Captain’s presence, Phil turned to greet him with a wave as he got closer, smiling warmly at Tubbo with creased eyes.
Tubbo swiftly rushed over to Phil, sitting down on the grass next to him as he let out a deep sigh. “Hey Phil, you’ve been alive a long time, right?” He asked in thought.
“Yes.” Phil answered plainly, wondering where the young Captain was going.
“What’s it like? Being immortal, I mean.” Tubbo questioned, fiddling with his thumbs as his eyes started to glance at the world around him, only somewhat distracted by the flowers, wind, and songs of birds coming from inside the forest.
Phil took a breath in before raising an eyebrow. “Is this about your wings?”
Tubbo’s face contorted as he thought about if he really was as much of an open book as everyone had said he was. “...Yeah.” He admitted slowly, huffing out a breath as he leant back to lie down on the grass with his eyes closed in the quiet of nature.
Picking a few sprouts of grass from the ground, Phil sprinkled them on Tubbo’s face with a little chuckle as he watched the Captain in amusement, Tubbo not reacting to the small blades of grass that were now on his face.
Humming to himself, Phil softly spoke up. “You know, I used to have wings once, a long, long time ago.”
“You did?” Tubbo said, eyes popping open as he spat out some of the grass that had accidentally fallen into his mouth. “I didn’t know that. What happened to them?”
“Did your father ever tell you the story of Caelum and Terra?” Phil quizzed with a small smile.
Tubbo sat up so he was now sitting cross-legged next to Phil. “He mentioned it, but never read it to me. Said it was his favourite myth passed down from the earliest days of the world. He said he would read the story once every year in the old language of Man.” Tubbo informed, his voice getting smaller as he thought of his father and how much he missed him. “That it was a tale of love and sacrifice.”
“Indeed, ‘tis a very old story. One that has been forgotten by Man since the start of the 2nd Age, but still lives on in those old enough to remember it. Would you like a basic recount of the tale?” Phil asked him, his pale blue eyes glinting with fun and wit.
Tubbo nodded enthusiastically, sitting upright as he waited for Phil to tell him the story he had heard so much about from his father.
Phil admired the energy and endearing expression that Tubbo held as he eagerly listened. “Caelum was a lesser god under the delegation of the 3 Great Divines, who oversaw all that aligned with ideals of freedom by virtue of unchained spirit. He used to fly the skies endlessly by the sway of the wind and the songs of crows.” Phil began, watching Tubbo’s face light up with excitement as he continued. “One day, he met someone who grounded him body and soul. A human. So, he bore away his divine status, giving up his grace and his place in the Aether so she could become immortal, and the two of them could live out eternity together.” Phil carried on, his smile growing wider and his heart beating a little faster.
“Were you friends with Caelum and Terra?” Tubbo asked innocently, tilting his head in curiosity and leaning in closer to hear better.
Phil giggled at the question. “Do you know what ‘Caelum’ and ‘Terra’ translates to in the modern language?”
Tubbo shook his head, the motion eliciting an even wider smile from Phil as he looked at the Captain with a fond and sweet expression. “In the common tongue, it means Sky and Earth.” Phil revealed, waiting for it to click in Tubbo’s head about what he had just said.
It took a few seconds, but the young Captain’s eyes went wide as his mouth opened to form an ‘o’ shape, Tubbo gasping as the penny dropped. “You were Caelum?!” He exclaimed loudly with a giant smile of genuine astonishment.
“I was.” Phil affirmed with a nod. “They would call me ‘Sky’, and pray for blessings of good weather upon the lands. Some of what they asked for wasn’t necessarily my domain though, I’m not quite like the Divine Creators.” He added in, brushing past that bit of information as it wasn’t particularly important. “Still, it is what Man used to call me, back when I was a different man, and truth be told, a bit of a dickhead.” Phil admitted with a fake pained face.
Tubbo’s pale grey eyes came down to look at the grass underneath him as he let the blades fall through his fingers. “You gave away your epic powers for ‘Terra’, for Kristin, so she could share in your immortality and you could be together forever?” He said with a soft voice, the words reaching Phil’s ears as something just over a whisper.
“I did.” Phil nodded again.
Tubbo’s expression smoothed out from astonishment to one of adoration. “That’s- that’s beautiful, Phil.” He breathed out, his eyes glancing up from the ground to gaze at Phil with a bright aura.
Phil hummed out once more, heart forever consoled that he made the decision long ago to give up his godly powers so they could spend the rest of their lives together. “I would’ve done, and would still do anything for her.” He sighed out lovingly, thinking of his beautiful wife, his beloved queen of earth and night.
“So you’re not a god anymore?” Tubbo asked with intrigue, immersed in the story of Phil and Kristin once upon a time. .
“I still technically hold the title, I just don’t have the power. Not of divine substance anyways.” Phil quickly corrected, putting a finger up defensively to try and explain the situation better. “I can still do basic magic like any other simpleton with a spell book, but the grace that gives all celestial beings their greatest powers and abilities, I don’t have access to anymore. Not since I gave up my wings which were my conduit of grace. That is what I gave up so Kristin could be immortal. That is the price I willingly paid.” He stated plainly, emphasising certain words as to try and get Tubbo to understand what he was trying to say.
Tubbo’s eyes narrowed as he pieced together Phil’s words, nodding slowly as they fell into place before he looked at Phil again with open eyes and an honest heart. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry you lost your wings.”
“Do not be, it was entirely worth it.” Phil said, the corners of his mouth turning up as he stared at the Captain with soft and considerate eyes. “I have spent more lifetimes than I can count with her, and I would not trade a single second of it if it meant I got my wings back.” He confidently stated.
Kneeling down on one knee next to Tubbo, Phil placed a hand on his shoulder as he spoke to him tenderly but honestly. “You wish to know what it is like to be immortal? It is lonely, for the most part.” He relinquished, expression falling as he reminisced about all the years he spent without anything to hold on to. “But, if you find things to keep you attached to this world, then the journey of immortality is not so bad.” Phil followed up with another small smile of consolidation. “I do not tell you this to make you fear getting your wings, I tell you this as a piece of wisdom, Tubbo. Keep close that which brings you light. Protect it, nourish it, love it for all that it is and all it could be. Do this, and immortality becomes all the more bearable.” He professed with ardent conviction, reassuring Tubbo as the Captain smiled back at him with a small upturn of his lips.
Phil was right. Although Tubbo was nervous about getting his wings and what it would mean for him, he still had things that he knew would be with him decades and even centuries down the track. He had Phil and Kristin, he had Tommy and Wilbur, he had all these people and all these dreams to keep him going. But whether by his own torrid ambition, or by the forces of a greater power, Tubbo could not help but feel like there was something more that he needed to find and hold close. Something that was missing that he would need to keep him attached to this world.
The moment of reflection for Tubbo came to an abrupt end when a loud voice cut through the air like the sharp notes of a fiddle breaking the silence. “Hello father, hello Tubbo.” Tommy greeted them with an awkward wave, clearly something on his mind as he looked around the area, distracted.
“Hello, mate.” Phil said as he stood up, watching as Tommy stopped and stood next to them, picking at the skin by his fingernails.
“What are you two doing?” He asked with a hoarse voice, clearing his throat afterwards.
“Just chatting.” Tubbo shrugged off casually,
“Okay cool well, I need to talk to Phil.” The Prince stated calmly, biting some skin on his lip as his hands got all fidgety.
“Can I listen in?” Tubbo asked, not really wanting to get up and go all the way back to the city.
“Yeah that’s fine I don’t mind.” Tommy politely replied. In an instant he began to angrily yell. “Father, Wilbur’s not letting me go with you to Veerim Valley.” He grumbled out with clenched fists.
Phil’s face fell a bit upon hearing Tommy’s words, not pleased with what Wil had done. “Oh…”, he said with a disapproving tone, his voice quiet and his eyes troubled.
“See?!” Tommy shouted out. “Even you know that’s complete bullshit!” He spat out in a fiery rage, throwing his hands up in aggravation as he paced back and forth around their little circle.
Wilbur has barred Tommy from leaving the city. This was not what fate wanted, it has too much in store for Tommy, and Phil will be damned if his son is withheld from his destiny. Wilbur needed a stern talking to. He can’t keep Tommy here…
Rolling his shoulders back, Phil let out a tired exhale. “I’ll talk to him, Tommy.” He said, placing a hand on Tommy’s head and giving it a quick ruffle before smiling at his youngest boy. “You run along with Tubbo now.”
Feeling like he needed to lead Tommy away, Tubbo nudged the Prince and grabbed his wrist gently, guiding him towards the patch of flowers where the butterflies liked to flutter about. “C’mon Tommy, let’s go.” He spoke assertively but kindly.
Tommy looked at Tubbo with his pale blue eyes, letting his anger dissipate as Tubbo pulled him away. “Alright.” He agreed, following along as he shuffled through the grass and gravel on the ground beneath them.
Why Wilbur had commanded Tommy to stay here, Phil could probably assume. But for all that he feared and all that he doubted, Wilbur should not seek to stand in the way of something that is far greater than even the gods. He should not seek to hinder fate.
Emerging from the foggy darkness of the damp forest, Kristin came upon Phil with perfect timing, like the spritz of water in dry air or the fresh blow of cool wind on a hot day. Phil did not have to say anything for her to understand how he was feeling.
Taking Phil’s hands in her own, Kristin cradled them with warm intent and sincere consolation. “You worry for Wil. I worry for him too.” She spoke out, filling the air with her soothing voice.
“Our son… I cannot shake this awful feeling in my gut.” He whispered out. Although he had hope and faith that things would be okay, there were twangs of doubt and uncertainty that stirred in his mind, clouding his head like the clouds in the overcast sky above them.
“Shhh. Fate is on our side.” Kristin hushed sweetly, caressing his face in comfort with her gentle fingers. “He will be alright, Phil.” She said wholeheartedly, giving him a quick peck on the cheek that brought a little gushy smile to his face. “Wil may come out the other side of this war a changed man, but he will come out the other side nonetheless.” She reassured him with a soft and heartfelt smile. Extending her hand for him to take, she gestured with her head to the forest. “Come along, my love.”
Phil reached out and took her hand, letting his negative emotions go with a steady exhale. Giving Kristin an earnest look, Phil walked side by side with her as they entered the forest, gliding along the moss-covered ground and loose pebbles that sat in between the dark green grass and carpeting lichen. They took a gander at the state of the forest, checking and making sure that it was in good health and free from any harmful defects.
It was another timeless stroll, all sense of reality being consumed by the looming, mystical enchantment of the forest. Had it been a few minutes or a few hours, they did not know, for time not only seemed warped in the forest, but in the general experience of Phil’s and Kristin’s life, their eternity together becoming skewed and swirled in a outré perception of years that they had walked the overworld.
They came upon a small clearing only about 6 square feet in area, shrouded sunlight coming in from the cloudy sky as it shone down on the patch of grass and smooth stones. At the centre of the clearing there was a dried out flower, a poppy of faded crimson red petals and crispy leaves that were dying from prolonged exposure to the sun.
Kristin let go of Phil’s hand and elegantly shuffled over to the poppy, bending down to inspect it properly as she ran her fingers over the shrivelled flower with a gentle touch and mournful eyes. Skidding her fingers over the poppy, Kristin breathed in and out deeply, feeling the magic of the forest course through her veins and flow into the earth. When she opened her eyes, magic had pooled into the poppy, imbuing it with revitalisation and breathing life into it once more as it slowly restored to its former beauty, standing up tall and blooming fantastically in the clearing.
The scene of his beloved wife with the poppy flooded Phil with vehement emotion, care pouring out his heart as a fountain of everlasting adoration and hankering love that remained constant throughout their eternity as the turning of the world across space and time.
Kristin returned to Phil’s side with a kind smile on her face as she tenderly took Phil’s hand and led them further into the forest.
Deeper and deeper they went, until soon all light from the sun above barely filtered in through the rattling branches of the ancient trees. The sound of birds and chattering of woodland critters could be faintly heard in the halls of the forest, the leaves rustling as a calm breeze blew through. Luminescent plants and sparkling white and silver butterflies came to brush past them as they kept walking, and the wonderful splendour of the forest stayed beautifully intact like when Phil and Kristin had first stepped into the viridian dark, long, long ago.
Phil may have once been the Sky God, but he would stay grounded to the earth if it meant he could be with Kristin forever until they decided to pass over into the Aether at the world’s end. Gazing over at his wife’s face, Phil fondly smiled with all the warm sweetness of sunshine on a pale, Spring day. Every time he looked at her, he would fall in love all over again, the buzzing of his affection never fading or faltering despite the centuries and centuries that had gone by. When it came to her, there was no regret in his heart that they were meant to stay together through to the end of time.
This forest had meant everything to them. Twas the place they first met once upon a dream, and the place where Phil had gifted her his proposal of ‘forever’. It was the place where they had promised a life of eternal love through Phil’s sacrifice, the old god giving up his wings and grace so Kristin could share his immortality with him.
With a brief close of his eyes, Phil let his feet take him wherever, following along as Kristin dragged him gently through the mossy ground and thick grass. In his moment of recollection and hazy reminiscing, Phil was brought back to the myth of his and Kristin’s epic love story, the moment of their sealed fates ever so prominently remembered in his mind.
—flashback—
It was a time of archaic nightfall and deafening twilight, and Phil held Kristin’s hands in his own, facing her as they stood still and placid under the moonlight of the idyllic forest, her necklace that held an oval moonstone shining and glowing brightly in the moon’s lambency.
Phil let go of one of her hands momentarily and reached into his cloak, pulling out a silver ring and presenting it to her with a hopeful and profound expression.
In slight shock, Kristin’s head shook in disbelief as her medium brown eyes went back and forth between Phil and the ring. “You cannot give me this…”, she whispered out breathily, still in disbelief at the depth of Phil’s affection.
Phil placed the silver ring into her cupped hands, folding her hands over so it was safely tucked within her palm and fingers. “I may give this to whomever I decide. It is my gift to you.” He stated truly, his heart slowly burning in anticipation for her answer to his proposition.
The ring was of silver, the band detailed to resemble an old branch that crossed over and intricately wrapped around 2 lily flowers, one in full bloom and the other as but an unopened pod. It had this radiance to it that was like that of her moonstone necklace that lay upon her throat on a band of black fabric.
Engulfing Kristin’s hands in his own, he pulled them close together so their foreheads were leaning against one another. “I choose to share this life with you, Kristin. I gladly give away my grace if it means I can bear the remainder of my days by your side.” He whispered wholeheartedly as he maintained their close proximity. “I would rather stay bound here with you, than have to face this eternity alone.” Phil stated with deep emotion, his pale blue eyes wanting to well up in elation of his confession to the love of his life.
“You would bind yourself to forever walk this realm…for me…” Kristin said airily with zealous jitters, the immense exuberance from Phil’s words sending forth a blaze of passion and exultation throughout her heart and soul. She took the ring from in her clasped hands and held it delicately within her fingers, glancing down at Phil with a sincere smile and touched eyes.
“There can be no greater declaration in my heart.” Phil remarked with a soft voice, returning her smile and tender expression of commitment and fervent bliss.
Slipping the ring on her finger, Kristin clasped Phil’s hands tightly, her smile growing even wider as she took in a deep breath and stared at him with fond eyes and a loving expression of amplified rapture. “Then I shall walk beside you. Until the grey light at the edge of the world burns out, and everything shatters into the white fog of whatever comes after. I will walk beside you, Phil.”
They promised and declared, sacrificed and accepted, loved and grew. They were the greatest love story to ever exist from before the 2nd Age of Men; the tale of a god and a human, a myth of eternity.
The Sky God and his earthly partner, bound by love through forest and twilight, forever in the cradled arms of time.
Caelum and Terra.
—end of flashback—
After Phil and Kristin had spent a few hours within the comfort of the forest, Phil soon left her by the cottage to go and find the King, hopeful but a little bit anxious at how Wilbur might react to his objection.
It was dusk now, and as Phil strode through the castle halls, he felt the walls grow colder as a shadow settled on the stone and carpet, a particular haze of eerie design working at the corners of the castle as the cracks of a breaking mind fogged up the glass of every window he walked past.
He understood what Fundy had meant when he said that the castle did not feel the way their cottage did, it did not provide the same prospect of ‘home’ to Phil like it did to Tommy or Tubbo. During the years of his reign, Phil knew he did not really belong there. It was not his real home.
Turning a corner, Phil spotted Wilbur staring out a window, the King’s hands behind his back as he intently gazed into the glass in deep thought. Not an unusual occurrence for Wilbur, but still somewhat concerning nonetheless.
Gliding over to him cautiously, Phil could tell that Wilbur had noticed his presence, turning slowly to look at him, his hands still securely behind his back. “Greetings, father. How may I help you?” Wilbur said with a gravelly voice.
The Sky God let out a shallow breath before he began to speak. “Tommy says you are forbidding him from coming with us to the valley.” Phil said, watching Wilbur’s expression closely as he remained stoic like a marble statue.
“Yes, he is to stay here.” King Wilbur affirmed, his voice monotone and dry, masking any kind of emotion that threatened to leak from the dark prison of his mind or the unstable cavern of his heart.
Phil’s eyes held a kind of disapproving look, a touch of melancholy glinting within his pale blue irises like rain upon a graveyard. “Wil, you know you cannot keep him here-”
“I am keeping him safe.” Wilbur rebutted, interrupting his father. “I need him here to protect Fundy and the rest of the kingdom-” He tried to justify, Phil noticing just the tiniest flicker of something in the creases of his forehead showing.
“I know why you would have him remain in the city, but you know well that fate has plans for him. You must let him join us, especially if this is where he is being called to.” Phil urged, eyes pleading and voice getting more tired.
Wilbur shook his head and turned away from Phil, glaring back out the window for a second before he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “I could never forgive myself if by some horrible misfortune that he were to die, and I were to live. I would never forgive myself, Phil. I’d never let it go…”
“Tommy has a path just like your own that he must take, free from anyone’s restriction or restraint. You should not hope to prevent him, Wil.” Phil articulated plainly.
He wanted to take a step towards his son, but Wilbur shook his head more vigorously this time and shut his eyes tightly, like he was being flooded and filled with heinous thoughts that he was trying to shake away.
“And what if he gets hurt? What if he fucking dies because I was too remiss to ensure he stayed safe?” Wilbur started to raise his voice. “What am I to do if the legacy of our blood turns black, and all that will remain of your sons is a story of a weak King who sacrificed his little brother to torment, all for a nation that will only remember us throughout history as failures!?" The King yelled out, spitting the words like they were dripping with poison and thorns, resentment and fear and doubt all too clear by the tone in his voice and the expression on his face that Phil could just barely see.
“Wil…” Phil called out to him with lament. It pained him to see his first-born like this. To see the cracks at his heart, to hear the breaks in his voice, to feel his son slowly slipping away, fading.
“All it takes is one moment…”, Wilbur carried on, “one moment for things to go terribly wrong, and for him to be dead...” He whispered gravely, like he was already certain that death would come to them one way or another. It was heartbreaking.
Braving his aching heart, Phil did not falter from his stance. “You still cannot step in the way of his fate. You have to let him go, Wil.” He averred with a soft tone, hoping that he could reach Wilbur, that Wilbur would understand and see that there are just some things that he cannot control.
Then, King Wilbur laughed dryly, the sound echoing out in the quiet corridors as a song of unhinged disarray, a twinge of darkness seeping out of King Wilbur like a polluting fume of ash and dust that almost- scared Phil…?
“Am I the one who must become the storm on your sunny days…” Wilbur began, his voice low and dangerous as he hunched over slightly into himself, completely facing away from Phil now. “Must I be forced to be the antagonist in all of your eyes because I’m the only one who is prepared to do what needs to be done in this war? Then I gladly accept, because I will not sit back and watch my family die! ” He let out with an unsettling cry, hostility and erratic mania being brought forth from the deepest crevasse of Wilbur’s soul, a kind of madness and delirium that Phil had only seen once before in his son 100 years ago.
In a second of momentary panic, Phil opted to reassure Wilbur that Tommy had everything he needed to stay safe. “Tommy is brave. He’s a good fighter, Wilbur. And something in my heart tells me that will be alright. He has his courage, he has his strength, he has Tubbo.” Phil tried to reason, his voice soft and careful as to deescalate Wilbur’s concerning distress.
Then Wilbur slowly stood up straight, smoothing out his posture and rolling his shoulders back as he inhaled and exhaled a few deep breaths. He turned to face his father just as slowly. “My word is final, Phil. ” He asserted calmly, staring at his father with dimmed eyes.
And just like that, he was back to his usual demeanour, face blank in concentration and reflection, eyes seemingly apathetic behind the fading medium brown of his irises, hands behind his back as he reverted back to his composed stature. Like he hadn't gotten emotional and unstable. Like nothing had happened at all.
The switch-up between Wil’s moods had Phil’s expression go cold as he felt his heart begin to crumble at the sight of what this war and what this duty had done to his son. He did not deserve to have the world on his shoulders. He did not deserve to take on such responsibility. He did not deserve to lose his hope.
As Wilbur went away from him and returned to his study, Phil watched as he flitted in and out of the shadows, walking alongside the damning road to madness with each step he took, just on the edge of getting what he wanted, but losing everything he already had.
It was not Phil’s place to give Wilbur orders. He was not the King anymore. Perhaps that was a mistake on Phil’s part.
But when the harrowing cackles of feverish hysteria roared out in Wilbur’s heart like whips of thunder and cracks of lightning, Phil saw a flash of flames and bones in his son’s eyes, a terrifying vision of something that the Sky God hoped would not find its way into Wilbur’s worn out heart.
Even though the King was fading, Phil prayed to the gods, begged them practically, to let Wilbur’s fate be different than what he feared. To let him subvert the terror of his irrationality. To let him keep the threads of his tangled mind intact.
To let him stay sane.
Notes:
there is only gonna be more sbi angst stuff i am so sorry, but things get resolved i promise. next chapter is mostly karlnapity i think so im excited to get to that. lowkey having a bit of writers block but not the kind where i cant come up with ideas i just cant sit down and write like i used to when i was writing flowers for your truths idk why but its screwing me royally.
anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter or somewhat enjoy this story as a whole. it is a bit annoying to follow along with but i appreciate any of yall who gave it a chance
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
Chapter 7: The Sun, Moon and Stars
Summary:
15 days left.
Dream helps George start to walk again as a strange letter for Quackity arrives on the Isles.
Phil has a chat with Tommy about Wilbur's decision to not let him come to the valley, before Tommy goes off later and plays a duet of the 'call' with Tubbo for Fundy.
Wilbur cracks, letting loose the unhinged vices of his mind as he kindles an idea that he believes may help them in the final battle.
Technoblade does some reflecting with Eret on a balcony.
Quackity arrives in Sproalstone and seeks to rectify his prior mistake by helping Sapnap in finding his father.
Notes:
hi yea so i am terribly sorry about not updating for like 10 days almost but here i have you a monstrous chapter that is like quite literally almost 20k words i am so fucking sorry omg
anyways so there is a nice sorta spicy dnf moment at the start coz i promised some dnf romance but i was waiting for george to get better etc etc so i hope you enjoy that, but then at the end of the chapter we got some karlnapity platonic love/soulmates fluff stuff so i hope u enjoy that too
i would also like to just clarify that i sorta screwed myself coz i made Karl the 'Stars', but i also made Mianite just the one 'Star' so i hope that doesnt get confused anywhere whoops my badas always, i do not proof read my work so apologies for any spelling/grammar/continuity errors
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a little before midday, another morning dedicated to the strenuous but important training that Dream required in his journey to become a great man. The sun was warm and the air held a certain humidity that was brushed away by the sea breeze of the Ankkar Isles.
Dream had been granted a break from practice with Foolish for a short hour, and he spent it with George as they slowly walked and shuffled around the paths near their hut. After those gruelling days since their fall from the cliffs in Sproalstone, George was finally on the mend. The ambassador was strong enough to stand upright with some help, but his lower body had become weak and stiff from lying down for days on end, his muscles sore and his legs still fairly limp.
Holding on tightly to Dream’s strong arm with both his hands, George placed one foot after the other to try and get feeling and mobility back into his legs. It was difficult. Oh so very difficult, like his legs had been locked into place at his knee joints and the fibres of his leg muscles had been weathered away as wind does to rock.
He could not stand upright on his own nor could he even dream of walking by himself yet. All the strength he could conjure up was enough to form his own movement, but still fell short of supporting himself, requiring Dream’s help to keep him standing and needing both his hands on Dream’s arm to make sure he stayed standing.
They had strolled briefly up and down the bit of path near their hut, going back and forth along the gravel, sand and rock to try and get some strength back into George’s inferior limbs. The pace may have been slow but it was steady, and Dream thought it very cute and endearing to watch George as he waddled along the path. The lovebirds slowly made their way around, now at the area just behind their hut.
His eyes on George, Dream smiled caringly at the other who was taking another tiny step on the hard ground. “It is nice to see you out and about, on your two feet and walking.” The Prince noted with a hum of his voice.
“Gods, me too.” George breathed out with a hoarse voice. He had not talked too much either during his recovery, his vocal chords rusty and strained at the same time. “I have to admit, I did not enjoy being cooped up in there. It’s nice to see the sun, feel the wind, smell the fresh air.” He sighed, stopping to simply bask in the sunlight and bathe in the atmosphere of the relaxing and peaceful isles.
“Aw, what about me?” Dream said with an exaggerated pout, giving George an expression of fake-sadness.
“Oh Dream, of course I missed you as well.” The ambassador stated in earnest, turning his head to look Dream in his stunning, shimmering, shamrock green eyes. “I missed spending time with you, my love.” George declared, raising a hand so it could rest on Dream’s face. The removal of one of his hands from Dream’s arm caused George to become unsteady, faltering from his upright stance and staggering a bit as his legs struggled to support his weight.
George let out a few “woah” sounds as he immediately slammed his hand back down to grab Dream’s arm again, holding on for dear life as he regained his balance.
The Prince’s eyes widened in amusement seeing George fumble about, and he could not help but let a laugh fall from his throat, a tiny wheeze accompanying the sound like the escape of air from a boiling tea kettle.
Upon hearing Dream laugh, George turned to him with a scandalised face. He brought his arms up to try and give Dream a light-hearted smack on the shoulders, but that meant he had taken his hands off Dream’s arms, and as such he lost the support that was keeping him upright.
In an instant, George’s legs quivered as they gave way, sending him toppling over and down to the ground. Dream’s newly developed reflexes kicked in, reacting quickly as he reached out with his arms to grab George and pull him close as he fell over. However, the momentum of George falling onto him was too great, and he found himself losing balance too as he caught the ambassador but got swept off his own feet, sending them both hurling to the ground.
Dream moved them as they fell, making sure his body took the brunt of the force as he hit the ground with a thud, George laying on top of him with his hands pressed against Dream’s chest in an effort to brace himself for the abrupt landing. The Prince groaned softly in pain, the impact on his back making his skin hurt as small bruises from his training were worsened by the extra blow to his flesh.
Heaving out a breath, Dream began to chuckle uncontrollably as he stared at George in the eyes. His beautiful, midnight black and sapphire blue eyes. Those exquisite irises of ice and obsidian. Damn…he loved George’s eyes a little bit too much among other things. George began giggling too, whether at Dream’s own laugh or at their predicament just now, George was giggling out profusely as he lay stationary on top of Dream’s body, his eyes crinkling up from his smile that made Dream almost go crazy from how cute it was.
After a few seconds of humorous banter, George winced a bit as a small but sudden pain jabbed at his chest near his still healing wound. Dream noticed the reaction and his expression changed to hold a tiny fraction of concern. “Are you alright?”
“I am fine, Dream. Gods are you okay?” George retorted back, matching Dream’s gaze with the same concern and intensity. “You idiot, why did you land on your back, you could’ve gotten injured.” He said airily, eyes bearing right into Dream’s with an expression that breathed ice and blew on fire.
“So I could catch you.” Dream whispered, his voice quiet but of the utmost sincerity. He traced his hands carefully around George until they made their way to rest at the middle of the ambassador’s back. “I’ll always be there to catch you, George.”
The profession cut through George like the slice of a blade through his heart, piercing it and splitting it open for Dream to reach out and touch. A single caress of his love was enough to burn away at George’s soul and set it ablaze, the light and heat so powerful that George thought it could keep him alive forever as it slowly ate away at him and consumed his entire being in the glorious bliss of fervent love and grand ardour.
Giving Dream a small smile, George blinked slowly as he breathed in, taking note of the Prince’s scent; dirt and sea salt mixed with the faintest bit of burnt cloth from where he had been playing around with Jack’s awesome fire magic.
“And I you, Dream.” George whispered lovingly back to the Prince, moving his face close to Dream’s. “Or at least when I’m not stumbling over my own feet.” George chuckled lowly, leaning in closer to Dream’s face, his eyes slowly closing as his lips parted ever so slightly.
Dream giggled in response, motioning to talk instead of taking the hint. “Oh but you know I love it when you fall for me-”
“Dream…please shut up and kiss me, idiot.” George interrupted with a roll of his eyes and a soft exhale.
Dream did not say anything further. The Prince smirked mischievously and gave the ambassador a small affirmative nod before leaning in and sealing their lips.
It was slow but gradually deepened as they lay entangled together, George sighing into the comfort and warmth of the kiss. The ambassador’s hands were pressed up against Dream’s chest and grabbing tighter at his loose-fitting shirt, a couple of buttons getting undone at the action. A tiny bit of Dream’s chest became exposed, and George took the opportunity to tap at Dream’s honey skin with his slim fingers, eliciting a small hum of approval from Dream as George’s fingers prickled excitement and silent promises of close intimacy that spread all throughout the Prince like wildfire and sweet poison.
The Prince’s hands made their way from the middle of George’s back to his waist, pressing down lightly at the flesh with his fingertips and rubbing circles into George’s sides with his thumbs. George sighed at the contact, breathing deeply into Dream’s mouth as they kept their lips locked together in ardent passion and gentleness. The Prince’s heart beat loudly in his ribcage, the thumping resounding out through his veins as a rhythmic slurry of deep drums that banged on and on and on as George kept their pressed lips together. George kissed Dream tenderly, his soft rouge lips working away at the Prince’s own slightly chapped ones kindly and smoothly.
For a moment, everything was still and sweet.
That did not last long.
Their kiss had heated George up, flooding him with love and desire that pumped through his eager veins like adrenalin. His hands that were pressed against Dream’s chest spread warmth throughout Dream’s body, a great flame of momentary passion wrapping them both in a hazy, pink scene of relishing love.
Breaking away from Dream’s lips, George stared at the Prince with darkened eyes as the other let out a small whine from the loss of contact, the both of them heaving and breathing out with parted lips. Holding Dream’s gaze, George confidently kept their eye contact as he brought his head down from Dream’s face before settling near his exposed chest.
Dream watched him do this, absolutely mesmerised by the sight of his pretty, pretty George. Seeing George on top, the power he had over him in that moment… Gods it was so alluring, so salacious, so…gorgeous. The Prince gasped out audibly as George’s eyes left Dream’s to stare at his chest.
Shortly after, the ambassador began kissing at Dream’s exposed skin, George using his hands to pull open Dream’s shirt wider so he could access more of his chest. The Prince groaned out quietly in the silence behind their hut, the sound floating away and being muffled by the occasional gusts of wind that would blow past. George nipped lightly at first, just the way Dream liked, before moving on to leave sloppy kisses in between harsher bites at the Prince’s skin, grazing over bits of Dream’s upper abdomen with his teeth. Dream’s skin was melting like butter under his touch, the taste of salt from the Prince’s sweat mixing with George’s saliva as he loosely mouthed inaudible praises against Dream’s soft flesh.
Within a few minutes since the initiation of their kiss, Dream was at George’s mercy, the ambassador trailing a line of kisses and love bites along the Prince’s chest as he made his way up until George’s lips eventually found their way to Dream’s neck. George’s love and kiss was a drug, and Dream was drowning in it, the ambassador leaving fire everywhere he touched. George let out hot breaths onto Dream’s skin, the feeling of George’s lips and teeth and air making the Prince shudder underneath him as he continued to work at Dream’s neck.
When George bit down hard on the Prince’s skin, Dream let out a whiny moan, the sound filling up George’s ear as a lustful and tantalising noise that only drove him to do more. Dream’s eyes rolled back as his eyelids fluttered with the growing feeling of combustion that swirled around in between his thighs. Bringing a hand to Dream’s chest, George skidded over the flesh with energetic hands and rubbed at the Prince’s skin with wanting fingers.
It was all so stimulating, the tingling and buzzing making Dream feel drunk with arousing thoughts and vulgar possibilities; the lewd scenes that he and George could enact made Dream snake his hands up from George’s waist and run down his back, his nails digging in gently at the supple flesh. Coupled with the kisses and bites at Dream’s neck, the Prince let out another whine as he leaned his head back in unadulterated ecstasy, his eyes closing and opening indecisively like he didn’t know whether to keep looking at George or just experience everything the ambassador was going to him.
Feeling wild heat build up in his body, Dream shifted around, squirming beneath George as he tried to adjust himself to relieve some tension from his hot and bothered muscles. Oh Gods, now was not the time at all, but it felt so right to finally have George like this once again, felt so warm, felt so good. Prince Dream fell completely under George’s spell, the ambassador making his legs quiver with every loose kiss that was planted on his body. George was like the intoxicating saccharine of molten sugar and strawberry juice, a glaze of lavishly ardent scarlet and the gracious flaws of polished marble. It was amazing. Breathtaking even. And Dream found it difficult to ignore the twisting and coiling of want that was rumbling in his lower belly, accompanying the butterflies that restlessly floated around in his stomach.
George could see how much he was affecting the Prince, Dream subtly writhing so he could get some kind of friction between them going. The movement made George let out a groan through an airy breath. The ambassador could feel more heat rising and fluctuating in both their skin, the two of them swelling and swelling more, burning and burning even hotter. A certain kind of pressure began to build up in their joints, insistently building up in both of them like a geyser that was getting ready to blow. George tried to shift his body so he could accommodate himself and Dream, moving his legs so they were entangled with the Prince’s, Dream involuntarily grinding his hips upward as George bit down onto his neck and kept rubbing hard at his chest.
George whimpered when Dream did that. It had been too long for his liking since he and Dream shared a moment like this: rough handling and intimate touches, passionate kisses and breathless whispers, hot lips and wicked desires. Dream grinded up again into George as he continued to drag his fingers down George’s back with his nails, the actions making the ambassador moan into the skin of the Prince’s flushed and bruised neck. He exhaled hot breaths into Dream’s faintly purple neck, moaning more into him as he dragged his teeth down the Prince’s pulse, his heartbeat frantic and pumping under George’s sweet lips.
George halted his kisses to bring his head up and look Dream in the eye with an indecent expression through a dirty smirk. Lingering over the Prince’s face with heavy breaths, George used a hand to hold Dream’s hips in place.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Desperate, are we? You have to be patient, my love.” George hushed out softly between deep breaths.
Dream nodded eagerly, accepting the terms and surrendering himself to George’s words, the ambassador grinning widely as he brought both his hands up to cup Dream’s cheeks, his eyes remaining on the Prince’s face for a few seconds before he leaned in and kissed Dream on the lips again. He tried to pull Dream as close as humanly possible, like he was adamant on melting them together, forging their bodies into one through heat and sweat.
George smiled into the kiss, letting out another sigh and moan directly into Dream’s mouth. He captured the Prince’s lips over and over again as he lay on top of him, Dream’s hands moving up from the ambassador’s back to rest in his hair, gripping at a few clumps of George’s dark hair and lightly tugging.
It was so improper of them, so obscene, but in the moment they did not care. They could deal with whatever embarrassment later. Dream and George were so lost in each other that they did not hear the footsteps approach at a speedy pace.
“Ahem.”
Dream and George immediately froze. Looks like they’ve been caught.
Instantly casting their gaze to the voice that interrupted them, they set their eyes on Foolish, who had a sly expression and a raised eyebrow at Dream’s and George’s…interesting position on the ground. George rolled off of Dream hastily, the action eliciting a disgruntled groan and a subtle wince of pain from the back of his throat.
With a scutter of his hands and jolt from his legs, Dream stood up quickly before reaching out to George and helping him up, using his arm to keep his beloved steady as they attempted to control their breaths and regain their composure.
Clearing his throat some more, Foolish tried to remain cool and not affected by the awkward atmosphere, however, there was just the slimmest flash of embarrassment that came over his eyes for but a second. He supposed observing two people in love eating each others’ faces off can do that to a man.
“The day is not nearly over yet.” Foolish noted with an friendly tone and small upturn of his lips, trying to move them along from the previous weird and slightly uncomfortable energy that surrounded them. “We still have a lot more training to do, Your Highness.” He said, eyes widening at Dream as he gave him a look of faux disapproval.
Dream rubbed the back of his flushed neck in embarrassment. “I’ll take George back to the hut first.” He said, not really wanting to look into Foolish’s glowing green eyes as he sheepishly let out a few dry and nervous laughs.
“Of course. But no dawdling, there’s no making out on the battlefield, Dream.” Foolish wiggled his thick eyebrows to the Prince as he flashed a wide and knowing smile, silently telling Dream to not commence any other activities that were best left to the confines of a room behind closed doors.
The tall, golden pirate strode away from them with haste, his pace fast and determined as the smallest hints of unease littered the creases of his forehead. Foolish sped-walked with great and swift steps, leaving small imprints of his large boots into the sand and gravel of the pathway until he found his way to Niki’s potion shack.
Knocking on the door with even taps, Foolish entered Niki’s workshop to find that Jack was also there and sat on a wooden stool, sprinkling some sugar into the glasses that sat on the brewing stands like he was seasoning a cut of meat with salt. Niki was standing up by the shelves, noting their stocks and searching the cabinet for some ingredient that Foolish assumed would be part of the next batch of potions.
Foolish looked at the two others with a grave expression, worry evident in the centre of his eyes and the curve of his brows. “Niki”, he started, his voice low and quiet, “this came by crow some few minutes ago.” Foolish said after he took a few steps towards them, bringing his arm up and presenting them with a rolled up letter bearing the Wyrlornian brand in a dark red ink beside Quackity’s name.
A large crow had come by to the Ankkar Isles with a letter, a small piece of parchment that was explicitly addressed to Quackity in very messy handwriting attached to its feet, the words just coherent enough to read.
Niki went over to Foolish and inspected the letter, Jack also getting up from his seat and walking over to the other two with a concerned expression as he stood just behind Niki and peered over her shoulder to look at the rolled up letter. Upon closer investigation, Niki could see that there was evidence of writing on the back of the parchment as well as presumably writing on the inside. She thought it must’ve taken days for the crow to arrive here, what with all the turbulence from the magic-infused storms that would have hindered its travel immensely.
Glancing between Foolish and Jack with turns of her head, Niki clasped the scrolled up letter in her hand. “I’ll leave this in the Captain’s shack, for safekeeping until he gets back.” She said with a nod, her expression anxious about the letter’s contents.
Niki wasted no time at all after she spoke, rushing out the door of her potion shack in a fast-paced walk as she went out to place the letter in Quackity’s hut that lay South of the dock and in the general direction of the area where Dream had been training. There were not many places for housing around that area of the main isle, as most occupants preferred to stay closer to each other near the flatter Northern terrain.
Determination in her eyes and slight stress in her neck, Niki strode along in a straight line to Quackity’s quaint living shack, thoughts racing and mind wondering if he would hopefully be back soon to deal with this development. Whatever was in the letter, it came from Wyrlorn. It bore the official Wyrlornian seal in the unmistakable red ink that bled a little bit on the single piece of parchment. Who it was from, Niki could only guess, for there were many people in the Wyrlornian Royal Court that could have sent it. However, she had her suspicions, and if her gut feeling was to be right, then Quackity needed to come back sooner rather than later.
It did not take her long to reach Quackity’s little hut, the house like that of pretty much every other hut on the isles save for a tiny Q that he carved into the wood of the foundations that held up the structure. Entering inside and completely focused on her current delivery mission, she was not aware that studious eyes had observed her walking fiercely and a little too quickly down the path with something firmly clutched in her hand.
The actions of the oceanborn brought questions to the Prince’s mind, and Dream, like usual, was curious about it all. He had since dropped George off at their shared hut and was just making his way back to wait for Foolish in the training area, when he saw Niki some ways away just storming past with great intent. He could not make out what was in her hand due to the distance, but by the way she walked with such power and unwavering stride made him believe that whatever it was, it was of dire importance.
Dream wanted to dismiss it, he really did. Gods know that he had had a problem with sometimes sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and asking too many questions as per his incessant need to know more about everything. He couldn’t help it.
His curiosity was insatiable , and a mystery was irresistible .
Many mysteries have plagued his mind in the past, the most recent and most intriguing one of all being the Captain himself. Just that: Quackity. There was so much to him, like the endless ties to him and supposedly every other person in the overworld, the walls that he has built so high to keep anyone else from looking over and seeing into his heart, stories and scars of his past that seem too integral to who he is to simply be left unsaid…
Dream wanted to know it all, in due time hopefully. Over this past almost week now, he thought he had really gotten on the Captain’s soft and good side. It wasn’t particularly obvious, but Dream was watchful, and nothing needed to be spoken when the Prince could catch glimpses of fond expressions through soft smiles and gentle eyes, like Quackity was secretly looking out for him from the side-lines and in the shadows. There was something so natural about how he interacted with Quackity, the Captain appearing as both a mentor and a growing friend that Dream regarded as someone he had come to care for in this short period of time.
And he did want to be that for Quackity: a friend .
The Prince only hoped that if he reached out to him, that the Captain would meet him halfway. If Dream could leave the Ankkar Isles with even that much, another bond of profound kinship, then that could be enough. That would be enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Around the same time in Wyrlorn, a disgruntled Prince Tommy threw knife after knife in frustration and brewing dread. The knives landed hit after hit each time against a thick, dark oak tree that stood tall in the corner of the grey training courtyard, the trunk twisted and looming with its sweeping branches and rustling leaves that fluttered with every breeze that went by.
Tommy had gotten more holsters on his belt and found new places to store his knives in his sleeves and under certain garments, the young Prince crafty and clever in his practicality for concealing sharp, pointy objects.
He was about to throw another knife when the almost silent footsteps of his father approached him with weighted intent, to which Tommy turned around to face him as he fiddled with a dark silver knife in between his hands.
Gliding to Tommy and standing by his side, Phil kept his hands clasped together underneath his long and flowing robes of deep green as he spoke. “I talked to Wilbur yesterday.”
“And?” Tommy replied, nervous and expectant but not getting his hopes up too much.
Phil took a small inhale before sighing. “He has not revoked his decision about letting you come-”, he began.
“Fucking stupid bitch.” Tommy quietly muttered under his breath.
“- but , even if he won’t change his mind, we can still sneak you and Tubbo out onto one of the horses. Wil may be the King, but I am still you lots’ father.” Phil continued with a smug expression, Tommy giving a small smile as he brightened up at his father’s support. “If Wilbur decides to see that as treasonous then that’s his problem, but when I gave up the crown I stopped putting the rest of the kingdom before my family, and that means I can help out my boys without anyone’s approval.”
“Damn right, Phil!” Tommy exclaimed with a wide and toothy smile as he gave an exaggerated nod to his father.
The uplifted spirits were short-lived as Phil gazed off to the space behind Tommy, the old god seeing a group of his crow friends flying up above in the air over them and going South, away from the city and away from the kingdom. In his own worries about his sons, Phil let out a shaky breath as he turned his head to face the Prince, Tommy staring at him with concerned eyes and a tilted head.
Prince Tommy extended his hand for his father to take, and Phil grasped it loosely as they went to sit down on half-walls of faded stone that were coated with thin layers of moss or vines.
With a heave of breath, Phil let his body rest as he balanced himself on the hard wall, Tommy delegating to stand up as his father took shallow inhales. “Tommy…Wilbur he’s- he is not well. You know there has always been a shadow attached to his heart, something he could never be rid of no matter how hard he tried.” Phil spoke slowly, dejection and regret evident in his voice.
“I know…” Tommy also sighed, the strain on his emotions wearing away at his temperament with each passing week. The Prince began to unconsciously shift weight from one foot to the other before he started slowly stepping back and forth, creating a rocking motion of pent-up energy that was stored in his body.
“Then you know that he will need us. Now more than ever.” Phil stated gravely, his pale blue eyes looking at Tommy who proceeded to strut around with one hand running through his curly locks of dirty-blond hair, lightly tugging at the strands in anxiousness and annoyance at his whole predicament.
Tommy’s pacing became more and more heavy with the escape of shallow breaths and quick steps around and around in small circles. “He just- he makes me so mad sometimes.” The Prince groaned out behind clenched teeth whilst trying to shake out some of the stressful energy through his hands.
“I understand, mate.” Phil said considerately with a soft expression, patting the bit of wall beside him with an audible tapping sound as to get Tommy to sit down next to him and try to relax a bit.
Hearing the tapping noise, Tommy’s attention was brought to the half-wall where his father wanted him to sit, huffing out a few breaths of negative energy before placing himself at Phil’s side. Tommy’s feet swung for a few seconds as he worked hard to settle himself, deeply inhaling and exhaling, closing his eyes for just a short moment before opening them again and observing the world with less frantic eyes. Looking out blankly to the space of the courtyard, Tommy soon glanced down at his hands as he fiddled with his fingers, moving the single gold ring on his middle finger round and round.
Tommy stopped playing with his ring, his hands laying limp in his lap as he began to speak. “He’s so far away from us all now, like he’s fallen down a pit where it is too dark to see and too deep for me to follow… I don’t know what I can do to help him.” He lamented, distress clear in the furrow of his brows and the creases underneath his eyes.
“I am not sure there is much we can do.” Phil said honestly, giving his son some transparency to his own thoughts. “I suppose, we just strive to shine as brightly as we can, and hope that it will give Wil the strength he needs to find his way back to us.”
“And what if he can’t?” Tommy followed up as he kept looking at his limp hands, worry and twangs of fear prickling at his facial expressions.
“He will.” Phil declared with assertion.
“You don’t know that.” Tommy retorted, his pale blue eyes flitting over to stare at Phil sceptically, like it was getting more and more difficult to heed his words and keep hope as Wilbur drifted further away from them.
Staring at his son in earnest, Phil bore into Tommy’s eyes with his own same pale blue ones, only the most minuscule fraction of despondence noticeable in the former King’s expression. “I have to believe it. We all have to believe it…” Phil averred with a single nod. “Without hope, we open ourselves to doubt and desolation, the very plights that plague Wilbur now. In the long months of this war he has lost hope. He is motivated by fear, not for himself but for all of us. He believes he cannot rest until we are all completely safe, or until the enemy is all completely dead. He will not settle for anything less than one or the other.”
Tommy slowly blinked his eyes a few times as his head turned away from Phil to once again stare at the empty space of the still courtyard. He hummed out ponderously as his father’s words reminded him of a conversation he already had.
“What are you thinking about?” Phil asked after a brief moment of thoughtful silence between the two of them.
“Just something Techno said.” Tommy commented with a slight shrug of his shoulders, his eyes unfocused and looking at nothing in particular.
Phil shifted around a bit so his hands were out of the long sleeves of his robe, and were now resting plainly in his lap. “What did he say?”
“That Wilbur would do anything to keep us alive and together.” Tommy answered. “It’s the strangest thing, Phil, but- I do believe that he will go to great lengths for us.” He said with a firm nod. “I just can’t help but think of what it’ll cost. The world’s eyes are on him, and history is waiting to see what supposed ‘legacy’ he’s gonna leave behind after this battle.” Tommy said with strong distaste in his mouth, the word and sentiments of ‘legacy’ something he had come to despise over the months with Wilbur’s scattered lectures, and decreasingly coherent rants that Tommy could hear him mumbling under his breath as he walked the halls and corridors of the castle.
“Wilbur will do anything he believes he needs to. Whatever that shall be, I can’t tell yet. I only know that it will be…a grand spectacle. Something notable enough to fill up the pages of this ‘legacy’ that he so desperately wishes for.” Phil noted with slices of sadness in his voice.
The thought of the King’s wishes stabbed at the Prince’s chest and pierced his heart. Since when did Wil’s legacy begin to take up more space in his heart than his own family? Tommy was seething again, jaw clenched and neck strained as it flushed pink with spikes of anger and thorns of hurt.
“Who fucking cares about legacy when there is fate, and a chance to go forth and make a bloody difference in the realm? To stop it from going to shit and being a part of something that is greater than yourself?” Tommy passionately relented, spitting out the words like venom, his tone of voice bitter and resentful at first when thinking of Wilbur and his maddening demeanour.
“You know Wilbur does not particularly…indulge in the sway of fate, Tommy. He and Techno aren’t like you or Tubbo. Not everyone cares for the call. Not everyone wants to hear it, but whether they do or don’t is not for them to decide.” Phil said with a knowing look on his face.
He turned to look at his son, eyes full of an emotion that Tommy could not quite place just yet. It was somewhere between happiness and sadness, like the kind of emotion one feels when reminiscing about the past and braving the future, because you are mournful of the things that have passed and gone, but you are hopeful and anticipating in the face of what comes next.
“Tommy, fate is calling out to them like it calls out to you, Tubbo and a few others of this realm. It will only get louder the longer they do not accept that they have a duty to fulfil.” The god said, his words sitting in Tommy’s mind as he read his father's subliminal message, leading himself to say what he thought Phil wanted him to do.
“Are you saying- I have to convince them to accept the call?” Tommy asked with uncertainty.
“I’m saying we all have to convince them, together.” Phil iterated, using a hand to place soft pats on Tommy’s head.
Tommy leaned into the touch, exhaling as he felt some stress leave his body through the gentleness of the pats.
It reminded him of when he was younger and his mother would come tuck him into bed as Wilbur played him a soft lullaby with his acoustic guitar. Kristin would accompany the music with her own soft singing, her deep voice able to send the younger Prince into sleep within a couple of minutes whilst she carded her sleek but strong fingers through Tommy’s hair. They were such tender moments in Tommy’s life, ones that he missed dearly as those times grew further away from him with the passing years.
Phil told him it was the same with Wil too when he was growing up; the god would play a song on his triple drone flute, and his immortal love would sing Wilbur to sleep as she stroked his brown hair with tentative fingers.
Letting his head fall to rest on his father’s shoulder, Tommy spent the next few seconds breathing in and out. “Okay.” He said quietly, comforted but longing for the times when he and his family could just be. He understood now the look on Phil’s face before, the feeling flooding him as he sat there with his father, a small upturn of his lips and a glisten of contentedness in his eyes.
Phil smiled lovingly as he simply sat there with Tommy; a moment, just a single moment of peace for them to share before they moved forward soon.
After a few minutes Tommy began humming and softly scatting to himself. It sounded like he was imitating the strums and plucks of his ukulele that he had not touched in some time, the noises of his improvised scatting bringing a poorly stifled laugh from Phil as they kept sitting on the half-wall.
Tommy was vocalising the melody of one part of a song, unfinished and broken unless all pieces of it eventually come together in harmonious collaboration. It was his part of the song that he shared with another, and Tommy had encouraged it to thrive and play on in his head without fail, never once getting sick or tired of the same few bars that faintly lingered in the back of his mind.
Phil has been privy to the call before. Once. When the world was much newer and Men were still in their 1st Age.
It was a glorious thing to hear, when all those called had come together in a joined and final rendition of their intertwined fates, instruments of any kind brought forth and played one after the other, and then all together as a last homage to fate before the journey of their destiny ceases and the calling of fate’s song stops.
It was the greatest beauty at the time, and the greatest heartbreak, for not all who were called had lived to see the song be played for the final time that millennia ago. Those who fell had their parts of the song given to another, who carried on the legacy of their melody until the war was over.
Champions of fate and the Great Divines fought, sacrificed and perished in the last battle against the Blood God to see that this world be free from the shackles of his influence and tyranny. The cost of their lives still live in the hearts of those who have been around long enough to remember. King Halo and Skeppy, Eret and Phil, Captain Sparklez… Only a few names compared to that of the people who have now gone from this world and crossed over into the infinite lands of peace in the Aether.
Phil thought about his very old friends, people he had tried to remember and honour since their last meeting. When he thought about it, he could see much of them in the faces he knew today. There was a regard of comfort in that, like all that he had lost was still alive and present with his sons, his friends, his people. But there also came an ounce of pinching fear. He had seen how some of them had ended up, and could only fret about the chance of the people he loved sharing the same kind of fate.
Not often did Phil find himself in fear of death, there was even once a time where he welcomed it, but that was before he began a family of his own. Before he had gotten married. Before he had Wilbur and Tommy. Before he took others like Technoblade and Tubbo into his house and accepted them as new sons of his family. Before he had suddenly found so many things that became more important to hold onto and cherish.
And now…Wilbur.
What about Wilbur?
The fear that was once never there had grown tenfold in Phil’s heart, and he not only became worried for his son’s life, he became worried for Wilbur’s heart and mind, the cracks slowly breaking more and more that one might believe it was a rumbling in the deep, foretelling a reckoning of fire and earth that would leave blood and ash in its wake, a terrible chorus of screams and loss following suit in the aftermath of a vilifying tragedy.
For just a split second, Phil involuntarily thought about his son, and what it meant to not just fear for him, but to be afraid of him…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A short hour later, Captain Tubbo had just finished a quick run of the city’s perimeter, making sure everything was alright and that the guards as well as the soldiers were kept in strong spirits. He was very exceptional at maintaining their morale, bringing a sense of energy and brightness to people around him, like a field of sunflowers in the summertime.
The young Captain was checking the castle to ensure nothing was out of the ordinary, when he strolled past muffled voices from behind the music room door. Odd. It hadn’t really been used much in the past almost 5 months since everyone had gradually dissipated and left the instruments to collect dust. Grabbing the doorknob with prepared hands, Tubbo opened it abruptly to find Tommy and Prince Fundy seated across from each other by the grand piano in the corner of the forgotten room.
The two royals whipped their heads around to look at the Captain with surprise, before their expressions smoothed out to greet Tubbo with a wave of their hands, offering for him to come sit down with them.
“Hey Tubbo! My friend, come sit down!” Tommy cheerfully motioned.
“Come hang out with us. We were actually just about to break out the instruments again and play!” Fundy added with a wide smile.
Eyes widening in excitement, Tubbo felt all jittery and expectant at the prospect. “Really? I’d love that!” He exclaimed, hurrying over to them and sitting down to engage in casual conversation.
“So, what were you talking about?” Tubbo asked generally.
“We were discussing my father.” Fundy responded with a calm voice that bordered on sullen expression.
“No offence, and I can say this because he’s my brother, but your father is a bit of a prick.” Tommy said as he looked at Fundy, hands over exaggerating to emphasise his point.
“I suppose so.” Fundy said with a subtle shrug of his shoulders as he sighed. “I hate what this war has done to him. To all of us.”
“Did you know he’s still not willingly letting me go to the valley with him, Techno and Phil? What a load of bollocks.” Tommy commented with a scoff, his eyes rolling at the stupid notion that had brought conflict to his relationship with his older brother.
“Yeah, I’m not allowed to leave either.” Tubbo chimed in.
“None of us are.” Fundy stated with clarity, eyes going back and forth between his uncle and the Captain. “He’s made it so that we will be left here with Eret.”
Tommy’s expression appeared a little worried. “What about my mother?” He asked with tension in his neck.
“She’ll be safely in the Lunar Sect.” Fundy reassured him, Prince Tommy easing up and letting out a breath of relief.
The Lunar Sect was far from the valley, all the way up a giant mountain that towered the country, seemingly reaching the heavens and stars up above. His mother would be okay for sure. But that did not negate the worry in Tommy’s heart for his brothers and his father. For Wil, Techno, and Phil.
“This is unbearable.” Tommy sighed out, resting his head on his hands. “Wil should know that I’m just gonna go anyway no matter what he orders.”
Tubbo knew the kind of person Tommy was. There was not much that could stop him once he had his mind set to something, so his profession of sneaking out was not merely just words. He would definitely do it. And if the Captain was to keep his promise to Wilbur, if he was to make sure that he stayed safe per the King’s request, then he was going to go with Tommy to wherever it led them. After all, their fates were already joined together by the call.
Flexing his fingers to limber them up, Tubbo tapped at his knees as he sat on his dark oak chair. “I can’t say I’m particularly thrilled at the idea of sitting out of the battle in Veerim Valley. I am literally the Captain of the army and all that jazz. Not to be dramatic or anything, but I would feel the greatest shame and dishonour to be left behind.” He said with a disapproving chirp.
Tommy nodded in solidarity to Tubbo, humming out in agreeance as he stared at the dust around the room, eyes blank like he wasn’t aware his vision had gone out of focus.
“I understand why he would have us stay here, but my father…I don’t think he is well.” Fundy spoke up in a small voice. “His behaviour feels like it makes less and less sense every day.”
The words rang in Tommy’s head, similar to that of what his father had said to him earlier. Wil was not well… He was sick in some way. He was not his best self as of late.
Shaking away the train of thought that was leading him to a place he did not want to think about, Tommy got up from his seat and began to pace around the room. “Well, there is no way I am fucking staying here. I know where I’m supposed to be, and it’s not stuck behind the city’s walls. Fate wills it so. It calls me someplace else.” He averred, his conviction strong and his faith unyielding.
Curious and wondering about the nature of Tommy’s beliefs, Fundy begged the question. “How do you know? How do you know when fate is calling you?”
“Because I can hear it. It’s like a small segment of a song that I can’t stop hearing.” Tommy informed him, still pacing around as he looked for his beloved instrument.
“When the wither skeletons and that demon started coming through, Tommy and I began hearing the same melody over and over again, and it was only getting louder and louder. So we went to Phil and he explained what was going on. Fate was telling us to take up the mantle of Champion and answer the call of our destinies.” Tubbo added onto Tommy’s explanation.
“Since we hear the same melody, our fates must be linked, and that means that there are others in the realm who have their own parts to the rest of the song.” Tommy said with a groan as he leaned over and picked up a small case of black leather and brought it over to where the other two were sitting
Tommy and Tubbo both heard the call. They could hear it playing and they had the same melody on their minds. Fundy did not have that. The Prince couldn’t hear the song, he did not hear the call at all. He did not have some epic destiny that would impact the fate of the world. He had no grandeur path that he was supposed to be on.
He was not special…
There was a twinge of envy that stirred in Fundy’s heart. Why he did not get to have some fantastical journey was beyond him, but regardless, it was not something within his powers nor anyone else in the room’s powers.
Fanning away those ugly feelings, Fundy cleared his throat and sat more upright at his piano seat. “What does your melody sound like? Can you play it for me?”
“Sure!” Tubbo said without hesitation, his smile wide and his pale grey eyes crinkled up sweetly. He stood up from his chair and began to walk about the room to look for his old instrument.
The Captain passed by Tommy who was coming back with his instrument, a pleased smirk on his face as he placed the case on a small table so he could open it. “Anything for my favourite nephew. Right champ?” He said, flicking open the clasps and lifting the case open.
“I am older than you, you know.” Fundy grumbled out, light-heartedly offended.
“Meh, the details don’t matter.” Tommy dismissed nonchalantly, pulling out the small stringed instrument.
It was a lovely ukulele of rich wood and copper coloured strings, details of leaves and swirly, abstract lines that resembled gusts of air had been engraved into the wood. He had received it as a gift when he was 5 years old, the same age as Wilbur when he got his first guitar over a century ago.
Finding his own case, Tubbo smiled fondly at it before making his way over to Tommy and Fundy. Tommy had already gotten his ukulele out and was just standing there, tuning it with attentive ears as Fundy watched him in amusement.
Tubbo placed his case on the small table, undoing the clasps and opening it to reveal pieces of a wooden flute, details of black scorched onto the wood like intricate cracks of lightning. He grabbed the 3 parts of the instrument with familiarity, slotting the head, middle, and foot joints together with careful fingers.
Quickly making sure his flute was all ready to go, Tubbo then looked at Tommy and met his eyes, lips hovering above the mouthpiece as he waited for Tommy to give him the signal to begin playing.
Prince Fundy was still just sitting at his piano, watching quietly and anticipating the sound of their part of the call. He was excited and on the edge of his seat. Fundy had been engrossed in his father’s music since the first time Wilbur had played for him as a child, melodies and tunes, lyrics and riffs a big part of what held them closely together in the past.
All done with his tuning, Tommy cracked his knuckles before holding his ukulele in position. “You lead.” He said with a nod, Tubbo nodding back as he took in a deep breath.
Blowing into the flute, Tubbo’s fingers expertly worked at the body of the instrument, creating a wondrous sound as he played the first few notes of the song. After a few seconds, Tommy came in with the simple plucks of his ukulele, accompanying his best friend as the duet elicited the picture of a far off country and vast green fields of long grass that danced in the sway of a sweeping breeze.
The two played with a hypnotised expression, their eyes glazed over in something that Fundy could not understand and their hands moving automatically to build up the intertwined melodies, like it was second nature to them despite not playing their instruments for a little while. It was a scene of epic proportions, the music echoing throughout the room, flooding their senses, and seeping out into the castle as a bright aura of yellow and red. They played the same set of bars over and over again for a couple of minutes, each time with new and different adlibs and improvised additional notes that had Fundy’s mouth hung slightly open as he watched and listened to them in awe.
It was such a pretty melody, one that felt like it frolicked about meadows and splashed in puddles with no shoes on; like it tried to catch the rain during a light shower and climb the highest trees to be closer to the sky.
It was beautiful.
And a shame that Fundy would not hear that kind of call in his life, but for all he was disappointed that there was not some ‘great plan’ for him to follow, there was a moment of reflection. According to his grandfather, the things that have happened all happened for a reason. Even though Fundy did not have a destiny like others, he was still important. Phil had tasked him if he would join the others on the road to their destinies, and now, he decided he would. But it would be on his terms. He would make his own fate, and be a shining beacon of hope for his father.
The song soon ceased, and Tommy and Tubbo were brought out of their trance with deep breaths, blinking the dryness of their eyes away as they looked around at each other in slight confusion. The remnants of their melody rang out in Fundy’s ears, and he grasped with the thoughts in his mind that dealt with his newfound faith in the ever ominous ‘fate’.
He had to trust that fate would be kind to him. He had to trust that it would be kind to Wilbur. Fundy had to trust that it would bring his father home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All the windows were closed, the blinds all drawn; he sat placidly and tiredly in his bed, the covers messy from where he had kicked them off his body and practically falling on the floor.
There was a collage of dirty clothes and books that littered the floor, a stale smell beginning to form within the confines of his sealed off room.
He knew not of how long he had spent just reading Captain Sparklez’s journal. Last he checked it was the later evening…and then he just- kept reading and reading…surely only a few hours had gone past by this point, right?
Slow blinks and weak hands kept him in place as he sat up against the headboard of his king-sized bed, flicking through the pages and pages and rereading the words of Sparklez’s firsthand account of the 1st Age. Paragraphs after paragraphs, sentences after sentences, tabs from noted pages and annotations about annotations of the information that lie in the book.
He had kept note of every single page that specifically referred to Dianite, going back and forth between them so much that the tips of his fingers had become cold and numb from the incessant and obsessive action.
King Wilbur inspected his hands, the vibrancy and warmth of his flesh depleting slowly with the great lengths of time he spent out of the sun and in the darkness. A slight shake came to take hold of his now paler hands, fraile fingers and sore eyes going over the book again like he had done for weeks upon weeks since he was given the journal. The dark circles under his eyes only grew darker, making his skin look even paler than it actually was, fatigue and wear in his physical appearance reflective of the peril and crazed mission within him. Wilbur’s hair had not been combed or brushed through properly for a few days, the strands of wavy hair untamed and unruly as his medium brown locks clumped and twisted together in knots like a bird’s nest.
He was beginning to smell a bit gross, an accumulation of sweat and dirt filling his nose with the scent of body odour. He had showered yesterday hadn’t he? After training with Technoblade? Surely he shouldn’t smell this bad after only one day…
King Wilbur looked tired. He looked ill. He looked brittle.
He had been over these pages a thousand times already. Instances of the Blood God and what Sparklez’s could tell about him from their encounters. Reiterations of how Dianite was a covetous Lord, lying and taking, and always wanting the things he could not have to which he would stop at nothing to get.
Then there were the little entries of Captain Sparklez’s life that he seldom glossed over in his frantic research to find something he could use to help them fight the wither skeleton army. Like the one he was about to skip over just now.
‘August 13th, 22nd Fall of Rain, 1st Age:
Today we were summoned to the land in front of the priest’s house. The Gods were unhappy with the violence that had spread throughout the land, and they decided there needed to be recompense for the harm done to one another.
We were then trialled in the Tank of Judgement. Jericho went first, and he was found to be pure of heart, passing the trial of the gods and set free from the tank by the priest. If I’m being honest, that was a bit of a bold conclusion on the gods’ part, however it is not my place to question the Great Divines. We all passed the test until finally it came for the bastard’s turn, and Syndicate was put in the tank. He was judged by the gods, and he became engulfed in fire, flames burning his skin as punishment for his crimes against the land.
An order for no more bloodshed was decreed throughout the land by the priest, and we all returned back to our houses. The process of the Tank of Judgement was archaic. Brutal. And if the gods were hoping to strike fear into us all so we would not behave violently again, then they did not truly know who they had welcomed into their faith.’
Not a particularly useful bit of knowledge that he could spin to his advantage, but even so, sometimes it was just nice to read and spectate the written life of another person.
Flicking through his tabbed out pages and scanning his eyes over every line and every word, he came across a particular page that detailed an encounter with wizards of the 1st Age, who appeared to be the great builders of the world and developers of Men in terms of non-divine magic. It was an account of Captain Sparklez and a wizard known as Waglington, and their endeavours with Ars Magica coupled with their experiments on creatures of the Nether. Experiments that used hellfire.
Reading through the passage, Wilbur’s eyes settled on words.
Words that had not occurred to him before. Words that he was too blind to see.
How could he not have thought of this before? It was all right here in front of his eyes.
Information and ideas pooled in the King’s fracturing mind, and the light up of an idea in his head made his mouth hang open as his eyes went very wide in realisation.
Had there been anyone else in the King’s room on this day, then it would be apparent to them. A slight twitch zapped at Wilbur’s eye, his fingers uncontrollably flexed and shook, his smile of small triumph did not evoke light or any brightness of good, and his pupils knew no such thing as rationality as he cooked up the beginnings of a plan that he believed would secure the future of his family and the legacy of his reign.
The thoughts that ran amok in his head spread and burned the tethers of his once brilliant mind, spreading its chaos and scorching whatever sense he had left, his mind but a frazzled and manic state of bickering ideas and trifling taunts that fed into this great fear he had. The fear of failure.
Wilbur got up from his bed and hurriedly staggered over to one of the bookshelves in his room.
Something caught the edge of his eye as he took the book into his hands. It was the absolute tiniest ray of light that was shining in an even tinier parting in the curtains of his room.
Impossible.
It was the evening only a few hours ago, was it not? He had only been reading the journal for just a short while, right? There was no way he had gone on into the early morning already, let alone the next day all together. Right? He never rested his eyes once…didn’t he? ‘It’s…day time already?’ Wilbur internally asked himself, fleeting time and lost memories sending him down a spiral of confusion and more disconnection from the world around him.
Lack of sleep and poor quality of life as of late had sanded down at Wilbur’s mental capabilities, eating away at his strength and sanity like a parasite of doubt and despair, the King slowly on the path to caving in to the push of a poignant fall from grace…again…
His fragile fingers flitted up and down the case and over the spines of many dusty books until his hands settled on the one thing he was looking for.
Dusting off the book, he turned a few pages to see if it contained that which he needed if he was going to proceed in his newly found plan of action.
The King sighed in a deranged tone, laughing dryly at the page of information that was in front of him as the cracking of his character began to overshadow the rabble of clatter that was also clanging around in his head. It became so loud and so prominent, that not even the melody of the call could mediate or rival the boisterousness of Wilbur’s unstable mind.
The frenzy of his plan that was built off the foundations of a lawless and mad idea had pulled him away from even the call of his own destiny.
The King was not well. He was not in his right mind.
Wilbur was fading quickly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was the early afternoon, and warm air fell upon General Technoblade’s skin as he stood calm and still on a balcony.
Gazing out to the royal gardens below, he let his eyes linger over the many overgrown plants that twisted and turned together, thin layers of moss covering the pebbled pathways, bushes weaving in and out of sprouts of rich, green grass.
He often found himself on the many balconies of the castle, pondering and reflecting silently to himself with the slow ticks of time counting down the days. It helped him think. It helped him meditate. It helped him breathe.
It was nothing like where he had grown up.
Technoblade’s life here was so far removed from where he was born, full of green and life and rain and growth everywhere he looked. When Phil had found him those couple of centuries ago, he had no idea that he would get to live in a world like this. Where he was taken in, showed unrivalled kindness, and loved by people who were essentially strangers despite Techno being withdrawn and guarded at first.
It was a life where people had chosen him to be part of their family, and wanted him to remain part of their family. And he gladly chose them too; Phil and Kristin, Wilbur and Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy; all those a batch of people he could call friends and brothers.
They were his family.
So engrossed in how far he has come since his childhood, Techno almost didn’t catch the sound of footsteps that were approaching him. Almost.
“Nice day for a session of deep thought, isn’t it?” Steward Eret said with a hum as she stood by the General with her hands clasped together.
She was wearing a different outfit this time. A creamy white, long-sleeved shirt that had frilly cuffs accentuated her toned arms but gave delicacy to her slim hands and fingers. Around her waist was a short, black, underbust corset that had details of roses woven on the fabric of the material. She wore wide, black pants to match, and finished her look with large, platform boots that added more inches to her already tall height.
The outfit was spectacular, and she looked gorgeous.
“It is indeed quite a nice day for existential thought and crisis.” Techno replied with a small smile.
“Care to share what you were so engrossed in?” Eret asked politely, their eyes looking out and down to the garden below them like the General was doing.
“Just thinking about the past.” Techno answered as he let out a shallow breath. “What would’ve happened if I was who I was supposed to be. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t met Phil.”
Eret turned to look at the General, but Techno did not meet their gaze yet, still remaining in his own trenchant thoughts.
The Steward unclasped his hands and let them rest by his side as he continued staring at the General. “I would not deem it wise to linger on those thoughts. The past is gone. Unchangeable. It is far behind us all now.” He reminded Techno, the General finding some degree of comfort in the idea of the past being gone and behind them.
“You would know.” Techno said slyly under his breath, the comment making Eret let out a friendly and amused chuckle.
Eret would know. He had a grand past of more years than Techno himself did, the Steward being among the few of the remaining angels left in this world that were still alive.
King Halo had disappeared all those months ago just before the war began, Captain Sparklez was mostly gone with his eventual move to the Void Realm, and the other angel under the Lady had been dead for almost 221 years.
Eret had lived a long and worthy life…despite being in Dianite’s service for so long before he came to walk the plains of the overworld. Even though Eret was an angel of Dianite long ago, she had since removed herself from his influence and come to fight against him in the first war of Men against God during the 1st Age.
How they had the strength to betray the Blood God, Techno had no clue. To stand against him was something that seemed so incredibly difficult. It could not be done so easily. It was almost impossible in the General’s mind.
“Was it hard? Going against him?” Techno questioned as he turned his head to look at the other with vulnerable eyes, not sure if he wanted to know the answer out of pre-emptive assumption as to where the conversation would lead.
“It was at first, but that’s because I thought I was alone.” Eret started, their eyes blinking slowly in sad recollection. “When I found out that others had been called by fate to fight against Dianite, it gave me strength to follow through with my own liberation.” They said, giving the General a small upturn of their lips as they clasped their hands together again.
Techno hummed out in thought, many things on his mind as he threw the garden one last glance before taking a few shallow breaths.
He knew he was not alone. He knew that all too well. So then why…why did it feel like something was not complete? Like there was something he needed to do outside the sphere of the thing he hated most that he wished would leave him alone.
The blood of his covenant was strong and unconditional, and yet for all that he had found when he came to the overworld, there was still a piercing pain of what he had let go of.
What he had lost…
Sensing the bubbles of regret in Techno’s expression, Eret tried to console him. “You’re not alone, Techno. Others have been called once more by fate to rise up and battle this darkness. Do not give up hope.” She said gently, placing a hand on Techno’s shoulder as she gave him a genuine and honest expression. “I know you would not like to hear it, but your destiny is waiting for you, you need only listen.” Eret offered, her head turning to behind the two of them as something caught her attention.
“Think about it, Techno.” Eret said with a pat before he left the General’s side and wandered back inside the corridors of the castle.
Techno’s eyes followed him as he walked away, noticing what had caught Eret’s attention and called him away from the balcony. Just making it around the corner so he was now out of sight, was King Wilbur. In all his dishevelled and rundown glory, he had quickly scurried away, Eret following suit for some kind of counsel.
The General was too tired and too preoccupied with his own self to go investigate, leaving Wilbur in the care of his Steward who had always done right by the kingdom from the side-lines, keeping the people happy and safe by the King’s side.
Techno did not want to care or heed Eret’s words. Once more, fate and destiny had been brought up, and as it was uttered from the Steward’s lips, a melody started up in the General’s head, first playing softly as a few long notes of a violin before it began to sound out louder and louder inside his conflicted mind.
For the first time since it had flooded his brain, Technoblade simply lifted his head up to the sky and closed his eyes. He did not fight it, he did not try to knock it away with slaps to his forehead, he did not shake his head frantically to get rid of it. Instead he pushed against it as it played, listening to the melody and trudging through the call in its entirety for the first time like he was wading through mud or taking great steps against the wind.
He heard it fully as he faced the sun and sky, fists clenched, teeth gritting, and his jaw grinding as he tried to not feel overwhelmed by the call, prickles of uncertainty and fear tapping at his skin and giving him goosebumps.
Technoblade was indeed hearing , but unfortunately, he was not really listening just yet.
If he should listen, then he may perhaps find that the plights of the past do not easily leave us so.
And when that day may come, he will understand that his destiny has been, and always shall be, a path of Blood and Bone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The morning tide had given way to Quackity’s arrival in Sproalstone. He stepped foot on the docks with wavering confidence, unsure of what Sapnap or even Karl for that matter would think of his sudden return considering what had transpired last time.
It was a difficult series of thoughts to bear through, but the Captain did well to remind himself that there are only so many things one can control in life. Others’ perceptions of you are up to them alone, and as long as he had confidence in himself, then the rest didn’t really matter. So whatever Sapnap and Karl thought of him, he did not care too much.
Or- at least he tried to…
Making his way through the circles of the city and up the stairs to the castle, Quackity saw a familiar face sitting on the steps with his chin resting on his hands and his head turned to the side as he sat there…speaking to a cat? His first reaction upon watching Karl engage in casual conversation with the cat was to smile, a softness in his eyes and a fondness settling in his heart at seeing his friend that he loved once again.
Karl was a little bit quirky at times like that, muttering compliments to flowers as he walked past them, smiling at clouds with kindness as they swirled in the sky, and now, talking to this cat like they were old friends. Quackity took all this in, loving every part of Karl that touched or interacted with the world, the Captain’s heart feeling at ease with even just the sight of his beloved friend.
Quackity slowly approached Karl, going up the stairs with light steps and a roll of his shoulders, his smile never leaving his face as he grew closer and closer to the Emissary. Now getting within hearing distance of Karl, the Emissary seemed completely engrossed in conversation with the cat, and Quackity couldn’t help but overhear the last part of Karl’s sentence as he got nearer.
“-was going to remember more, but- it was too messy for me to handle.” Karl sighed, tapping his fingers on his chin as he kept staring absentmindedly at this cat of brown and black stripes.
Upon sensing Quackity come closer, the cat turned its head from Karl to quickly look at the tanned Captain. Its eyes met his for only a second, but Quackity could’ve sworn that the cat’s irises were purple. A deep and rich purple, sort of similar to that of Karl’s amethyst ring, but Quackity could have been wrong. Maybe it was just a trick of the light.
When the cat ran away, Karl hummed out in disappointment before letting his head fall slack, the man seemingly in low spirits as he sat aimlessly on the stairs leading up to the castle doors.
With a last couple of steps, Quackity wasted no time to speak to his good friend. “Hey Karl. Miss me?” He called out with a soft voice.
Karl gasped lightly as he slowly lifted his head up, eyes widening in joy and lips moving involuntarily to show a great, big smile that stretched from ear to ear. His face was so bright and so happy, joy flushing his entire face with pink dust that made him look so pretty and elated at the sight and sound of Quackity’s presence.
Man…Quackity missed him and his smile so goddamn much.
“Quackity!”
Karl shot up from his sitting position, speedily pacing down the few steps between them and flinging himself into Quackity as he engulfed the other in a tightly wrapped hug that had all the warmth and care as their previous ones, never once losing its potency of deep affection and strong platonic love. “Gods, I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. What are you doing here?” He asked with intrigue as he pulled away from the Captain with a sweet and beautiful smile, his light green eyes meeting Quackity’s gaze with the same expression of fondness that he always looked at him with.
Scratching the back of his covered head through his dark navy blue beanie, Quackity’s sight moved about before coming back to rest on Karl’s face. “I’m- I’m here to help. You and…Sapnap, I mean.” He said with a slight stutter.
“You are?” Karl exclaimed in glee, his eyes crinkling as his smile got wider, if that was even possible.
“Yeah, I’ve got this book that I think could help you two find out what happened to King Halo.” Quackity informed, gesturing to the satchel that hung by his side. ”It’s one of the oldest books in the world. It’s an account of spells and knowledge pertaining to the 3 Great Divines.”
“Where did you get this?”
“A- a wizard gave it to me a long time ago.” Quackity said with slight hesitation, hoping he didn’t sound crazy. “Sounds kinda weird when I say it out loud but I swear it’s the truth I mean I wouldn’t come all this way if I didn’t think it was important and I would never want to fuck with you or Sapnap like that-”, he rambled on nervously before stopping his words when Karl reached out to his face and placing a hand gently on the Captain’s right cheek.
Gazing into Quackity’s eye intently, Karl gave him a soft and tender smile. “Hey, I believe you. It’s okay, Quackity. I trust you.” He said quietly, brushing the Captain’s cheek lightly with his thumb.
Quackity returned Karl’s expression with his own one of gratitude and care, nodding to the other as he calmed down from his frantic thoughts of whether Sapnap would still be mad at him or turn him away if he saw him again.
Karl retracted his hand from Quackity’s cheek. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” The Emissary suggested with a motion of his head.
“Oh, I don’t know if the King would want me to-”
“Sapnap needs your help, remember?” Karl cut him off, reminding Quackity that Sapnap could not do this without him. “I know seeing him again could be hard after the way things were left last time, but you should know that whether he admits it to me or not, he misses you.” Karl declared firmly, putting a hand on Quackity’s shoulder and patting it a few times.
“How can you even tell?” Quackity said in a small voice.
“Because I missed you. Because…I know you mean a lot to us.” Karl professed, giving Quackity’s shoulder a squeeze to comfort him.
The words rang through Quackity’s head like a jubilee of golden bells and silver trumpets, feeling strength and reassurance with Karl’s proclamation that not only he missed him, but so did Sapnap. It was enough light and hope needed for him to muster up the will to go forward and try make amends with Sapnap, Quackity slowly fizzling away as embers in his heart were kindled more to become a single flame that would not so easily be put out.
Quackity smiled in consolidation before exhaling a shallow breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Extending his arm out, Karl offered his hand to Quackity, the Captain taking it with a small grin as they proceeded to enter the castle and walk down the halls to go meet King Sapnap in his study.
Quackity tried to distract his thoughts and calm his nerves by noting the composition of the castle and taking in the details of marble and limestone, but the anxiety and slight fear was a little bit too much for him to keep a lid on, and he found himself only growing more tense with every small step he took. When he could feel Quackity get too nervous and jittery, Karl would give their interlocked hands a squeeze, and look over to him with a calming and supportive expression that seemed to provide Quackity with a sense of brief relief.
It did not take them too long to reach the door of Sapnap’s study, the King singing to himself softly from behind the door that was just audible to Karl’s and Quackity’s ears.
Seeing the absolute dread on the other’s face, Karl moved to face Quackity and grab his other hand so both their hands were now together. “It’s gonna be okay, Quackity. Trust me.” He said in earnest, the Captain believing every word he said but still fearful of the worst case scenario.
Nodding at Karl, Quackity took in a deep, deep breath, letting go of one of Karl’s hands so he could run his hand across his fringe that sat over his forehead. He adjusted his beanie as one last stalling tactic, his skin feeling clammy and small beads of sweat forming on his body underneath his clothes.
Karl kept hold of one of Quackity’s hands, opening the door of Sapnap’s study and leading the other inside as they stood across from the King who was sitting at his desk and intensely concentrated on reading the array of notes in front of him. Aware that someone had entered the room but not paying their presence any attention, Sapnap kept on singing softly to himself.
Clearing his throat, Karl let go of Quackity’s hand as he ushered him to take one step forward.
“Sapnap.” Karl called out.
“Yes, Karl?” The King responded automatically in a monotonous tone, still not looking up from the pages of scribbled notes that he was sorting through.
“There’s someone here to see you.” Karl informed him with a small upturn of his lips, hopeful and anticipating as he stood just behind Quackity who was fiddling with his fingers and biting the skin at his lips in wait for whatever was to come next.
King Sapnap finally glanced up from the parchment on his desk at his visitor. When his eyes landed on Quackity, they almost popped out of his skull.
Quackity wanted to avert his eye away from Sapnap’s gaze as he prepared himself for the worst, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept his sight on the King as he slowly stood up from his chair.
Sapnap looked good. He wasn’t wearing his kingly attire like the last time Quackity had seen him at the docks of the city. Sapnap was wearing the outfit he wore when he was still Prince, the same outfit that he was wearing when Quackity had met him for the first time last year.
The look of genuine shock never left Sapnap’s face the entire time he got up and took a few steps to face Quackity who was only about 6 feet away from him now. The King did not think that Quackity would come back before he was set to leave for the valley. He did not think he would get to see him before the end…
Sapnap wanted to take more steps, but he was frozen in place, his mind still comprehending the fact that Quackity was right here in front of him. Not visiting him in a dream and not floating about his thoughts; right here.
Small ounces of relief flooded Quackity as he continued to stare at the King in silence, his face readable and holding just pure stun and dazed astonishment, rather than any kind of hostility.
Sapnap still couldn’t believe it.
All those hours thinking about the infamous and handsome sailor, all those days wondering if he would maybe show up unexpectedly one last time, and here he was. But now that Quackity was here, he just- he had no idea what to do.
Feeling overwhelmed with so much emotion, Sapnap’s charcoal black eyes began to glisten with the formation of tears that threatened to spill onto his cheeks, the droplets at the corners of his eyes like clear sparkling glass.
Quackity saw the tears form in the King’s eyes, and he wondered anxiously if perhaps his presence there was the cause of his tears. He hoped at first that he was not the reason for Sapnap being on the brink of crying, but then he stopped to remind himself of something. Tears of sorrow were not the only tears to ever be shed. There were tears of joy, fatigue, anger, and love.
Not waiting to find out which ones Sapnap was close to shedding, Quackity began to speak, taking one small step towards the King as the words left his lips. “Sapnap I- You were right. I should’ve stayed to help you guys but I left anyway and I am so, so sorry. I thought that I could do right by your father by staying away from you but that’s not what I want at all and the only thing I should’ve been trying to do this whole time, was do right by you. I shouldn’t have refused to help and I shouldn’t have run back to the Isles like a coward.” Quackity breathed out with a cascade of emotions flowing throughout his face.
The mind of the King was flooded, a door came bursting off its hinges with every word that left Quackity’s lips, and time seemed to stand still whilst going past all at once. His ears ringing with Quackity’s voice and the deafening explosion of kicked up guilt and regret that was being swirled with opposing feelings of glee and brightness.
Karl watched the exchange with a bleeding heart as he listened to Quackity pour out his emotions with all the pale brightness of a waning moon behind clouds, lonely in the night sky as it loomed over the slumbering world in anxious wait for the sun to rise.
“If you’ll have me, I’d like to-”, Quackity continued on with a choke as he tried to stifle a sob, “I’d like to do everything I can to help because- because we were friends. And I missed you. So fucking much, Sapnap.” He finished, tears of his own stinging at the corners of his eyes that he didn’t think he could hold back any longer.
Before he knew it, his feet had taken him right in front of Sapnap during the time he spoke with such heavy emotion, a profusely sincere and raw expression on his face throughout that reached out to the King and clasped desperately at his hands and heart.
“Quackity.” Sapnap whispered out as a single tear fell from his face, moving his whole body forward and bringing in Quackity to a heart-wrenching hug that wrapped around the sailor entirely, and enticed the King to never let him go. “I missed you too. Gods, I missed you so much, Quackity.” Sapnap confessed with a croak, his voice weak and his throat feeling like it was going to close up.
The Captain was wide-eyed at the embrace initially, but he immediately hugged back with the same force as Sapnap, leaning into the crook of the King’s neck and letting out quiet sobs as tears came pouring uncontrollably down his face, leaving a wet spot on Sapnap’s shoulder.
Hot breath from Quackity’s mouth seeped through Sapnap’s clothes and hit his skin as Quackity continued to cry, stress and negativity leaving his body with every fallen tear and every shaky breath, relieving the unresolved feelings of hurt and guilt from their last interaction as they kept hugging one another tightly.
The embrace was so warm, so tender, so vulnerable…
And as if declared by the universe itself, felt so right in Sapnap’s mind, the moment between him and Quackity a testament to a kind of even balance; a push and pull that kept them coming back to each other in a finely weighed out scale of light and darkness that complemented each other so harmoniously.
Watching intensely with a solemn expression, Karl felt the stinging of salty tears form and then start to stream one after the other down his face, silently shedding tears as he took in the resolution of Quackity and Sapnap’s feelings from their last meeting and parting. The Emissary was overcome with a longing happiness, a dream of a dream that was slowly but surely being realised now with the mending relationship between his two deeply beloved friends.
Using one of his hands to pat the back of Quackity’s head, Sapnap let another single tear fall from his eye as he tried to steady his uneven breath. “I didn’t know if I would see you again. I didn’t want to leave us like that.” He mumbled into Quackity’s head with a small consolidated smile, his lips brushing past the fuzzy fabric of the Captain’s beanie.
“I’m so sorry, Sapnap-” Quackity began to say, sniffling a bit to calm himself down as he gazed at Sapnap with slightly blurred vision and puffy eyes.
Pulling away from Quackity, Sapnap hushed him with delicacy as he moved some loose strands from Quackity’s fringe out of the way with gentle fingers, staring at his face with the kindest expression of affection. “Hey, you came back.” He whispered out softly as he gave the other a tiny smile. “You’re here now.”
Sapnap withdrew his fingers away from Quackity’s forehead before slowly bringing his hand down to rest on his flushed left cheek that was still wet and stained with a few tears, holding it lightly as he caressed the scarred tissue of Quackity’s face. It was a gesture that almost made Quackity want to start sobbing again. It was a gesture that reassured him that Sapnap still cared about him. It was a gesture that told Quackity his scars were…beautiful.
Seeing the King’s action, Karl’s eyes widened a little in fond surprise, intrigued but comforted at the fact that both his and Sapnap’s first instinct towards Quackity, was to hug him and place a gentle hand on the Captain’s cheek. Something about that moment spoke loudly to Karl, and he could see in his mind and feel in his heart that his vision from the first time he met Quackity would become a reality.
Unprompted, Karl and Sapnap’s hands together had cupped both sides of Quackity’s face upon reuniting with him once more, and if Quackity were to ever believe one thing in this life, it was that the three of them were in some way or another, meant to be together.
Sapnap and Karl belonged with Quackity, and he belonged with them.
After the 3 of them had all officially reunited and come together once more, they made their way to the King’s quarters to catch up briefly and continue their business there. Sapnap brought the pages of notes about his father’s disappearance with them, clutching them close to his chest as they walked side by side the entire way.
There was a significantly larger amount of space in Sapnap’s kingly quarters, all of them standing around the room as they conversed on and on about many things.
Quackity had spent a few hours or more telling the King about his and King Halo’s past, answering as many questions as he could along the way without venturing into territory of his past that he was not entirely comfortable sharing yet.
He spoke of how he and King Halo were mostly acquaintances at first, but Quackity’s frequent visits to Sproalstone from the Ankkar Isles and Halo’s affiliation with the divine beings had brought them somewhat closer over the years.
Quackity told Sapnap about how they used to bicker about being Mianite’s little lapdog who did everything the Star God said. Everything .
He told Sapnap about how long ago he asked King Halo to take a book and lock it up for safekeeping, but Halo was reluctant due to his superstitions about the book. King Halo had seen it as a potential weapon against him and others like him detailed in its pages, so he urged Quackity that if he took the book, he would have to stay away from Sproalstone as a countermeasure in case it was ever stolen and had fallen into the wrong hands. Keeping spread out, having Quackity safe and away from the book was the only way King Halo could think of protecting not just the Captain, but himself if he was to be in possession of the book. So Quackity agreed, and vowed he would not come back to the city until the book had found another owner.
But then came the problem of resources being needed and there being no one free to collect them, where Quackity was forced due to pressure to return to Sproalstone last year. And that was when he met Prince Sapnap.
Sapnap followed along with attentiveness, the King absorbing the information as best he could when Quackity soon shuffled the strap around his shoulder and reached into his bag.
“-but the main reason I came here- aside from seeing you- is to give you this.” Quackity said, pulling out a book from his bag, assumingly the one he mentioned as he talked at Sapnap.
Holding the book out with his hands, Quackity motioned for Sapnap to take it. Grabbing the old book, the King stared at it curiously, feeling like he had seen it somewhere before as he inspected the front and spine of the book.
Karl had seen it before. The familiar design of the cover beckoned memories in his mind that lay under layers and layers of long years and lost time, but he just couldn’t for the life of him remember where or even when he had seen it last. He looked on in a masked sadness as he watched Sapnap stare at the book with wonder and awe, but he reminded himself that even if he could not remember now, he could still try and piece those memories back together again. They were not lost forever.
“This is a tome of ancient knowledge.” Quackity said, pointing to the insignia that was pressed into the sturdy leather cover. It was as an emblem that appeared to bear the heart of a Star with Blood dripping out of it as it burned alone in the Void. “It has everything in it from the realms and gods, to spells and magic and-...other things.” Quackity added, trailing off a bit at the end. “I think that this account could have the information you need to find out what happened to Halo.”
“Holy shit.” Sapnap breathed out as he began to slowly flick through the first few pages of the book.
Upon observing the King’s eagerness to explore the information of the tome, Quackity became a little panicked, tapping at the open book with his entire hand so Sapnap could not turn another page yet. “I would start at the very start of the book though, and make your way through it page by page. You know, for efficiency purposes and stuff.” He laughed out awkwardly.
“Have you read this before?” Sapnap asked genuinely, staring into Quackity’s eye warmly and cutely with his dark and handsome features.
“Once, when it was first given to me by the author of the book who was an old acolyte of one of the 3 Great Divines. Who was also a wizard. And a grand architect. It’s all a weird mix of occupations really.” Quackity rambled a bit, still feeling surreal that he was actually there with Sapnap and Karl. “Anyways, I only read the book front to back one time and I kinda forgot lots of the details, but the drawings are really well done.” He offhandedly mentioned with a flick of his wrist.
Sapnap turned his sight back to the page open before him, now looking at a detailed drawing of a place in the Nether that had been annotated as ‘Soul Sand Valley’. “Wow…”, he inaudibly uttered as he ran his fingers down the page, the words written in a language he didn’t understand, but was not the same as the language of the Gods.
“A decent portion of the first part of the book is written in the old language of Man, so I’ll translate those passages for you on separate pieces of parchment.” Quackity quickly chimed in after seeing the words and reminding himself that this book had started being written well over a millennia ago. “My uses kinda run out there so…I don’t know if I could help any more than that-”, he began to shyly say before he was cut off by the King.
“Quackity, you should- can you stay? With us tonight? Only if you want to, I just- it’s courteous to show hospitality and you’re helping us and there’s a fair number of pages that need translating…” Sapnap stuttered out slightly, swallowing nervously after he trailed off at the end.
Sapnap was only making excuses a little bit. Only a bit. He did not want Quackity to leave so soon, not after they had all just come together again. There were still so many things he wanted to say to him. He couldn’t say goodbye to Quackity just yet.
Quackity relaxed after hearing the hope in Sapnap’s voice, finding it cute that he wanted him to stay longer but was so nervous still to ask. “If the King asks it of me, then I shall stick around.” Quackity said with a raised eyebrow and a shallow, sarcastic bow.
“...I want you to stay.” Sapnap said in earnest, his expression serious in contrast to Quackity’s.
Feeling wanted, needed, Quackity grinned cheekily at Sapnap. “Then I will.”
Karl let out another wide smile at his two idiot friends before stepping closer and putting his arms around both their shoulders, slotting in between them perfectly before ushering them all to take a seat somewhere.
The happiness in Sapnap’s black eyes glinted like a single light, and for a second Karl could have sworn that he saw them momentarily flash a warm amber colour.
Oh? That could be an important observation for another time perhaps…
In the time since then, the sun had made its way closer and closer towards the horizon and would surely be setting soon.
Quackity had already begun translating the first half of the book, already almost finished with the 46th or so page. It was entrancing to sit and watch him as he sat at the edge of Sapnap’s king-sized bed in complete concentration, scanning over sentences and annotations, and translating them on a bunch of separate sheets of paper with ease.
Karl watched him from his cross legged position on the floor right by Quackity’s legs, impressed at his talent and only slightly annoyed at himself that he could not remember how to read or write the old language of Men.
He was once very proficient and fluent in the language, however, as language evolved into the dialect that it was in modern times, there was no need for it anymore, and it slowly became forgotten in his mind. Karl was at best, very rusty on the language, and thus only remembered a few words here and there. Not nearly enough to warrant his active help. It was alright though, Quackity had it all under control.
As Quackity sat at the edge of the bed with a pencil and paper in hand, he continued to translate the book, resting the paper he was writing on on a spare book that was lying around Sapnap’s quarters. The King was lying on his stomach, head propped up on his hands to look at Quackity with his legs lightly kicking up and down as he smiled at the sailor. Quackity looked so handsome when he was all focused and hard at work, and Sapnap resisted the urge to sigh fondly at the sight.
Finishing the page he was translating, Quackity hummed out as he put the pencil behind his ear and lied backward on the bed next to Sapnap. He gave Sapnap the piece of paper and the book so the King could read the information.
The translation went with a particular page in the book that had a drawing of a horned being with white eyes, and large black and red wings that looked somewhat like falcon wings. It was labelled as the right hand of the Star, Mianite’s arch-angel of fire and divine power that stood at least 9 feet tall.
Eyes going back and forth between the translation and the drawing, King Sapnap let out a series of confused noises and astonished breaths as he read on. “That’s…my father…?” Sapnap said out in mild shock.
“The one and only, in all his beautiful angelic form.” Quackity replied.
“Will I look like that if I ever get my wings?” Sapnap asked excitedly, head turning away from the drawing to look at Quackity, who was facing him.
“You would have a divine form, but you wouldn’t be able to take on the form in the overworld. You’d need to step foot in the Aether and let the essence of the Day Realm flow through you for that to happen.” Quackity informed casually, like this wasn’t all completely mind blowing like it was for the King.
Sapnap groaned out in annoyance. “There’s so many fucking steps to this, jeez.”
“Yeah, it’s all very crafty, the way divine powers work. Your powers are tied to the realm it was born in. If you don’t spend any time in that realm then you won’t be able to feel the full extent of your powers.” Quackity furthered, a small and almost indistinguishable wince in his voice that Sapnap and Karl almost missed.
“Ugh.” Sapnap groaned loudly again, running a hand down his face as he let his head fall down onto the mattress, his voice muffled by the linens of his bed.
Karl giggled at the dramatic King, still on the floor just watching the other two with content eyes as he fiddled with the dark accessory on his index finger. Soon his gaze drifted to the ring of black opals, and like a key turning in a lock, something clicked in his brain, and he found himself encumbered by the melding together of fragmented crystals of a particular memory that he couldn’t piece together at first.
Flashes of the past flew past him as he was washed over by a previously hidden memory of him and Quackity all those years ago. It was a memory of something Quackity had told him. A memory he couldn’t believe he ever forgot…
Karl recovered the memory in just a second but it had hit him intensely like a rock plopping down from above into a still and quiet pond, ripples of Quackity now becoming clear in Karl’s mind. He needed to take a few deep breaths after it flooded him, but he did well to cover it up and not draw any attention from the other two.
He needed to tell Quackity that he remembered.
Standing up from the floor, Karl brushed off his clothes as he met Quackity’s confused eyes, the Captain lifting his head up to see what Karl was doing. Sapnap’s face was still in the mattress which brought a degree of relief to Karl as he gave Quackity a small nod and looked at him with a firm expression.
Quackity saw Karl’s face and just knew. He knew that Karl knew . Karl must have remembered just then. No other thing in the world at that moment could have brought the kind of expression Karl was giving him, and even though it was not rational, Quackity suddenly became terrified.
The fear on Quackity’s face showed like a fire slowly fizzling out, so Karl smoothed out his expression and put his hands up to tell him that it was alright, silently reassuring the Captain in hopes of not freaking him out.
Thinking of a way to have a quick chat with Quackity without causing any suspicion from the King, Karl gave Quackity a small upturn of his lips and gestured with his head to the door before he started speaking. “Hey Sapnap, do we have any more of those strawberry tarts? I’m a bit hungry.”
“There should be some left in the kitchen near the chocolate ones.” Sapnap said loudly, his face still in the mattress.
“You have chocolate tarts?!” Quackity exclaimed in genuine amazement whilst also following along with Karl. “No way, Sapnap please can I go grab some?” He asked in a velvety voice, head turning towards Sapnap.
The King lifted his head up from the mattress and turned to face Quackity with a charming smirk. “Of course.” He replied, using the same kind of velvety tone as Quackity.
Quackity grinned widely at the King, his golden fang showing and his body energetically hosting himself up from Sapnap’s bed and going to stand by Karl, rubbing his hands together mischievously in buzzing expectation of the chocolate tarts.
“I’ll come with you so we have more hands to carry the food.” Karl said, giving Quackity’s head a pat before they both turned from Sapnap with a small wave and made their way out of the King’s quarters.
It did not take them long to get to the kitchen, however it could have taken less time if Quackity did not attempt to scurry away every time he saw something interesting. Laying pristinely on a tray in the kitchen, were a collection of tarts. Strawberries and cream tarts lined an entire row of the tray, glazed over with a gelatine like sugar syrup that decorated the strawberries in a clear gloss.
Licking his lips at the sight, Quackity hoped he could snag a bite of one of the chocolate tarts, but he was cut short when he reminded himself of why they were there and away from Sapnap briefly in the first place.
“Quackity, I…remembered something…about you.” Karl uttered, his tone hesitant and grave.
Quackity let out a breath of resignation, expecting some kind of harshness or criticism that Karl would never actually partake in. “I see… Are you going to tell Sapnap.” He whispered out, hopeful but unsure of what Karl would say.
“I don’t want to keep any more secrets from him than I already have. I can’t do that to him, Q…” Karl said, trying to meet Quackity’s eye.
Quackity exhaled some of his anxious thoughts as he grabbed Karl’s hands in his own and held them tightly, looking back into Karl’s light green eyes with sincerity. “You don’t have to keep this hidden away to yourself, Karl. I promise I will tell him when I get the chance. No more secrets.” He affirmed with a nod, bringing a hand up to rest on Karl’s cheek momentarily.
He would tell Sapnap. Sapnap deserved to know. He couldn’t hide the truth from him any longer.
With a couple of tarts each in their hands, Quackity and Karl shuffled back to Sapnap’s quarters, clumsily trying to make sure that the tarts didn’t get ruined or fall out of their hands. On the way there, Quackity spotted a pair of keen eyes, just watching him from a dark corner of the corridor. It was the cat from earlier that Karl was talking to on the stairs of the castle, and its eyes…they were purple.
Of course. He should’ve known by the eyes alone…
Entering Sapnap’s room with the tarts, the two of them placed the delicious desserts on a table near the King’s bed. Sapnap took notice of their arrival, but was flicking slowly through the middle pages of the book, able to read it now that it had transitioned into the modern language of Men.
Looking up from the book and sitting at the edge of his bed where Quackity previously was, Sapnap’s hands rested on the opened page he was currently on. “Is it true that nephilim are some of the more stronger beings of the higher realm?” He asked, directing his question at Quackity who had just brushed some loose crumbs off his hands.
“Yeah they are quite strong, but they are outmatched by that of the power of gods and their progeny: demi-gods.” Quackity replied, following Karl and strolling on over slowly towards Sapnap.
“Demi-gods?”
“Offspring of God and Man.” Quackity informed. “They aren’t rare, but they are uncommon.”
Sapnap nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his head around all the wonderful and amazing new things he was learning about the world. Turning another page, he was met with a finely drawn picture of a blue, metallic textured being, annotations describing it as another servant of Mianite. An angel of ice and divine power with light blue wings that also resembled the wings of a falcon.
It was- Advisor Skeppy?! In his pure, angelic form.
Woah…
There were so many pictures that caught Sapnap’s eyes as he gradually read through the first half of the book that detailed the 4 realms, the elements, magic, and all things relating to the Star God, Mianite.
There was a particular page with a drawing of someone from the 1st Age known as the Champion of Mianite. This man called Jericho, who was one of the first acolytes of Mianite and a strong warrior that was written by the author of the book as “pure of heart”, apparently.
‘Graced by Mianite’s divine blessing, Jericho, the Champion of Mianite has overcome Dianite’s influence and proven himself to be pure of heart against evil and temptation. Granted the artefacts of the Star God, Jericho keeps the peace of the land and excises sin from the land, purging the realm of all wickedness with the holy flame of Mianite’s righteousness.’
There was so much information, and Sapnap had tried to absorb it all in such a short amount of time. The mental power it took to process was taxing, and he found himself getting tired from all the reading and listening, but he couldn’t put the book down. Sapnap’s stomach grumbled, and he looked over to the tarts in Karl’s hands that he was bringing over, his mouth watering at the sight of the delectable pastries.
“Why don’t we take a break?” Karl offered with a small upturn of his lips as he sat down on the bed to Sapnap’s left, sensing that the King was tired and thinking that they could benefit from a quick break and a bite to eat.
Sapnap opened his mouth as Karl lifted a tart up to his mouth, taking a bite before shaking his head and making a noise of disapproval at the idea of taking a break. Quackity sat down on the edge of the bed to Sapnap’s right and took a bite of his own chocolate tart, humming out in delight as he slowly chewed the sweet treat.
Turning another page, Sapnap’s eyes popped out of his head and he quickly swallowed the rest of the tart in his mouth before he spoke. “This… Is this- King Phil of Wyrlorn?” He asked, pointing to a drawn picture of a man with ebony black crow wings.
“Yes, well- Phil is one of the lesser gods-” Quackity began.
“And King Wilbur is his son, which makes him a-” Karl continued effortlessly.
“Demi-god. Yes” Quackity finished, him and Karl finishing each other’s sentences like they had it all rehearsed.
Sapnap was stunned, absolutely flawed by what he was hearing and learning. He looked at the page and the drawing again, the description to the side of the picture naming King Phil as the God of the Sky who encompassed liberty and wind along with powers of daylight.
“So there are now demi-gods among us in this world.” King Sapnap nodded slowly again, pondering about the endless list of magical beings he never thought he’d actually sort of know.
“So it would seem.” Quackity hummed out lowly, hands fidgeting as he twirled the purple ring on his index finger absentmindedly.
Feeling the coolness of the coming of night, and seeing the sun begin to set in an array of yellows, oranges and pink, Sapnap closed the book, making a slapping sound as it shut. “I think that’s enough for today.” He said with a sigh of fatigue as he stood up from his bed and rolled his shoulders back.
“We could probably all use a rest.” Karl added, stretching his arms out and standing up beside the King.
Quackity followed their motions, twisting his torso and cracking his back to remove some of the stiffness from his body.
“I had a spare room set up for you.” Sapnap noted, linking one of his arms around Quackity’s and sliding his hand down so he could hold his hand. “It’s just in the wing opposite to mine and down the hall from Karl, so if you need anything, we’ll be nearby.” He said with a warm smile, their interlocked hands feeling so natural and so soothing t
“Thank you, Sapnap.” Quackity said, looking at the King with all the sweetness of dewy ripened fruit in the peak of a flowering spring.
“I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Sapnap said, turning his head to both Quackity and Karl, about to unlink his and Quackity’s fingers that were laced together.
Quackity didn’t want to say goodnight just yet. “Wait-”, he called out, reaching for Karl’s hand and taking it as well as holding on tightly to Sapnap’s still.
“Hm?” Both Sapnap and Karl hummed out.
“I just- I wanted to say thank you, for not turning me away earlier.” And…I really want to be a good friend to you- to both of you.” Quackity started, speaking ardently to his beloved friends with a vulnerable and fervent expression. “I care about you both so much that it feels like- I… need you… Because when we’re together, it’s like there’s this-…there’s this…”
“...balance.”
“...light.”
Sapnap and Karl breathed out at the same time, both gazing at Quackity with such vehement understanding and transcendent love that seemed to throw itself over the 3 of them like a veil of epic prophecy, binding them to one another in a fate that intertwined and was tethered together by thin strings of pure light.
“Yeah. It’s exactly like that.” Quackity said quietly, his voice close to a whisper as he gazed back at them in awe and bliss.
Giving Karl and Sapnap’s hands a squeeze, Quackity smiled brightly at them, letting his golden fang show as he kept staring at them with loving eyes. He could not contain his emotions, and pulled both in for a tender hug, Sapnap and Karl giggling at being yanked forward but then settling into each others’ touch. Quackity melted into them as they readjusted the positioning of their giant hug, Sapnap hugging Quackity, and Karl wrapping his long arms around both, bringing them all as close as humanly possible and making sure they knew they felt safe, loved, and worthy.
They pulled away after a few minutes of remaining in each others’ embrace, not wanting to let go of this beautiful thing they had all managed to find. Remaining in close proximity, they bid each other farewell for the night.
“Sleep well you two.” Karl kindly said, patting Sapnap and Quackity on the head and giving it a gentle rub as he smiled widely before reluctantly retracting his hands.
“Goodnight guys.” Sapnap sighed out happily, placing one hand on Karl’s cheek and the other on Quackity’s cheek, giving it a brief caress of his thumbs whilst looking back and forth between them with eyes that appeared to dimly glow a fiery amber colour.
“See you in the morning.” Quackity hummed as Sapnap withdrew his hands from their faces, going to place a light kiss to both Sapnap’s and Karl’s foreheads.
It was a moment of perfection. A moment of peace and brightness. A moment of balance. Their moment of pure balance.
Karl and Quackity begrudgingly left the King’s quarters to retire to their own designated rooms.
As the night seized the reigns and slumber began to take over the world, the King sat tirelessly in his bed, flicking through more pages of the book that he had not gotten to earlier, the 2nd half of the book a complete mystery to him that he was seeing and discovering for the first time.
Sapnap skipped about 50 pages, and found himself towards the very back of the book now, turning the pages without much thought.
Then…he saw it.
A particular page with a drawing and annotations that piqued his interest and filled his empty head with questions upon questions about what he was seeing.
It couldn’t be… But there it was…
He did not know how long he sat there upright in his bed just staring at the page. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours for all he cared. Never before had he spent an entire day crashing through wave after wave of intense emotions, thoughts and feelings running through his mind at great speeds as he walked through the fire and flames of his own resolve, wondering if he could make it out the other side unscathed.
Sapnap settled on a feeling that he could not quite place, but one thing and one thing alone was enough to prevent him from stumbling around in the dark and hold him steady.
The ever present light that was now in his life. The light of hope that he was not going to let slip away from him. The light that was his love and his home.
The light of the Sun, Moon and Stars.
Notes:
i kinda hate miscommunication stuff or when like you leave a problem unresolved for so long that it just snowballs into like regret and angst and unsaid words that really shouldve been said so, this one is for you karlnapity, hnn can you tell i am sad about the c!fiances and their wedding that has still not happened yet *sad insane noises*
okay so due to how long this fic is already getting im going to be ending this fic at the 12th chapter and picking up the story in another fic which im thinking will be called 'Blood For My Lips'. just wanted to let yall know somewhereanyways im getting a dog tomorrow so i will be obsessed with the little fella and thus my updates will be loosely a week or so, give or take idk. love u all and hope your new year has not been too shit
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
Chapter 8: Secrets And Propositions
Summary:
14 days left.
King Sapnap learns a shocking truth about Quackity, but when he confronts him about it, Quackity gets a reaction he didn't expect.
Prince Dream trains some more with Niki this time, as George continues to rehabilitate his limbs so he may walk again.
Captain Tubbo gets a visit from his father, Captain Sparklez, and wants to learn more about something he doesn't yet realise is tied to more than just history.
Prince Tommy and General Technoblade have a conversation that doesn't go quite as either of them planned.
Eret watches as the threads of King Wilbur come loose, and all that he once was slowly begins to disappear as he proposes something unspeakable.
Notes:
hey yall, so sorry i havent updated in literally 3 weeks. life gets in the way, you get a puppy, you have 2 breakdowns, it's nothing new. again i am sorry for being gone for so long but im hoping to get back on the writing wagon for the next chapter
anyways here's this chapter which is about 12k+ words so nowhere nearly as long as the previous chapter. with this we are now only another 4 chapters away from the end of this fic, the 2nd one out of 3, so yay for me we're getting on our way.as always, i do not proofread my work so apologies for any spelling/grammar/continuity errors
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments of kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A quiet morning greeted Quackity, and for once, he felt he had woken up well rested. He didn’t remember the last time he had slept so peacefully before, incessant dreams and horrors of the subconscious mind toying with him more often than not.
The room he stayed in was lively and openly spaced, a great window that led to a balcony glistening and glinting in Quackity’s eyes as he rose from his slumber. The Sproalstonian colours decorated the cloth of drapes and bed sheets as rippled walls of marble kept him safely in a polished box of familiarity.
Going over to the giant window, Quackity felt warmth through the glass. Pure warmth. Serene warmth. A kind of warmth that was more a testament to his mood than the actual state of the weather. Yesterday was a day that he always wanted to remember. He felt so loved and seen by Karl and Sapnap, friends who shared in this seemingly eternal bond of companionship that he initially believed was unrequited.
And now, today was such a good day, a spring in Quackity’s step and a smile on his face where his plastered grin used to be. His expression was authentic and it was joyous, but most importantly, it was real.
Quackity’s mind was so distracted by the prospect of living together with Sapnap and Karl forever, that one crucial piece of information had been momentarily forgotten in the fountains of his exaltation.
Shortly after waking up, Quackity wandered about in search of Karl and Sapnap who were not in their rooms like Quackity thought they would be. It was not long before he came to the entrance of a large and almost blinding hall. Hearing voices coming from inside, Quackity entered the hall with long but cautious strides, the milky marble pillars appearing luminescent as the sun filtered in through beautiful stein-glass windows. Blue and white opals flowed down the stone like veins, and for a second, Quackity thought that he had taken a step into heaven.
He wondered if this was what the Aether was like; blinding lights and blue wisps that shimmered and shined, a burning sun that was a symbol of all in the other realm that never died. He wondered if this was what peace looked like.
Also hearing low voices faintly resounding in a corner of the hall, Quackity approached slowly until he made out the sight of his beloved friends, Sapnap and Karl.
Karl saw Quackity first, inaudibly saying something to the King that Quackity could not hear. Sapnap came to look at the sailor too, both of them staring intensely at Quackity with an expression that he could only describe as…nervous? Karl was already facing Quackity’s general direction, but Sapnap was angled more side on, and had he turned his body to Quackity earlier, the sailor might have been just slightly more prepared for the conversation they were about to have.
Confused at what was wrong, if anything was wrong at all, Quackity’s excitement and joy ceased, dying out like the burnt wick of a candle as he took more steps closer towards the other two.
It wasn’t until King Sapnap turned his whole body that Quackity saw it.
The book. Gently grasped in his hands and with a finger bookmarking a page towards the back of the book.
Oh no.
“Quackity…I-... I know …” Sapnap said, using his finger to prop open the book to 2 pages. 2 single pages. Pages that held in it the things that Quackity had spent over 2 centuries hating and avoiding.
Pages that held…his truth .
His eyes glaring at the open pages, Quackity began to panic as his throat started to feel dry and his eyes started to sting red with tears of pain and regret. “Sapnap, I- I wanted to tell you. I was going to before I left today. Fuck, I mean- I spent the whole night trying to think of what to say. I wanted you to hear it from me…”, he spewed out. “I should’ve told you sooner, Sapnap and I’m so sorry I didn’t-”
Quackity’s rambled words were cut short as he watched Sapnap close the book, hand it to Karl, and step towards him. All thoughts that were clouding his head stopped, freezing in place as Quackity was embraced by the King in another unexpected hug. Sapnap’s hugs were always so warm, so loving, so protective, and Quackity’s eyes went wide as he stood still in the touch of the King’s hug.
Overwhelmingly stunned, Quackity found himself needing to actively tell his body to react, desperate to connect his limbs back to his thoughts and emotions. ‘He’s hugging me. He knows what I am, and yet he’s still hugging me…’, Quackity internally noted, unaware that he was holding his breath the entire time.
“You don’t have to be sorry.” Sapnap said, his voice low and genuine in the empty air of the hall. He brought a hand up to hold the back of Quackity’s head, supporting it and patting it lightly in comfort. “It’s not your fault Quackity.”
Words. Oh how terribly Quackity despised the way such a simple thing as language could be powerful enough to evoke such a mighty roar that affected him so. In the time he had known Quackity, Sapnap had come to understand how important words were to him, and it was those words he just spoke that were something he knew Quackity needed to hear.
Feeling lightheaded from holding his breath, Quackity broke down in Sapnap’s arms, exhaling shakily as his legs faltered. “I thought you’d hate me…”
Even though he had borne the weight of his truth for years, Quackity had relented to not waste any more of his precious tears over something he could not change. It had taken too much from him already. He would not let it take his tears anymore.
“We don’t decide where we come from, but we do decide who we get to be. And you, Quackity, I like who you have chosen to be in spite of it all.” Sapnap consoled him. “I could never hate you, Quackity. I know I can be angry and heated at times, but I would never hate you for something you can’t help. Never.”
When Sapnap had come across the page last night, there was a moment where he could not register what he was seeing, the contents of the page in the book a familiar but shocking portrayal of Bone. There was fire and anger, there was disbelief and scandal. And there was a certain kind of discomfort that flurried around in his chest, but it was not for himself. He had spent too much time being enraged at the injustices and havoc around him, he could not find it within himself to place any blame on Quackity for simply having a truth that was not of his own making.
Quackity sighed into the hug, blinking away the prickling feeling in his eyes and sinking his face into the King’s shoulder as a small smile found its way to his lips. If he thought their reconciliation the previous day was good, then this was a marvel of spectacular design. A relief unlike any other, and a reassurance that… opened something inside him.
Had someone told Quackity 200 years ago that he would eventually find people who held him in such precious and high regard, he would not have believed it. And yet here it was. Right in front of him, and not going anywhere anytime soon.
The feeling was of the greatest raptures and most prominent vulnerability. After knowing Quackity’s truth, Sapnap had accepted him for it all against his worst fears and deepest insecurities. The King did not resent Quackity for any of the wrongs that had come to this world, and he did not use the sins of his blood to demonise the charming sailor.
Silently observing the other two, Karl couldn’t help but rush over and engulf both of them in his long arms once again, all 3 of them giggling light-heartedly as a sweet and accepting end to this short moment of Quackity’s darkest truth.
From the corner of his eye, Karl glanced over to the space behind Quackity’s covered head and saw a pair of purple eyes staring at him. The cat sat calmly by a great pillar, its deep eyes flashing at Karl in a glowing manner as it kept its gaze upon the Emissary. Karl smiled at the cat, the feline wandering away as he remained with his arms wrapped perfectly around his two dear friends.
With giant smiles on all their faces, they pulled away some time after sinking into the caring and warm hug. The moment slipped away from the Captain and he almost dropped the book that he had tucked under his armpit. Almost.
Quackity dimly glowed in the presence of his 2 beloved companions, reaching out and grabbing both Sapnap and Karl’s hands and entwining them with his own, the 3 of them now linked up and standing in a close circle of delicate vows that silently promised forever.
Letting go of Sapnap and Karl’s hands after giving them a squeeze, Quackity took the book back in his hands, staring at the front cover in ponderance. Perhaps…fate was not so bad after all? If he was given the pleasant accompaniment of such souls like Sapnap and Karl that would remain with him for an eternity, then perhaps his destiny was something he could maybe start looking forward to. Perhaps he could come to cease this resentment he held for where he came from and what fate used to proclaim he was to be.
Maybe he could come to cease hating himself.
Maybe he could love himself the way Karl and Sapnap came to love him.
It was a question of whether he truly believed he deserved it, that lingered in Quackity’s mind, the stench of shame still having a hold over the darkest corners of his being. It was almost too good to be true to have found the King and the Emissary, the splendour of it all but a dream of amber fire, amethyst dust and navy blue bubbles. Somewhere in Quackity’s mind, tiny voices of negativity sprouted up as thoughts of further insecurities. Because after all, he had finally found the things he had been wishing for most of his life.
But then again, when did he ever get what he wanted…
It was difficult to not take their newfound relationship with a grain of salt, the whispers of his internal dialogue telling him that he still did not deserve something so cosmically profound and so fervently precious. But then he looked at Karl and Sapnap, gazing deeply into their eyes and wandering over their heartfelt faces. And Quackity decidedly averred then and there that he wanted to stay in the graces of their affection forever. Until the end of days and the overworld is to come to its end, and all that is left for them is an afterlife of peace and quiet within the reverent rings of the dead in the Aether.
Because this was where he belonged. Quackity belonged with Sapnap and Karl in every right afforded to him by the prospects of time and destiny. When he was to be free from a terrible fate and unburdened by his haunting past, Quackity would see that he, Sapnap and Karl, could go forth and revel in the brightness of their care and beauty.
So goes the light of the Sun, Moon and Stars.
Until that time comes, Quackity duly reminded himself that there were still responsibilities he had to attend to. There would be no rest for him until he had no doubt in his mind that the Ankkar Isles would remain a safe place for all lost beings of the other realms who had crossed over into the overworld like he once had. Back during a time when people like him were too afraid of having their presence known to man out of fear of persecution. Magical beings like the people of the isles were not a known presence in places like Sproalstone and Darcretia, and he intended to keep it that way as long as he believed that he could not trust those of the overworld who were too ignorant of that which they did not understand.
So for now, he had to go back later in the day. To make sure that when he would return to Sproalstone for Karl and Sapnap, that the isles would be in good hands, and his people could live comfortably in his absence as he came to enjoy the luxuries of fond and deep companionship.
With a sigh, Quackity bore into Sapnap and Karl’s face with an expression of fatigue but consolation. “I don’t want to leave yet…but there are people on the Isles who need me. My crew, my people”, Quackity trailed off, “…Prince Dream and Ambassador George…”, he finally informed the other 2 with a small smile
“Dream and George? They’re alright?!” Sapnap exclaimed with wide eyes and the hanging of his jaw wide open.
“Yes, they are both safe and okay.”
“Oh thank the gods. Karl, did you hear that? They’re alive!” The King said as he turned to the Emissary, shaking his fists in relieved excitement that his friends were okay.
“I didn’t fail…” Karl lowly repeated to himself, his eyes absent of any further thought like he was in a trance.
“No Karl, you didn’t fail.” Sapnap affirmed him, placing his hands on both sides of Karl’s face and beaming at him with sincere eyes. A small flicker of amber shone out in the King’s eyes that he had no knowledge of, and that Karl seemed to miss as he was so consumed in his own feelings of self worth.
With this, Sapnap’s and Karl’s promise to each other was fulfilled, for they now knew what had happened to Dream and George, and had kept hope that they were alive and not gone from this world.
As well as this, Quackity’s promise to Karl had also been fulfilled. That night on the docks before he had departed from the oceanside kingdom, Quackity had sworn that if he were to come across Dream and George, that he would keep them safe no matter what. Thinking back to when he made that promise, Quackity at the time didn’t actually expect to find them, let alone find them alive as their bodies floated about the dangerous waters of the Twilmor Sea, and yet, he had come so far with both the Prince and the Ambassador.
Truth be told, Quackity prepared himself to bring back their cold corpses; caskets filled with flowers and tears and the pale faces of two men who, in life, were significantly more than just the picture-perfect portrayal of high status and aristocracy.
“We healed George and he is on the mend. But…”
“But what?” Sapnap cut in.
“Even when George recovers fully, Dream will not come back to the continent. When he is ready, he will go to Wyrlorn and take his father’s place with the armies at Veerim Valley. Something about honour and hope and being a good man. You know how he is.” Quackity said with a roll of his eyes.
“That dumbass doesn’t know how to fight?” Sapnap stated inquisitively with furrowed brows. He knew Dream was not a soldier, not by any standards. So hearing of his intentions to go to the valley greatly confused him as he stared at Quackity with uncertainty.
“Well…he is getting better every day. My crew and I have been training him for a few days now. He’s a quick study.” Quackity commented, giving the hearty Prince some credit and praise.
“I guess we’ll see Dream in the valley then.” Karl shrugged, glancing over to the King.
Quackity’s heart almost stopped beating. “You’re both going?”
“Yes, we leave in 3 days time. They could benefit well from my skills on the field, and regardless, I would see that I am right beside the men and women fighting for our country. To whatever end.” Sapnap breathed out airily but with a firm tone.
“And I’m not leaving Sapnap to go alone.” Karl declared. “You’ll be surprised to know that I can actually fight.”
They’re going to the valley. They’re both going into battle.
No…no, no, no, no no-
Quackity’s mind became flooded, his feelings running wild as his emotions started to get unsteady with every passing thought that told him for certain that if they were to go, they would not come back…
There’s only fire and devastation to be found if they go. There’s only death.
They’re going to die…
Quackity instantly felt panicked. His heartbeat raised. His throat felt like it was trying to swallow a large dry lump. His hands felt the need to uncontrollably shake. His nerves were increasingly making him feel on edge as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Intrusive thoughts only worsened his panic, clouding his head and bringing forth an ugly sort of desperation from the back of his mind that reeked of a foul and enveloping fear.
“You could both get hurt… Why don’t you stay here where it’s safe?”
“Nowhere will be safe if Dianite wins the battle at Veerim Valley. I would rather die there knowing I fought for the people I love, than stay here and perish behind the castle walls like a coward.” Sapnap responded, his black eyes fiery and proud.
“This is Dianite we’re talking about, Sapnap. He’s gonna destroy everything. What if you-”, Quackity cut himself off, not able to and not wanting to let the words leave his mouth. “I can’t lose either of you. You can’t go. Karl, Sapnap, please don’t go.” He pleaded, his face riddled with anxiety.
“Come with us, Q.” Karl shot back, his own expression as strong as Sapnap’s in intensity.
“I’m not as powerful as I once was, Karl. Not unless I have the power of Bone, and I have no idea what’ll happen to me if I do that again.”
“Quackity, I speak for both of us when I say that if our final breath is to be taken on the blood-stained grass of the valley, then we would be honoured if you were there by our side.” Karl said, Sapnap nodding along in assertive agreement with what he was saying.
“Why are you saying these things?” Quackity whispered out, no ounce of hope in his voice at all. “Why are you so adamant on going? Why are you so ready to die?”
“Because this is my destiny, Quackity!” Sapnap said with a raised voice, a tiny flicker of fire flashing across his eyes. “I know it sounds stupid but- something is calling me to Wyrlorn, to the valley. I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to do, but whatever my fate is to be, it will be decided there and then. I can feel it.”
Quackity turned his head to address Karl. “And you?”
“I swore an oath to the King of Sproalstone. I intend to keep it.” Karl replied in a stern tone.
“So that’s it… You’re just gonna go.”
“You speak like our deaths have already been decided, but fate has made it so that we have the power to change the course of our futures.” Karl said with bright eyes, his conviction strong and his hope unwavering. “It’s why Sapnap can hear something calling. You hear it too… Don’t you?” He put forth, catching Quackity off guard as the sailor struggled to form words.
It was a fact that unlike before, seemed to warrant a visceral reaction of denial and solemn rage within Quackity, a drastic contrast to when he had heard the unrelenting song when he was sailing for Sproalstone. Because at that time, the anticipation of seeing Karl and Sapnap again completely overshadowed all the worries of what was to come after their reunion, the song being part of a scene in his mind of the 3 of them in an anxious but promising tandem.
But now?
Now the song that played seemed to stagger and break as Quackity’s thoughts let the melody be tainted by fear, accompanying a scene in his mind of Sapnap and Karl that was nothing more than the cold and pale sight of their dead bodies atop a landscape of blood-stained grass and dirt, flowers in the valley drowned by the oozing of their thick blood as dust and smoke choked the very air around their lifeless corpses.
The song of the Call rang out in Quackity’s ears as he could only focus on the worst. He covered his ears in desperation in an attempt to lessen the sound of the song that he did not want to be hearing right now.
Louder and louder it got, booming in his ears as a cascade of sombre bars played by strumming, plucking and a sort of buzzing sound that resembled a fragmented humming. He started to clutch the sides of his head, gripping at the beanie and tugging too hard that he almost tore it off. Then he began to shake his head. Slow at first, but then as the Call seemed to tighten its hold on him, he tried to shake it away more vigorously.
It was too much. All too much.
Quackity couldn’t handle it.
“Q, it’s alright-”, Karl attempted to comfort him, the sight of Quackity in such distress breaking his heart.
“No, it’s not! Don’t you understand?” Quackity recoiled, taking a few steps backwards and falling to his knees as his head remained in between the harsh possession of his calloused hands.
Karl and Sapnap followed him, also bringing themselves to their knees to meet him on his level.
“You can’t expect me to put my faith in something that has only ever told me that I am to be a monster. You can’t expect me to hope that this is anything more than a dream.” Quackity yelled out in between shakes of his head, his voice getting smaller and smaller with every word he said. “How can you tell me everything will be alright…”, he let out dejectedly, bringing his head up to gaze at the other 2 with lost eyes.
“Quackity, look at me.” King Sapnap said carefully, using a hand to cup the side of Quackity’s face and trying to meet the sailor’s eyes. “Look.” He commanded softly, Quackity now staring back at him. “Fate brought us together, and it will keep us together. I believe your destiny is with us. We are fate . Just- come with us.”
Quackity leant into Sapnap’s touch with a sniffle of his nose. “I don’t know…”
“We’ve already come this far. What’s one more step?” Sapnap offered brightly, his warmth reaching Quackity and settling in his heart like a breath of fresh summer air. “You don’t have to answer now, but- if I don’t get to see you again before this war is over, I just wanted to say that you will always have a place in my heart. Always.”
The look on Sapnap’s face tugged at Quackity’s heart as the King stroked his cheek with a delicate caress of his thumb, the gesture something he never really could get used to just yet.
“Out of all the lifetimes I have seen go by, this shall forever be my favourite because I have you. Because I have both of you.” Karl added, placing a hand on Sapnap and Quackity’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze of comfort.
So many times in his 321 years of life had Quackity believed that entertaining emotions like this made him weak. So many times had he really thought that he should not get too attached to things or people in this way. So many times had he been so tired of seeing the good things not last.
So many times did he put away all that which he thought could possibly bring him happiness.
The walls of Quackity’s robustly built heart were crumbling, cracks of it falling apart with every word of sincere recompense and every sentence of heartfelt affirmation from Sapnap and Karl that they cherished him, and they were not going anywhere.
So Quackity took this to heart, and as he stared at Sapnap and Karl, he did something he had not done before.
He did not give up.
He gave in.
With a close of his eyes and a simple exhale of breath, Quackity let his emotions flow down this obstructed creek of past trauma and deep scars, clouds of hurt and regret and shame being replaced by pools of light and love and balance.
It was like something fully unlocked inside his soul, and he was able to just feel. He was able to feel it all.
Quackity wanted to love, and here it was. And by the gods, it was fucking amazing. Beautiful even.
An airiness filled his chest where arid plains had once taken root, and he thought for a moment that he was shining right at Sapnap and Karl as the Call amended itself to play a reprise of his part of the song that no longer reflected ambiguous misery, but rather a melody of perfect complementation and righteous freedom.
Quackity was loved. He was balanced. He was free.
Free from not just the shackles of all that had made him think he was unworthy of love. Free from his own beliefs that made him live as though he could not rise above the shadows that remained as a seared brand of where he came from.
Quackity was free to simply exist.
The weight on his chest no longer there, Quackity lunged forward and brought the King and Emissary in for another great hug. He did not know what it was like to fully surrender to something so strange and something so human as love. But being here with Sapnap and Karl, taught him that even those who seem too far gone may be saved by the raw qualities that honestly make life truly worth living.
After a couple of minutes in their embrace, Quackity pulled away and stared at Sapnap and Karl with a resolved expression, a grin of contentedness gracing his face that softened his ragged features and made him appear like he was surrounded by a hue of bright aquamarine blue. Standing up on his own two feet, Quackity held out his hands to the other two, reaching out to them as they took his hands and were hoisted back up so they were all standing again.
“Before I go, can I play you guys something?” Quackity asked calmly, a gracious tone blessing his voice and the most peaceful expression on his face.
King Sapnap looked at Karl who was smiling widely, then back to Quackity. “Sure.”
“Do you have another instrument lying around? I don’t know how to play the harp.” Quackity said with a slight chuckle
“Wait, we should all play together!” Karl exclaimed happily with a flap of his hands and an excited pitter patter of his feet. “Give me a minute.”
Karl was only gone for about a minute, and when he came back, he had with him a stunning acoustic guitar of bright brown wood and black strings.
Quackity gasped at the instrument, in awe at its elegant but simple craftsmanship.
He had not played a guitar since… Well, since before he first came to the overworld.
As if he had been hit by the reflection of sunlight itself, Quackity found his love of playing the guitar being reignited, accepting the guitar from Karl as the Emissary held it out for him to take.
Beaming and smiling ever so greatly at Sapnap and Quackity, Karl grabbed both of them by the cloth on their biceps and dragged them hurriedly towards the chairs by the silver harp. He seated them both with peppy giggles of eagerness before placing himself at the seat of the harp, clearing his throat a bit and trying to calm himself down from his own exhilaration.
“Sapnap, you hum. Quackity, you strum. I’ll pluck.” Karl instructed, waiting a few seconds for Quackity to refamiliarise himself with the fret and body of the guitar before he started.
Seeing Karl like this made Quackity smile like an idiot. An idiot who was in love. Karl was too cute for his own good.
With a nod of approval to Karl, Quackity waited for the Emissary to begin plucking before he counted himself in and added his sound to the shared melody by strumming the guitar lightly, never overtaking the sound of the harp, but filling in for it when it got softer or pulling himself back when it got louder.
There was something so familiar about the first few bars of the song that Karl played, and it was not until Quackity came in with his guitar that he realised he had heard Dream humming that very part on the isles.
Quackity took in the idea that Dream and George shared in the same song as him, Karl and Sapnap, and he wondered the likelihood of it all, that he was the one to have found them in the waves of the Twilmor Sea. How odd was it all, that all 5 of them were to have the consecutive parts of the Call together.
But how great was it to know that they were not only all tied together by the music of fate, but also the bonds of a fantastic fellowship. How great it was indeed.
The sound of Karl and Quackity pushed and pulled back and forth between one another, and overlaying that was now Sapnap, who diligently let his humming create lines linking together the harp and guitar in such a way that made it seem like they were now sewn together and telling a story.
It was such a soothing tune. Like it was the repetitive waves that crashed upon rocks and weathered it down as time took its course; like it was the buzzing of the earth as the seasons changed and went through the eternal cycle of life of this world; like it screamed challenges at the mighty open ocean but lay quiet in the company of a soft and natural light.
The next few bars that followed the one that Dream had been humming, were the bars that came to all 3 of them like a prophetic second nature, and once they had all begun to play their part, a daze that lasted only but a moment seemed to stretch out into a lifetime on this earth.
Quackity recognised that Karl and Sapnap heard the same part of the song that he did, and if that were anything, it was a strong comfort to any lasting doubts in his mind that they were meant to be together.
He was hearing the same thing they were, and they were hearing the same thing he did.
And that…was fate.
They were fate.
They repeated this first verse of the Call for quite some time, the unfinished melody now having a solid starting point, just waiting for whomever to complete it with their own respective bars.
Karl felt in him a sense of correction, like having this much of the Call composed together was the right thing to do, and that having Quackity there to play it with him and Sapnap was just…meant to be. Quackity was supposed to play with them.
They stopped their playing in a rounded way, ending their session of music with a final hum from King Sapnap that seemed to echo out in the great hall like the prong of a bell, the sound of his voice velvety and deep.
“I didn’t know if anyone else heard the same thing as me.” Quackity breathed out, shocked at the tune they had just played.
“It’s alright.” Sapnap said, placing a hand on Quackity’s shoulder and smiling at him. “I usually hear it when I forget who I am and what it is I'm doing. But it’s there to help me remember how strong I am.”
“Strange… I only hear it when I don’t really want to.” Quackity uttered quietly.
Sapnap shuffled in his chair so he was facing Quackity better. “I don’t think it’s about wanting to hear it. I think it’s about accepting the fact that you can hear it. Right, Karl?”
“The Call only gets louder and louder the longer you pretend like it’s not there.” Karl stated, his fingers pulling away from the harp’s strings and settling in his lap. “You can control how loud it grows if you accept that you have a role to play for the greater good. If you submit to the Call, then it can help you find your destiny.”
“My destiny…”
All Quackity knew of his destiny long ago was that it was to be shrouded in fire and shadow, side by side in the droplets of bloodshed and in the cradled arms of desolate Bone.
And the Call? He only knew of the Call from one biased point of view; stories told to him when he was a child by an…unreliable narrator.
“That is not to say that you have no say over what it is that your destiny is to be. It just means that for certain, you have a part to play alongside the others who hear the Call. Aside from that, you choose your own fate, Quackity.”
‘You choose your own fate.’
And thank the Gods for that, for if Quackity was bound to a fate that was predetermined for him by something else, be it the universe or a higher power, then he would find himself at the edge of a cliff.
One step away from darkness, but one leap away from the light.
By long, the time had come for Quackity to depart from the city and return to the isles, needing to see that everything was going smoothly and that Prince Dream was doing good in his training progress.
They were waiting at the docks, Quackity tightly hugging Karl as he bid him goodbye, Karl not wanting to let go just yet as his grip around Quackity got even more constricted.
When they pulled away, Quackity glanced at King Sapnap who was standing beside his Emissary, the King stared at him with such loving intent that Quackity was left feeling only slightly bittersweet that he was going to have to leave them both again.
Before Quackity could go in to give Sapnap a hug goodbye, the King stopped him and grabbed his hands, cradling them and opening them up as he placed something on Quackity’s palms.
It was one of Sapnap’s rings. A ring of Sproalstonian fire opals that contained in it, warm flecks of red within a hue of deep, translucent orange.
“Here.” Sapnap said, the item of jewellery shimmering as the King placed it delicately on Quackity’s other unoccupied index finger.
“You’re giving me your ring?” The sailor breathed out in a stunned voice, heart melting at the gesture.
“I have mine right here.” Sapnap said, showing Quackity the other ring of the same design on one of his index fingers. “That one's for you. Keep it.”
“Oh Sapnap.”
Quackity could not contain his emotions as he brought the King in for a hug, floodgates of love and gratitude and hope, opening and engulfing him as he stayed in the warm sweetness of Sapnap’s affection and tender fondness.
They pulled away shortly after, and with a heave of breath, Quackity turned from his 2 beloveds and boarded his ship.
The Withered Rose creaked as he stood at the helm of the ship, and as he took out his cutlass and raised it to the sails, the very boat itself seemed to come alive at his request.
Now almost fully pulled out of the docks, Quackity turned one last time to wave goodbye to Sapnap and Karl, a large grin on his face that showed the glinting of his gold fang. And just for a second, Sapnap and Karl could’ve sworn that Quackity’s unblinded eye of aquamarine blue, appeared to brighten up and glow as he sailed away from Sproalstone and into the oncoming storms of the Twilmor Sea.
The very second that Quackity left, the other two were missing him already, his ship soon disappearing into the horizon and becoming a ghostly mirage of the Moon.
Seeing the faint upturn of the King’s lips and that loving look in his eyes, Karl nudged his friend with his elbow. “I can tell it means a lot to him that you know, and that it didn’t change anything between you.” He commented with a small smile of his own.
“I don’t care what the book says. Quackity is Quackity, and I know him for the person he truly is, not for what history would condemn him to be.” Sapnap professed, his voice serious and stern but his expression holding all the yearning regard of a thousand suns for the charming and handsome sailor.
Because they were meant to be together, regardless of where Quackity came from and no matter who he used to be. Quackity was different now, and he was beautiful. He deserved to love and to be loved, and if Sapnap could give him that, then he could live the rest of his life with no regrets.
He had done similar things for Karl and everything turned out alright. Everything was even better than alright. It was perfect. It was balanced. It was light.
Karl, Sapnap and Quackity… They were fate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another successful morning of training on the Ankkar Isles. Another blistering session of practice and feedback from Foolish that served Prince Dream well in getting better and better in his fighting.
After his break from training at midday, Dream would continue with Niki now teaching him, taking over for Foolish as he attended to his other duties.
On the wet rock of the sparring ground, Dream was slowly increasing his strength and perseverance, able to now last longer than a few minutes against his mentors. He had improved significantly in his defensive motions and was now much lighter on his feet, springing back and forth between Niki’s attacks with her staff.
It was a staff of pearly complexion, bordering between white and silver as it reflected in the light.
It was thin but it was damn strong, Dream having been whacked by it a decent number of times already that were sure to leave tiny bruises on his skin. Although he did not appreciate the way his hard training was leaving marks on his body, he was grateful that Niki tended to go a little easier than Quackity, Foolish and Jack did, the merborn saving him from nasty busted lips and black eyes that he would’ve gotten if she were taking it as seriously as her other crewmates.
“So you can breathe underwater, swim really fast, and your magic is elevated by the presence of any kind of water?” Dream exhaled between short breaths, pulling back and taking a minute to breath.
Niki grinned as she lowered her staff, letting her guard down as the Prince tried to get his breathing under control. “Yup.”
“And all your people share in these traits?”
“Precisely.”
“Wow… I wish I could breathe underwater.” Dream said, putting his hands on top of his head as he kept his fighting stick loosely gripped in his sweaty palms.
“You know, humans can learn how to do magic. It just doesn’t come naturally to them like it does for beings of other realms. You just need to find ways to utilise it, as it is not an inherent part of human capabilities.” Niki informed him with a swing of her staff, her breathing fine and her shimmery markings gleaming in the sunlight. “I could show you a few things if you like.”
“Really?” Dream replied with a pleasant shock on his face.
“Sure. I’d just need to amend the way you would use the water magic. So for me, I can just do it at will if I want. But for you, I’d need to translate how I use my magic into a spell or rune that you can safely use.”
Niki shrugged like it was no big deal before going to take careful strides around Dream who was still panting in the heat of the sun.
“Fascinating.” He said with curiosity. “And would that be the same for fire magic too?”
“I’m not too sure. You’d have to ask Jack about that.” She commented with an inquisitive wander of her eyes. “I’m not from the Nether so I don’t know too much about how magic from that realm works.”
Prince Dream let his stick fall to the ground as he sat cross legged and glanced up to Niki with an intrigued and expectant expression. He looked like that of a child when waiting to be read a bedtime story, and the small upturn of his lips were too sweet for Niki to ignore. She sighed as she trod over and crouched down beside him, giving in to his silent request for more stories about magic and the realms.
“From what the Captain has told us, there are some in places like Wyrlorn who have found ways to practice magic like mine through spells and meditation. It’s funny to me but- I did not think that humans would have the facilities to be able to do such a thing.” She let out a little chuckle of amusement, her milky skin appearing like sparkling scales and her kind eyes crinkling as she smirked.
“Why not?’
“Because magic is not something that was born in the overworld. Magic comes from the 3 other realms, and has only had a presence here because it seeped into the overworld through the presence of magical beings and the Gods influencing the state of nature with their mystical powers.”
“Like Starfall?”
“Indeed.”
Dream hummed out in thought. The Aether seemed so beautiful and serene in his mind, a place of tranquillity and effervescent asylum. “I don’t understand. Why come here? Didn’t you like it back in the Aether?” He asked intently, his eyebrows furrowing in question as he sat forward, leaning into what Niki was saying.
“I did, but I’ve always wanted to go out and see the realm of mortals.” She noted with a small dazed sigh, like her mind was off somewhere else, thinking about all the wonders and sights of the overworld. “We have stories about humans too, you know.”
Dream smiled softly, infused by the thought that magical beings such as Niki would want to come into his world and see it for themselves. Maybe Dream didn’t give the overworld enough credit. Maybe he glossed over all the beautiful things about the earth too easily. Maybe Niki was just like him in the idea that he just wanted more?
Pushing herself up with a groan of effort, Niki took a few steps back and spun her staff around in her hand expertly.
Dream smirked at the challenge in her demeanour, and he got up promptly and readied himself by taking his stick in his hands and grounding his stance the way Quackity and Foolish had shown him.
With a lunge, Dream darted at Niki and struck sideways with his stick at her knees, hoping to knock her back towards the edge of the rocks. Niki’s eyes narrowed, jumping lightly and dodging the Prince’s attack.
As Dream pulled back to regain control of his momentum, he visibly winced, the side of his abdomen hurting from fresh bruises that stained his skin purple. Any movement of his upper body that required him to twist his torso elicited a dull surge of pain around the afflicted area, and Dream knew the second he gasped at the ache that he was in for a world of pain, as Niki’s eyes locked onto his body in anticipatory offence.
Niki grinned menacingly as she noted the Prince’s injury and how it affected him so. She rushed forward instantly, using her staff to hit Dream's left side with jab after quick jab of her unassumingly painful weapon.
Dream could only block so many consecutive attacks before the pain took hold and drove him crazy, wanting to slunk down and rest forever. When Niki landed a hit right to Dream’s bruise, he coughed out in agony as his breathing became short and uneven, the pain far too much to handle. He did not think he could take any more, so he knelt down and put a defensive hand up, conceding and just letting himself come down from the hurt as he groaned and whimpered with his head down.
“You’re getting good, Dream. But you’ve got to keep an open eye.” She said, offering her hand and pulling the Prince up to his feet.
Dream groaned again as he stood up, clutching his left side with delicate fingers.
“Everybody has their weaknesses, and you have to always be looking for them.” Niki said, placing her hands on her hips as she paced back and forth in front of Dream, another verse in the many lectures he had heard from his mentors on the isles. “It could be the way an opponent stands. It could be the way an opponent slightly falters if they’ve had a past injury. It could even be something like the way they carry themselves when they fight, like their confidence or morale.
Nodding along, the Prince tried to speak properly but his voice wavered still from the lasting pain. “Duly noted.” He let out with a wheeze.
“Wither skeletons are robust, but they are a pile of bones after all. You see any cracks or points of contact that could take them down instantly, you go for those.”
“Got it.” Dream nodded once more to her.
Niki ran a hand through her glistening white hair, her features spectacularly shining as she stood tall and strong in the light of the sun. “Good. Let’s continue, shall we?” She said with a charming smile, her silver markings almost blinding Dream with how much they seemed to glitter and sparkle in the sun.
At the ready, the Prince let his hand fall from his side as he gripped his fighting stick firmly in his hands.
Going forth, he would not let his weaknesses show so easily. He would endure the pain and maintain a façade for the sake of his survival, and he would see that whatever monster came his way, he would seek out its weaknesses and attack them directly.
If he did this much, then he could maybe hope to make it out alive.
Across the isles, George conversed with Foolish and Jack as he attempted to try to adjust himself to moving about with the aid of a walking stick.
He was healing quite well, mobility in his legs getting stronger every hour of every day.
Foolish and Jack looked at the ambassador with impressed expressions as they sat down on wooden benches outside the great hall of the main isle, nodding in approval as they watched George resiliently try and try again and again to walk on his own with the walking stick.
“So, you really helped build the Ankkar Isles?” George perked up, taking a small step forward with his stick.
“Yeah, it took a while though. At the time it was just me and Quackity who had the power to construct everything.” Foolish replied as he kept staring at the ambassador, ready on the side-lines to help him if he was about to take a brutal fall.
George hummed out in thought, his eyes only flitting to the other two occasionally as he tried to keep his focus on keeping himself upright and walking forward slowly but steadily. “That’s some power you guys have.” He said nonchalantly. “Does it ever wear you out?”
Foolish stretched his arms out above him, loosening up some of his taut muscles that metallically shone in the sun. “Not really for me. I have all the strength I need. But the Captain needs to take breaks sometimes.”
George turned his head to address Jack. “What about you?”
“Nah I don’t really get that knackered.” Jack responded with a shrug. “My main job is to help keep the climate nice. I mostly use my powers to maintain the water temperature with Niki and keep everyone on the isles nice and warm in the winter. Not too big of a task.”
“Forgive me but, it’s sort of strange still.” George remarked with a small smile and pondering expression.
“What is?” Jack asked.
“Just- how you all ended up here together.” The ambassador elaborated, taking another gentle step forward. “You’re quite the rag-tag team of pirates. Sailors? I’m not quite sure what to call you guys.”
“Pirates, sailors, I don’t really care. We’re just part of Quackity’s crew that help keep the people here safe.” Foolish nodded with a friendly smile.
Jack gave his friend a pat on the back before he spoke. “I’ll tell you what though, if Big Q ever wanted me to glass someone who was a threat to our people, then I’d happily volunteer.”
“But how did you all get here?”
Jack shifted in his seat and clasped his hands together loosely in his lap, making himself more comfortable. “I came here way after Foolish, and at roughly the same time Niki did actually. I don’t know I just- wanted a bit of adventure I suppose.”
“I’m a builder. I build things.” Foolish piped up. “And I was happy to do it for Men because it let me do the thing I love, the thing I’m good at. But the world 100 years ago is not like it is now. I don’t know if you can tell, but some people were a bit…put off by my presence in the Southern kingdoms of Men.” He told them with a slightly sad smile.
George ceased his steps forward and simply stood still before whipping his head around to look at the gold and bronze man with sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Foolish.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” He reassured with a shake of his hands and a soft smile that George had come to regard fondly during his time on the Ankkar Isles. “I mean, it gave me something more than ambition that I could put into my builds. It gave me purpose. Quackity helped give me purpose. I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met him.”
If George were to take anything away from the people of the isles, it was that Quackity was a good man. He cared for his people. He cared for his crew.
He cared .
Despite the mystery and the dark aura of the pirate Captain, there was at his core, a centre of humanity in Quackity that George found in its own right, righteous. Yes, it was shrouded in shades of grey, but it was good.
Quackity was good.
This was certain. Which was why it made the question of his secret so ominous. George could tell that Dream was itching to know what it was, but that it was not his place to go asking for it. Quackity would tell them when he was ready, if he wanted to at all, and George could live with that.
Because Quackity, like Sapnap and Karl, was becoming his friend.
George wanted to call him ‘friend’.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was the early afternoon, and Tubbo was tending to his horse of grey with black speckles, ‘Pepper’, in the stables just outside the castle. His father, the one and only Captain Sparklez was there too, visiting him one last time before he himself had to return to the Void Realm and Tubbo was set to leave for the valley.
In his heart, Sparklez knew that his son would be fine. Aside from Technoblade, Tubbo was the best of the best, out-matching even him when he was in his prime during the first war. Tubbo was bright, he was skilled, but most importantly, he had valour. Valour of such strength that he could carry a hundred men or more with his unyielding light and hope. Tubbo was going to be okay. And Sparklez believed that more than anything else in this world.
He had faith that the forces beyond would protect his son, so he may go out and protect others.
The young Captain was nervous, unable to shake the flurried feelings of anxiety that pinged back and forth in his limbs, but with every brush of his horse’s hair, he felt those nerves drip out bit by bit, but became subject to another problem that strained his mind.
He wondered if he was enough to shield Tommy from the scars of battle. He wondered if he could get his wings in time so that he may ensure he had all the power he needed to stay true to his word by protecting Tommy. He wondered if maybe he should prepare himself for loss and grief, for he knew for certain that this would be the end for many of the soldiers under his trusted command.
A stir of doubt on his capabilities had Tubbo frown as he stayed stroking the delicate skin of his horse, but those feelings seemed to float away after he became engaged in conversation with his father.
They spoke of the first war Sparklez was in, they spoke of his friends whom he had lost but still remembered fondly years down the line, and they spoke of how the former Captain became the first human to ascend to the power of ‘angel’.
It was said that for his faith and devotion, he was granted a place by The Lady’s side, and so she made him immortal and bestowed unto him his own divinity and grace. Sparklez was let into the realm of the Void, and joined the ranks of the angels of the Great Divines, greeted by those like Eret and King Halo of Sproalstone.
“Are there others?” Tubbo asked curiously, still brushing Pepper attentively. “Other angels of The Lady?”
Sparklez took a long sigh. “There was one other… But he was killed by Dianite a couple of centuries ago.”
With a frown, Tubbo stopped grooming Pepper to turn and face his father with earnest sympathy. “I’m sorry that happened. Why did Dianite kill him?”
“Because he stood against the Blood God. Because he kept to his duty until the very end. All angels are bound heavily to their faith, whether it is in the Great Divine that we serve or in the Men we place our trust in.” Sparklez said, eyes slightly dry from not blinking whilst his poke. “Alas, I was not there those 2 centuries ago when that all went down. You could ask Technoblade or Eret for more information if you’re still curious.” He noted with a smile before freezing his face and scratching his beard in thought. “Actually, you’d be better off just asking Eret. I’m sure that you probably already know that day is still a sensitive topic for the General.”
“Yeah, I know. He did tell Tommy and I a couple of years ago about it and who he was but- he never brought it up with us again so I just assumed I should leave it alone. He’ll talk about it more when he’s ready.” Tubbo said with a small, understanding upturn of his lips.
Sparklez smiled softly at his son, feelings of pride and regret merging together in his chest. “That’s very considerate of you, my boy. You’ve grown up so well…”, he trailed off. “I’m ashamed that I wasn’t always there to see it.”
“It’s alright. We’re gonna win the battle, and we’ll all come home no matter what. And then I’m gonna get my wings and I’ll finally be able to visit you in the Void Realm!” Tubbo declared brightly with a wide smile, beaming at his father like daisies that danced in silky grass of spring meadows after the first rains of the season.
“That you will, Tubbo.” Sparklez assured him sincerely as he pet the wavy brown locks on Tubbo’s head, giving it a ruffle as he chuckled deeply to himself. “You are the brightest child I could’ve ever asked for. I’m proud of you, son.” He said with a sweet hum, the words bringing forth an even wider smile from Tubbo’s lips.
Tubbo let his teeth show as he grinned, his pale grey eyes twinkling with youthful energy and hopeful mirth. “Thank you, father.”
Tubbo would be the brightest man he could be. For his friends and the troops and the kingdom.
He would go and ask Eret about the other angel. He would keep hope that he could get his wings. He would trust in himself that he would be able to protect Tommy.
He would keep his best friend safe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At the same time in the early afternoon, Prince Tommy was out and about in the training courtyard with Technoblade.
He was less afflicted today, back to his usual focus more or less as he adeptly flung a throwing knife from its holster and directly hit the head of a dummy target.
The General watched as he always did.
Rolling up the sleeves of his white flowy shirt, the tattoo that trailed up from his upper right forearm to his collarbone could just been seen as the cloth of his shirt flitted about in the mild wind. The ink was sprawled out on his pink flesh in a series of swirls and abstract shapes that resembled drops of liquid that flowed across his skin, movement of his muscles making them appear as if they really were dripping.
“You seem to be in better spirits today. Did you go play with the butterflies again?” Techno questioned, his dull golden tusks glinting just ever so slightly in the warm sunlight.
“The butterflies make me calm.” Tommy said with a grumble and an exhale. “And besides that’s not it. I played with Tubbo and Fundy yesterday. We played our part of the Call and it was awesome.” He began spewing out excitedly to Technoblade, only growing more and more happy with the notion of his destiny.
The very mention of it gave way to a ringing in Techno’s ears, and he knew that as Tommy kept rambling on, the melody that started playing in his ears was only going to get louder.
“Oh, I see.”
“You should’ve seen us, Techno. We were like epic musicians or something, telling the story of our incomplete destinies together-”, Tommy kept ranting on with glee.
Technoblade winced as the song got louder, almost booming in his head. “Right…”
“-and when the rest of the Champions come together to play the finished product, it’s gonna be even more awesome! We’re gonna be like a band of merry men, or a theatre troupe that was brought together by fate-”
Techno tried to hear it. He tried to just hear the Call in his head like Eret said. He tried to let it in and just have it play in the background without it riling up such a visceral reaction in him. “Okay Tommy, just slow down there-”, he tried to pause his younger brother.
“-and then when it’s done we’ll have fulfilled our fates-”
“Tommy-”, Techno attempted to interject.
It was so loud now. So horrifyingly loud that Techno thought his head might explode. He was hearing it, so why was it not ceasing or letting up? Please, just make it stop! Stop… stop, stop.
“-and everything will be as it should be-”
Technoblade couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop!”
His shout resounded out through the entire courtyard as a rumble that seemed to echo out in both their ears, the song in Techno’s mind stopping, leaving just the harrowing silence of his own panic and resentment for the blasted notions of fate and destiny.
“You really think that adhering to the Call is gonna make you some kind of ‘Champion’? Don’t be naïve…”, Techno dryly mocked with a breathless tone. “You wanna be a Champion? You wanna be a hero, Tommy? Then fate will see that you die like one.” He spat out harshly, regretting it the moment it left his lips.
Tommy simply glared at him with hurt and anger. But on top of the emotions that pooled in the Prince’s pale blue eyes, Techno recognised something else spiking out in them that seemed to reach out into the air, pierce through the outer halls of his heart, and cut at it like the blunt serrations of a rusty knife.
It was pity.
Tommy pitied him.
“Tommy… I didn’t mean-”
“When are you gonna stop and just- listen.” The Prince said quietly into the air, his voice resigned and his footsteps lightly getting fainter as he walked away from the General, leaving Techno all alone in the demoralised atmosphere of the courtyard.
Techno had hurt Tommy. And in the same way Wilbur had. With words of discouragement, and in the forlorn prospects of no hope.
Gods, this was all so twisted. So unfair.
He did not detest fate just to spite Tommy. It just so happened that fate had become prevalent in their lives at this exact moment in time. Techno did not mean for his hatred to get so unruly, nor did he mean for it to manifest itself in this way when his brother talked about it so.
He just- couldn’t trust it. He couldn’t…
Not after it had seemingly promised him a destiny that was being pushed upon him that he didn’t think he had the heart to take. Not after it would proclaim him to take up a mantle that followed in the footsteps of death; fires from hell overwhelming him and showering him in this declaration of Blood that he could not see himself agreeing to.
Whenever his destiny was brought up in the past, it only ever sang of bad. Of wickedness. Of strife. Of Blood.
It would see him in the arms of something he always wished he could escape.
Technoblade did not believe his fate could entail anything else, and he wondered if Wilbur thought the same of his own destiny. Did Wilbur believe, like he did, that his destiny was only to be one of deafening consequence? Did Wilbur also understand that maybe the light was not for people like them?
Maybe he did.
Maybe Wilbur did understand.
But then again, Wilbur was not well. He was not alright. And that thought came to Technoblade as a question. A question of whether or not the King’s destiny seemed so dark because…he made it that way.
And if Wilbur’s fate was to be as he created it, then should he follow his lead and believe that there was no more hope for himself?
Perhaps Techno should care more. Perhaps he should try and make his fate different to the one that warranted an eternity of Blood.
Perhaps he should start listening to things, and see them for what they could be, not what they once were.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Many nights in the kingdom of Wyrlorn were spent by the royal family and their associates looming about the many halls and corridors of the castle, unable to rest as they once did with the stirring of their nerves in wait for the clock to stop and their time before the great battle had run out.
For Prince Fundy, this was very much the case, as he stepped with a pitter patter past the darkened windows of the place he once regarded as home. He found it a struggle to roam these halls as he so did when he was younger, needing his will to take him from one side of the castle to another like it were any other mundane chore that had no real purpose.
He was just on his way to the balcony that overlooked the royal gardens, when he snapped out of his mindless motions and came to realise that he was passing by his father’s room.
The King’s quarters, stationed by a grand door of finely detailed dark oak and emblems of Wyrlornian pride through tree and air alike, were a testament to the wonders that made the kingdom so special. The door was slightly ajar, and from inside Prince Fundy could see flickers of light from a single light source, a candle presumably, and the airy filters of muttering and mumbling creeping out from the cracked open door.
The voice of the muttering belonged to that of his father, but it did not come across as something he should have heard or been privy to, as the hushed and chattering voice of King Wilbur seemed to talk to himself in a conversation that was not quite like the ramblings of when thinks aloud.
Moving a fraction closer to the open door, Prince Fundy refrained from recoiling back as he saw a glimpse of his father pacing in and out of his sight as the stricken King ran frantic fingers through his hair with sharp tugs and twitches of his strained neck.
Involuntarily, Fundy slowly shook his head in disbelief and rejection of the state his father was in, wanting to deny that horrible thought that Wilbur was all but gone. He took a few steps back from the door as Wilbur’s voice grew fainter and fainter from his ears, and turned around to go back the way he came when the presence of someone else became known to him as it called out.
“Your Highness?” Steward Eret said, her voice quiet and low.
“Oh- um, ahem. Yes?”
Fundy cleared his throat and flexed his fingers to try bring some feeling back into them from where he had been clenching them so hard that they almost left marks in his palms.
“You should get some rest, my Lord. It’s been a long day.”
“Oh, of course. I was just- on my way.” Fundy stuttered out with a nod of his head, hoping that Eret would see by the expression on his face that he didn’t want his father to know he was spying on him.
Prince Fundy began to walk away cautiously from a stoic and expressionless Eret, but as he took a handful of steps away, Eret had entered the King’s quarters with a firm click of the door behind him, both their voices now only audible to the walls and corners of Wilbur’s room.
He eyed the door with scepticism before turning his head forward to continue walking, yet Fundy could not help but feel like all that was going to be said behind that closed door should be heard by more than a disturbed King and his Steward, who was for all intents and purposes, the unbreakable instrument that carried out Wilbur’s crumbling will.
Whatever his father and Eret were talking about, Fundy could tell that it could only be bad.
From behind the door and inside the King’s quarters, an exhausted but elated Wilbur went back and forth in a circuit from the end of his bed frame to the bookshelves on the wall. It was as if he had not slept properly for days, weeks even, but he had taken some sort of energising elixir to keep his energy high and his mind rolling, despite it now only rolling at a shattered capacity.
With loose notes in his hands from scribbled ideas and barbaric plans, Wilbur paced around Steward Eret who was standing at the ready in the middle of the King’s circuit, reciting affirmations of intellect to himself as he kept running ink-stained fingers through his ever growing dishevelled hair.
His eyes were fading, but they were not fully dark yet. No. But they were not light either. They were alive, but they were not living. They were burning, but they were not burning bright.
They were burning out.
Like a flame drizzled by the unlikely fall of summer rain, or the roaring fire that consumes the very air and suffocates all that find themselves unlucky enough to be in its path, Wilbur was burning out and he was burning out quickly. It would not be long. It would only be a matter of a couple days before Wilbur would be left to the cold of his own dissatisfaction and isolation.
Wilbur’s thoughts played out in his head at the same time as he spoke, his lips saying one thing whilst his mind affirmed this terrible notion that he was planning to carry out.
‘Who, if not I, has the wit and the strength to do what must be done?’ His inner voice shatteringly carried on in his mind.
Posture crooked and face almost frozen in an expression of crazed applause for himself, Wilbur strutted over to Eret, dragging his feet and kicking his crown that had been recklessly tossed on the floor as he slowly came closer.
‘I am going to save the world. I will make them see…’
Wilbur lifted his hands up and began to unintelligibly spew forth dialogue as he waved the pages about in Eret’s face, like she was supposed to already know what he was saying and thinking.
‘With this, I shall craft my legacy.’
Among all the bumbling chatter and sketchy twitches of Wilbur’s muscles, Eret could manage out the end of his ranting.
“-was right here all this time but I have all the information I need now, Eret. I can see it all so clearly! This…”, King Wilbur started whilst gesturing to an old page of dangerous incana, “...is our salvation.”
‘If I am to burn, then they will all burn with me.’
“Okay…”, Eret followed along in a quizzical tone, one eyebrow raised as he continued to stare at a pale-faced and tired-eyed Wilbur.
“This journal has thrown me around for months but now…I have it.” The King gripped various pieces of parchment and strode over to the Steward with a hunched back and staggered steps. “Don’t you see? Look!” Wilbur snarled out as he shoved numerous pages of diagrams and symbols in Eret’s concerned face.
The burning light was fading more now, leaving the King with every breath he released in his manic words of unknown intent. A treacherous shadow lay glossed over Wilbur’s eyes, and Eret wondered if they should do something, anything about it.
The picture of King Wilbur was being stained.
Wilbur’s hair was like that of a bird’s nest, his clothes appearing more worn down than they had ever looked before, his skin paler and paler as his eyes grew colder and colder, and his hands now perpetually plagued by a restless trembling.
The very air of his room was stale and marred by the nestling damnation of a man who was hanging by mere threads, all sense of rationality and nobility thrown out the windows before they were to be shut forever.
Burnt out candles of delicate aromas were not enough to save face, and not even his polished crown on the floor was enough to convince Eret that the King was not well.
He was not well at all.
“I am not sure I understand, Your Majesty.”
In an uncompiled selling of an archaic proposal, Eret could only listen in horror as Wilbur put forth a notion that seemed to rally more out of place strands of hair across his face as he continued showing Eret the pages of diagrams and symbols. Notes that Eret came to realise were going to be used for something that had not entered her darkest dreams…
‘Why are you looking at me like that? I have the solution to our problems here. Stop looking at me like that!’
“This could be too dangerous. Sire, you cannot…”, Eret shakily whispered out as she unconsciously shook her head slowly in disagreement.
“I need you with me on this, Eret.” Wilbur firmly said, his eyes piercing and his voice dangerously sharp. It was like Wilbur was now capable of anything. Anything at all, no matter the cost.
And that was terrifying.
“Wilbur, this is-”
“Are you with me?!” Wilbur raised his voice at Eret, the Steward mustering up all the strength they could so as not to flinch at the harshness of the King.
“...Yes, my King.” She reluctantly agreed.
“Good…good. We must start preparations at once.”
Whether it was the right call or not remained in Eret’s mind as he watched the King mutter away to himself about ingredients and resources needed to pull off this grand scheme of his. Scheme? It did not feel quite right to call what Wilbur had in mind a scheme. It was a design. A design of magic and science set forth by the shrieking words of a man who with every passing day, Eret recognised less and less as his dear friend.
As Eret moved to leave the King’s quarters, a soft hum filled the room. She did not have to ask what the song was, for it was a tune that she remembered all too well from the days of old in the 1st Age.
And if Wilbur was indeed hearing it like the Champions long since departed from this world, the only question left on her mind was what it could possibly want of Wilbur.
Was this- the will of the Call? Had fate decided already that this was to be a pathway that would shape the future of the world?
Was Wilbur already doomed to a destiny of tragedy…
Notes:
hnn i feel like i rushed through this chapter but its fine this will just have to be a learning point for me. i hope you enjoyed reading the karlnapity section of this chapter because i enjoyed writing them but also it was kinda hard. also i tagged them as platonic soulmates but honestly there are romantic codes in there too so idc if its interpreted that way go for it.
as i always say, i hope any of the lore of this au isnt too annoying to follow along with and i hope you enjoyed reading.Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
Chapter 9: Lost Sons And Old Souls
Summary:
13 days left.
King Sapnap has a vision in his chambers, and Karl uses what they know to put forth an idea on what really happened to King Halo.
In his curiosity, Dream wonders something about Quackity as he continues furthering his fighting proficiency, so he may last long enough to make it through this coming battle alive. George takes it upon himself to learn about potions.
Captain Tubbo consolidates Prince Tommy as he comes to render the mission of his life and the purpose of his abilities. He sees something and learns something that he feels will be of merit sometime in the future.
General Technoblade feels the weight of his actions coming down on him, and it's up to Phil to get him to see the kind of path he should be on.
King Wilbur goes further down the rabbit hole of doom, and in his crazed manner, he is slowly becoming lost to the darkness within him.
Notes:
hello everyone i am terribly sorry for not updating for almost a month. i kinda died back there so im not gonna make any more promises about an upload schedule, but i can promise that i will not be taking a literal month to upload one chapter that is wack and i dont wanna do that.
anyways this chapter is 16k+ words so it's one of the longer ones jesus christ help me.Haha update from me from the future, turns out that was a lie and coz I've taken on a bunch of new projects at the same time, I will most likely be indeed updating only every 3 weeks or so for the foreseeable future. sincere apologies for that
as always i do not edit my work so apologies for any spelling/grammar/continuity errors.
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning was bright and warm, a slight chill riddling the air, and King Sapnap was sitting in front of his vanity, carding through his black hair and clicking his fingers as to conjure up some magic with ease that sat at his fingertips as the on and off presence of small flames. He had gotten good enough with his powers to easily make average bouts of fire, the King able to muster up flames that could grow and spread large enough to swallow an entire building if he let it get too out of control.
Alas, that was the one thing he could not seem to grasp quite yet.
Control. Full control.
Sapnap was not in complete control of his magic. It seemed to run away from him desperately as he tried to place a chain on it, the power within his body still too great for him to harness in full just yet. He didn’t know what exactly he was doing wrong, but he felt that he should have been getting better in his capabilities with how much he had been practising in his spare time.
But since the previous days, since Quackity had come and left, since he had been told finally that Dream and George were alive, it was like time had stood still as his world shifted once more.
In those past 2 days, King Sapnap had been thrown about all over the place. It was honestly just so…exhausting. Performing magic now seemed to take the life out of him. It was like all the pent up rage he held inside his body had been sucked out and simply disappeared from his arsenal of intrinsic strength.
When he focused hard, just like how he had done before, the anger and wrath that drove the source of his power for eliciting the magic within him appeared to dissipate and float away. All the pain from Dream and George’s fall, all the unresolved hurt that lingered between him, Quackity and Karl; the anger that once steered the King’s mind and actions seemed to just- fade away in the past couple of days, as his life began to turn for both the best and the worst.
It was like he could finally breathe, for there was forgiveness, light, and hope.
And that was a beautiful chance of fate.
With his eyes blazing amber and his hair crackling away in puffs of grey smoke, King Sapnap remained at his mirror, staring at his reflection as he clicked his fingers more, bringing forth a single flame from his fingertips, blowing it out, and relighting it to repeat the motion again and again. He let the power in his blood flow through him effortlessly as it coursed in his veins, only able to hold it for a couple of minutes before it became too great for him to bear. If he held on for too long, he would blow up and burst into an unpredictable flurry of fire spurs and balls.
On and off, on and off, he clicked away as the minutes of the morning ticked on and he became entranced by the magic that ran down his arms and through his fingers in a soft illumination of yellow and orange light underneath his skin.
Then, there was a sharp jabbing pain in his head.
King Sapnap grunted as the pain spiked through his forehead, grasping at the skin by his temples and placing pressure on them to ease away the aching of his mind.
With another groan of pain, Sapnap got up from his chair in front of his mirror to try and go lie down, but he stopped when his eyesight went murky and he began to hear a faint but clear voice booming in his head.
‘He is alive…’, the voice echoed out in the King’s head.
The whole thing shocked Sapnap enough to bring forth gasps and mumbles of confusion, and with his vision hindered, he found himself leaning over his dressing table with eyes wide, his hands harshly grabbing the edge of the wood as to keep himself steady as the stabbing on his brain seemed to throb in his skull.
Then he saw things. Images. Flashes. Like he was experiencing scenes of depravity and ragged injustice, but they were through someone else's eyes. A coldness engulfed him, and suddenly he was in the dark of a room with no light save for a dull blue aura coming from outside a set of cell-like bars. Bars that kept him trapped in some place that was surrounded by icy fire and dark bricks that looked like tainted blood.
King Sapnap was watching helplessly, unable to do anything but witness the scenes being shown to him. Suddenly, he was pulled from the sight of shadows and blood, and was now face to face in his mind with a blinding light that appeared as the silhouette of a single great Star. The Star was sleek in shape, and Sapnap thought that the white light it emitted could pierce through anything; a blade of purity and goodness against the long darkness of evil.
“Save him…”, the voice whispered out once more, reaching through to Sapnap’s mind like it was breaching across time and space.
With a deep exhale of breath and a stagger of his legs, King Sapnap was brought out of his hazy vision, the pain from his head slowly receding and his body quivering from the inexperience of it all. He wasn’t like Karl. He did not get visions frequently, hell he didn’t get visions at all. And Karl’s years of experience would have adeptly made him perfectly capable of handling them on his own by now.
Gods, he was shaken up. King Sapnap stood almost panting at his dressing table, glancing up at the mirror and observing the increased paleness of his skin, tiny droplets of sweat forming at his forehead and neckline. He would have to wash his headband before they leave for Wyrlorn, because with the amount of salty perspiration that had dampened it, the piece of cloth would surely be a breeding ground for acne or other blemishes around his forehead.
Holy shit, he had just had a vision?! A vision of a cell and fire. A vision that felt boiling hot and freezing cold at the same time. It was like being trapped in the essence of wickedness itself; an accompaniment of chilling Bone and scalding Blood used by the shadows in a twisted way to ferment a sort of ugly resignation to agony and heartache.
It was horrifying.
But then the voice called out to the King, and told him to save someone. Considering the path he was on, Sapnap could only hope that this was what he wanted to believe it was. A vision that would help him do the one thing he hasn’t stopped trying to do. A vision that could be the last thing he needed to figure out the one mystery he couldn't yet solve.
A clue as to his father’s whereabouts.
With that in mind, he took in a few breaths before rushing away out of his quarters, and darting to go find Karl.
In the King’s study, Karl stood leant over the desk, his forehead creased in thought as he stared at the pages strewn out over the wooden desk. He had woken up a little earlier than the King did that day because he wanted to keep working hard at the mystery around King Halo’s disappearance.
Ever since he had promised Sapnap, Karl had been hard at it every single day, spending copious hours analysing the information they had and trying to come up with ideas on what happened to Sapnap’s father.
He just wanted to do right by Sapnap. Always. Karl wanted to help him in whatever way he could.
There was so much that Karl had regretted not doing. So many things that he could have done in the past to change the fate of Man and the overworld. But, it was not his place. It wasn’t his time, and he would have to continue the rest of eternity knowing that he, despite having the power of time on his side, would not be able to do any more than what was afforded to him by The Lady.
So here he was. A couple of hours into the early morning already, reading and scanning through the pages and notes they had before and after Quackity had arrived in Sproalstone those 2 days ago. Pages about Dianite, pages about the Nether, pages about his shrine where he dwelled that was created by the acolytes of the Great Divines from the 1st Age. It was all there, and with the newfound information from Quackity, Karl felt he was on the verge of a breakthrough in finding out what happened to King Halo.
Taking a small single piece of parchment from the desk, Karl stared at the translation that Quackity first gave them; the inscription that was on King Halo’s boat when it washed up on the shores of the kingdom during the Starfall festival.
‘Lest the Star hath forgotten, Blood can only be undone by blood.’
The script was frustratingly ominous. And the greatest question on Karl’s mind was how that text had anything to do with King Halo. Sure, he was an angel of Mianite, but so was Advisor Skeppy. And other angels of the 3 Great Divines don’t typically interact with any of the other Gods that they are not in service of.
Angels of Mianite don’t interact with Dianite or the Lady themselves.
Angels of Dianite don’t interact with Mianite or the Lady.
Angels of the Lady don’t interact with Mianite or Dianite.
It was driving Karl up the wall. If by some chance that King Halo found himself in some weird crossfire between the Star and Blood, Mianite and Dianite, then there should be some kind of motivation to it. Some little piece that they had not found yet that connected King Halo to the inscription left on his boat.
Karl pinched his nose bridge as he exhaled through his nose, feeling tense in his shoulders and middle back.
Gods…
Fuck this.
A knock came from behind the partially open door of the King’s study. Karl turned with a soft swivel of his body and politely told whoever it was to come in. The Emissary rolled his shoulders back and tried to loosen them out a bit.
General Punz entered the room swiftly, his armour clinking with every step he took as he walked inside to address Karl with a firm nod of his head. The General was expecting to find and speak with the King here, but Karl was an exception, and pretty much was on the same page about almost everything as Sapnap.
“Emissary Karl, the ships have been ready for some number of days now. Has the King given any indication that we might leave earlier than planned?” Punz asked, one hand always on his sheathed axe at all times, just resting beneath his waist and on the exposed poll of his polished weapon.
“King Sapnap has insisted that we leave at first light the day after tomorrow.” Karl breathed out, placing the piece of parchment in his hands back down on the desk table.
“Yes, sir.” Punz gave another nod of his head, his facial expressions dampening in worry but his posture remaining tall and strong. “Has the King any more requests?”
“Oh, well now that you mention it, there is one thing...”
Karl took small steps over to the General and leaned over to quietly speak into his ears, not forcing a whisper but still maintaining a low voice. Giving Punz the request with a friendly face and a calm demeanour, Karl smiled at the General kindly to which he smiled softly back.
Punz gave another nod of affirmation, signalling he was on it. With another exchange of smiles, the General dismissed himself and exited the study, striding down the halls and going to tend to Karl’s orders from the King.
Leaning over the dense wood, Karl’s eyes scanned over the paper holding the translation of the script from King Halo’s boat before casting his eyes to the open journal that lay at the centre of the desk.
The page in question that was on display detailed a relic of old, the ‘Wand of Dianite’ that was said to grant the Blood God the ability to focus his wrath and power; an instrument of stained glass in the shape of a tulip that could rain down lightning, hail, harsh wind and rains, and all kinds of terrifying weather upon the overworld. According to Quackity’s translation, it was used as a way to torment Man before it was destroyed by Mianite in the heart of a volcano.
Pretty epic stuff history-wise. And interesting as well as strange too.
Dianite had used something as simple and as becoming as a glass tulip, and sought to have it be a symbol of terror and destruction.
Karl thought about all the other times where the Blood God would have done such a thing: take something beautiful and pure, and twist it to fulfil a notion of his own disgraceful agenda.
…
Poor Quackity…
His fingers slowly dragging along the edge of all the pages in the book, Karl’s eyebrows furrowed as his fingers ran past a page that had been folded at the top right corner. Turning to the page, his head cocked to the side in wonder and speculation as he skimmed through its writings and notations. And- was the fold on the top right of the page…
Hmm.
Someone had creased the page to mark it. And it was fairly recently done too. No other bends or folds in any other previous pages looked like this, for they all shared a similar sort of weathering from the passage of time.
But this page…
This particular crease…
It could’ve only been done in the past few months or so, surely.
Karl did not know what was more curious and intriguing. The fact that there was only one person he knew of who book-marked pages in books like this, or the fact that the contents of the said page were far beyond anything he could have ever thought of during the whole time he had been helping Sapnap find his father.
On the page that had been ‘doggy-eared’ by someone, was an illustration of symbols followed by a few lines of black ink that was in the language of the Gods. On a small piece of paper lying on top of the page, was the translation that Quackity had provided them with when he was slowly but expertly sifting through the book.
The lines of writing were a spell. One of great power that required proficient magic use. It was a spell that used celestial power from the full moon to transfer energy and life from one thing to another. A sort of relocation kind of spell that could be used on apparently anything , or anyone . It said under a footer note that the spell was used in the 1st Age to syphon the life force from livestock so it could be placed into the flourishment of crops, or vice versa if livestock was falling behind and crops were in plenty.
Karl turned the page over to see if there was anything more to what he hoped was as development in King Halo’s mysterious disappearance. On the next page was something that Karl stared at for lord knows how long, breathing so silently into the air that he almost tricked himself into thinking he wasn’t breathing at all. The sentences in front of him were all in the modern language of Man, and in fine print they summarised about the side effects of the spell if it is done wrong, on not just the caster, but also whatever is having the spell being cast on it.
But then just underneath that was one last sentence.
Written in all capital letters, and in black ink that seemed to be more messily written than previously seen on the page, was a foreboding warning that beseeched whoever it may have concerned to not, for any reason, alter the transference spell, for it was too dangerous to attempt and had too high rates of backfiring on the caster.
The cogs were hard at work in Karl’s head, turning brittlely but steadily as he tried to piece together what all this could have meant in terms of King Halo, Mianite and Dianite.
Boom!
A loud bang came from the door of the study as King Sapnap shoved it open and stood breathlessly in the door, his chest heaving up and down as he intently and excitedly looked at Karl in his light green eyes.
“Karl!” Sapnap said, clunking over to the Emissary and standing next to him, keeping their eye contact the entire time. “I think I understand now.”
“What?” Karl asked, tilting his head in confusion and facing Sapnap to give him his undivided attention.
“This is gonna sound crazy but- I think I had a vision?” Sapnap put his hands out defensively in preparation for whether Karl would take him seriously or not.
“Are you sure? It wasn’t a dream in your sleep or anything?”
“No, I was awake. I was just putting on my robes when my head started spinning as I was in front of my mirror, and I saw a great white light like a Star-”
A Star?
Karl’s gaze shifted away as he nodded quietly to himself. “Mianite…”, he whispered out in recognition.
“-and the Star whispered to me and told me to ‘find him’. Sapnap carried on, letting the words just spew out of his mouth before he could forget. “Then it was like I could almost feel where my father was.”
“Are you sure it was Halo?” Karl leaned closer to the King, his ears perked up and his focus completely on his beloved partner.
“I’m certain, Karl.”
“What did you feel?”
Sapnap took a deep breath before answering. “It was hot. Too hot to be anywhere I've ever been before. But at the same time it was as if the whole area was engulfed by cold fire, like it was preserving my father in whatever cage he’s been trapped in all this time.”
The King pushed down the urge to shudder and despair about his father’s whereabouts. It looked so empty and so dark, so draining and so confined; it was a place he could only describe as some sort of hell.
With the pressing information from Sapnap, and the circumstance by which it had been made known to them, Karl’s brain flitted about tirelessly as a theory formulated in his head.
The inscription on King Halo’s boat that reeked of Dianite’s doing.
The dog-ear page that contained the transference spell.
This vision that Sapnap had had, that Karl could only assume was from the Star God, Mianite himself.
There was a second of quiet before Karl’s eyes simply went blank.
Oh.
Oh no.
It could have been a reach…but were there really any other options that made enough sense?
Blinking away the dryness in his eyes, Karl looked at Sapnap in his charcoal black irises and hoped that the King could handle what he was about to suggest. “Okay Sapnap, bear with me here but I believe- I think that your father was taken by Dianite...”, Karl said reluctantly, a little unsure but still more firm than he had been before in past theories of what happened to King Halo.
“How is that even possible?” Sapnap turned his head away slightly in brief denial but was still predominantly facing Karl.
“I think it has something to do with this.” Karl said, grabbing the journal from the desk and showing the particular page to the King with a quizzical and stern expression, pointing to the crease in the top right of the paper. “Look at how the page was bookmarked. Who else do we know that has had this book in their possession and also marks pages like this?”
Unless someone was lying, the only 2 people in the entire overworld who had this journal were Quackity, and King Halo…
Quackity had not touched the book and given it a read in quite some time, so…the only person left was Sapnap’s father.
He marked this page.
“What was he even doing in the first place?” Sapnap asked with a questioning tone, the tiniest hints of judgement prevalent in his voice as he thought about his father’s involvement in this spell and what it had to do with the gods.
“Whatever it was, I don’t think it went the way King Halo was hoping it would go.”
“What do you mean?”
Karl sighed, his lips feeling chapped as he went on in his explanation. “You remember the inscription on the boat? How it said ‘Lest the Star hath forgotten, Blood can only be undone by blood’? Well… I think- I think King Halo might have tried to ‘undo’ Dianite…”.
Karl did not have to explicitly say what he believed entailed the ‘undoing’ of the Blood God for Sapnap to know what he was alluding to.
And the thought of that scared Sapnap a little bit.
“You think my father would go that far?”
“If Mianite asked him to? I do.” Karl iterated, putting emphasis on the Star God as to indicate that he believed King Halo’s actions may have not been of his own motivations.
King Sapnap exhaled in immense frustration. Tension began to build up in his forehead and temples as he tried to breathe away the clouds of negativity that were starting to stir in his body. “Stupid fucking Gods.” He spat out. “They should all just fight to the death and leave us all alone. Why can’t they do their dirty work themselves?”
“The Great Divines can't leave their realms.” Karl said with a heave, already getting a little bit tired from spending so much time in the study this morning. “Not since the end of the 1st Age when they were all sealed away to the 3 other realms beyond the overworld. Unless they’re granted access by the spells within this book, or invited back through their progeny, they are stuck wherever they were sent off to.”
“So Mianite gave me the vision because?” Sapnap trailed off, unsure of why the Star God had shown him flashes of his father behind bars in an unknown location.
“I think he felt bad for causing your father to get taken by Dianite. I think .” Karl quickly reiterated as to not place his theory in solid belief just yet.
“Well, I suppose it’s the best theory we have so far. But I couldn’t tell where he was being held.”
“It’s kinda obvious isn’t it? If he altered the spell and it backfired on him, the magic from that could’ve let open a channel for the Blood God to reach through. If Dianite could momentarily control that channel while it was still open, then he could’ve- it’s possible he could’ve pulled your father through to his realm.” Karl suggested only somewhat confidently.
The King began slowly shaking his head side to side in disbelief.
“Sapnap, I think your father is being imprisoned in the Nether.”
“I mean- he could be someplace else, right?” Sapnap offered hopefully, not wanting to believe that his father had been stuck in literal hell for months. “What about the Solar Sect to the East of the Cursed Oasis? It’s a giant volcano, so he could be there, right? …right, Karl?”
Sapnap’s face was trying to maintain an ounce of brightness, the fate of his father dragging him down as he attempted to merit some sort of strength within himself. To his dismay, a low quaking feeling started to overcome some of his limbs, his hands and thighs slowly giving rise to a dull ache that was really just all in his head.
“I don’t think he is in the overworld, Sapnap…” Karl trailed off as he slowly shook his head at the King gravely. “If we’re correct, and King Halo was kidnapped by Dianite as punishment for the attempt on his life, then Dianite isn’t gonna be keeping your father anywhere up here. He’s going to have him locked away in the vaults underneath the great Temple of Dianite. He has to make Mianite pay for trying to have him killed.”
Karl took the tiniest of steps towards the King, only a few inches away from him as he grabbed Sapnap’s hands and rubbed the skin with his thumbs.
“Fuck.” Sapnap let out hoarsely, his frustrated breath still hot as it reached Karl’s face. He sharply inhaled afterwards, like he was wincing and being wound up tighter and tighter with every passing second. The King closed his eyes as he lightly pushed Karl’s hands down and began to pace back and forth in a short line, his breathing getting more and more erratic and his eyebrows furrowing increasingly as he kept pacing.
Rubbing his face and running hands frantically through his hair, Sapnap began to emulate waves of heat that Karl could feel warming up the entire room. Angelic power was starting to seep into his blood, dissolving and steadily imbuing him with a sense of strength and power.
“We're gonna bring him back, Sapnap.” Karl tried to console him.
Sapnap groaned in annoyance at the probable likelihood that his father had been taken and imprisoned by the Blood God himself. “He's deep in another realm I can't get to and know next to nothing about.”
Karl could only watch as steam rose off of the King and the crackling of his hair could be heard all too clearly now as each strand of black hair on the King’s head appeared to burn puffs of dark smoke and gleaming embers.
More power ran through Sapnap’s veins, and the fire within him only grew greater. Thoughts ran unchecked in his head. Thoughts of the misfortunes in his life concerning his friends he thought were dead, his father who he also thought at one point was dead, the stress of having to take up the throne at such a young age, and the whole debacle of him being a nephilim but not having anyone tell him that; all the negativity from this gave rise to the present anger that Sapnap thought he had let go of, just burning away and burning away in his head, his heart and in his chest.
“Sap-”
“Every time I think things get better, they always just get fucking worse!”
Sapnap shouted into the air as he flexed outwards, an even spread of fire engulfing him and swirling around his body like rings of fire.
In his escapade of fury, the King did well to tell himself that he could get it under control. That he was strong and he was the one in control of his own rage. And following his train of thought was the reminder that he now had something profoundly beautiful to hold on to.
He had Quackity and Karl. He was holding onto Quackity and Karl.
With them came the balance that levelled out Sapnap’s life in the most complete way, and through the ties that bound them together, Sapnap had a secure footing that kept him grounded to this earth. They both believed in him; that he could overcome the dark of his own anger. And that gave the King motivation to try and become a better man for not just them, but also himself.
He wanted to be in control of his powers.
He didn’t want to ever hurt anyone.
This time was so incredibly different to the other times Sapnap had blown up before.
Yes, his eyes were glowing that bright and ferocious amber colour, but the fire coming off his body seemed to not spurt out randomly like the rays of the sun. As the picture of him and his two beloveds stayed eternally beautiful in his mind, Sapnap had managed to shape the flames that consumed his body, twisting them and making them sit on his body in an abstract but uniform shape.
When the King turned to face Karl, the Emissary was stunned and in awe as he watched Sapnap’s eyes glow and shine in time with the rise and fall of his chest, his breathing seeming to provide him with some sort of metronome to which he could briefly use to control the severity of the flames that flickered out from his entire body.
From the fire and flames, Karl’s eyes went wide as the radiating glow from the King burned even brighter than it had ever done before, and the faintest outline of something could be seen forming from behind Sapnap.
Karl inaudibly gasped, the crackling from the flames and the low roar of the controlled blaze now too loud for any voice to pierce.
Outlined behind Sapnap in the bright orange, yellow and red of his fire, was the shape of wings.
Karl marvelled at it, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him. The layer of worry that he had for Sapnap fizzled away, and for just a moment, Karl could imagine what kind of man Sapnap could be if he came to find his revelation of grace, and earn his divinity through whatever mission was to be the focus of his life.
Following Karl’s gaze, Sapnap turned his head to the left and right, taking in the aura of everything he could have and everything he could be.
‘Holy shit’, he thought to himself in exasperated astonishment and wonder.
The orange of his wings seemed to overwhelm the light around him, highlights of yellow and red accentuating the greatness and magnificent poise of what was to become of his angelic form.
In Karl’s presence, with the promising preview of his wings, the feeling of balance in his heart; Sapnap felt the anger melting away. Bit by bit, Sapnap came to feel the light of his destiny shine out from the corners of his soul, his shared fate that foretold an eternity with Karl and Quackity keeping him from straying the line of his own righteousness.
He wondered to himself if perhaps the anger he used to fuel his power was the right way to go about it. It was effective in the short term, but that was before now. That was before today, and he had found that the developments in his life with his friends and life companions seemed to give him a power of a different kind that felt like it gave him a greater focal point and source of stable power.
Maybe that was the key.
Maybe that was how he was supposed to find control.
He was not an agent of destruction. His anger was not the only quality to his character.
He was better than all of that.
With a few slow and steady breaths, Sapnap actually felt like the activated magic inside of him was flowing in and out of him serenely in a cycle controlled by his breathing. As he inhaled, the power flowed clearly and smoothly through him, but with every exhale, the power was released from his body and returned to the world around him.
He breathed out deeply, and as he repeated the motion over and over again, the size of the fire surrounding him receded and died down until they became nothing more than the flickers of amber and yellow sparks that appeared as precipitation on his skin.
And then Sapnap came down from all the anger, and the flames retracted back into the King’s body, extinguishing fully and leaving only remnants of Sapnap’s emotional turmoil as the leftover steam rising from his body, and the remaining lit up state of his beautiful eyes.
Excited and flabbergasted, King Sapnap blinked a few times before rushing over to Karl, Karl also moving towards him hurriedly with a similar expression. They came together and reached for each other’s hands, grabbing them and interlocking their fingers as they stood close to each other with their hands resting in the space between their chests.
“Karl did you fucking see that?” Sapnap exclaimed breathlessly, his face beaming with glee.
“I did, holy hell that was amazing!” Karl responded, giddily bouncing up and down with a look of pure bewilderment. “How did you do that?”
“I just- I wanted to feel in control so I-”, Sapnap started before cutting himself off and looking away, little patches of pink dusting his cheeks as he visibly swallowed.
“You what?”
“I- I thought of you and Quackity”, Sapnap admitted with a small voice before moving on, “and I felt bright and warm like the sun. Like everything with us is as it should be. Then it was as if the power was flowing in and out of me through my breathing, and I could actually control it a little bit for once.”
Karl’s eyes softened tremendously as his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, his lips turning upward fondly as he sighed in utter adoration for the King.
Sapnap looked at Karl in confusion, eyes flitting up and down between his green eyes and their entwined hands as the apple of his cheeks got even rosier. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked shyly.
“Because I’m proud of you, Sapnap.” Karl said wholeheartedly, using one of his hands to grab the side of Sapnap’s cheek and gently use it to make the King face him properly. “You’re remarkable.”
“Karl.” Sapnap cooed affectionately.
The Emissary blinked slowly as his eyes remained on Sapnap’s face, going back and forth between his features like he was afraid he would forget them. Using the hand that was on the King’s cheek, Karl brought his fingers up to the hair of Sapnap’s fringe that sat in front of his headband, and tenderly tucked a few loose strands behind his ear. “My handsome angel.” Karl commented sweetly, his smile widening and his words reaching Sapnap’s heart as another affirmation and declaration of their fervent companionship.
Sapnap felt the warmth of Karl’s hand seep into the skin where his hand had briefly brushed past, and he leaned into the touch with a relieved sigh. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Karl. I don’t know what I’d do without you, or Quackity .” Sapnap professed, a slight vulnerability in his voice that Karl picked up on instantly.
It took no effort for Karl to shift his hands and arms, and pull the King in nice and close for another one of their time-stopping hugs.
They shared but a brief moment of silence, before Sapnap spoke up quietly into the fabric of Karl’s clothes.
“I miss him.” Sapnap breathed out, his voice muffled as he rubbed his head softly against Karl’s chest for comfort.
Karl began stroking the King’s hair by dragging the tip of his fingers delicately across the back of his scalp and through his thick locks of black hair, soothing Sapnap as they embraced. “I miss him too. But you have to trust me when I tell you that we will all come to be together again. All of us.”
Sapnap lifted his head up so he could look into Karl’s pretty light green eyes. “I do trust you, Karl. I just hate when any of us are parted from each other.”
Pulling away each other, Karl grabbed Sapnap’s hands and held them like they had just done before. He stared into the King’s eyes as they glistened in the morning light coming through an open window in the study.
With their hands clasped together again and resting in the space between their chests, Karl gave the King’s hands a small squeeze. “We’ll be okay. We have the rest of eternity to come back to one another.” He ardently promised. “We’ll find Quackity again, and we will fall into the comfort of a blissful forever.”
Sapnap smiled brightly at Karl’s words, comforted and consoled by his best friend and partner.
With a sigh of contentedness, Karl brought up their hands towards his lips and laid a soft and lingering kiss to the skin on top of Sapnap’s hands.
Following this, Sapnap mirrored Karl’s actions, bringing their hands close to his mouth and also planting a chaste kiss to the top of Karl’s hands.
They stared at each other lovingly as they remained in their company for a few minutes.
Karl and Sapnap both longed for the day where they could be with Quackity once more, and in the richness of their immortality, would come an age where they would not grow old, and they would not pass on without each other; not until the world was no longer green and the earth’s time had come.
Karl and Sapnap hoped with every fibre in their being, that they could live forever with Quackity, free from the dulling drone of an evanescent beauty, and without worry of their time being but that of a fleeting memory.
A few minutes after their embrace, Sapnap and Karl left the study to go and find Advisor Skeppy, and tell him of their findings and theories on what happened to King Halo.
If all of what they suspected was true, then the worst was truly not over yet.
If Karl was right, and King Halo was being imprisoned in the Nether, then they would have to journey through fire and face the darkness of the Night Realm.
Sapnap would have to go to hell and back to bring his father home, and oh, he absolutely would. It was only a question of whether he was strong and brave enough to do it.
Because if there was one thing he could not stand, it was being afraid.
And Sapnap was not a servant of fear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Away over to the Ankkar Isles, there was no rest for Prince Dream as he continued in his nauseating training that was only getting more difficult as the days went on. Today he was training with Quackity’s first mate, Jack, on a different area of the isles that wasn’t near so much water, the ocean a great weakness of the buzzcut pirate.
Dream parried a simple attack thrown at him by Jack, losing his footing for but a split second as he took a second to breath and let his guard down. “Sort of odd for a blazeborn to take up residency on a series of small islands, is it not?” He said in between breaths.
“You get used to it after a while.” Jack shrugged.
“Must be considerably different from the Nether.” Dream noted, letting his stick fall to his side as he paced around to try and catch his breath. “That place is hotter than an iron forge.”
“Yeah well, it got boring after a handful of decades. There’s not much to do when you’re born in the realm of Dianite. That son of a bitch doesn’t know how to have actual fun. At least ‘fun’ that isn’t just torturing other creatures of the Night Realm.”
“Gods…he’s really that evil…”, Dream said, his eyes becoming concerned for whatever Jack must have been subjected to when he was still in the Night Realm of the Blood God.
“Yup.” Jack affirmed, twisting his body left and right, his back cracking as let out a groan of effort.” At least his badness stops at him.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jack’s eyes went wide, the blazeborn bringing a hand up to the back of his head and rubbing it nervously as he exuded an awkward energy that was still somewhat boyishly charming. “Nothing.” He said, turning away from Dream and gazing out at the endless horizon of the sea, a brief silence settling between the two as they stood there waiting for the moment to pass so they could move on.
Suspicion narrowly glinted in Dream’s eyes, and in his moment of contemplation and intrigue, something dawned on him like the graceful breath of fresh air in a grove of great trees.
Gods, he missed trees. Sure the isles had trees of a different kind, but in his heart, the Prince longed to see the great oak and birch and fruit trees of his country once more. Before this was all over, he would’ve liked to see his home one last time. But it was a matter of time that made his wish to lay his eyes upon his kingdom all the more unachievable as the days went on.
All that aside, Jack’s comment about Quackity stirred in his mind. The present mystery of the Captain, a case he could not put down so easily. As his curiosity remained, Prince Dream spent a daring amount of mental effort to leave his past alone. The truths of Quackity were for Quackity to disclose, and Quackity alone.
But Jack’s words…they rung out in the Prince’s head like a series of golden bells in a tower, each chime peeling back more theories and other possible truths about Quackity. The chimes said many things, but the one thing that stayed in Dream’s mind was the single fact that opened the gateway to what the Captain was before , why he was the way he was now , and who he had the potential to be .
And that fact was…that Quackity…was more .
He was more than just a pirate, the existence of the Ankkar Isles alone was enough to prove that.
He was also much more powerful than Dream was first led to believe.
And if Dream was correct in his suspicions, Quackity was a lot more important in the grand scheme of things than he could have ever thought since the moment they first met.
He wondered if perhaps this was the kind of secret Quackity had kept. Dream wondered if perhaps the Captain kept a truth like this buried due to the crushing weight of something that Dream had come to acknowledge as being more powerful than even guilt at times.
Shame.
Dream wondered if Quackity was ashamed.
Ashamed that his truth was a part of him. Ashamed that there was so much bad associated with the inherent ties of his past to the wrongdoings of now.
In the silent air between Dream and Jack, the Prince vowed to himself that he would help free Quackity from this shame. Because the Captain deserved that much at least.
He was good. He was bright. He was more .
Quackity was more. Not just in his own self, but he was more to others. He meant things to people. Many, many people around the world, and he deserved a fate that allowed him to care and love without worry of those he held affection for in his heart.
With the silence growing too loud for too long, Jack readied his hunting knife, clearing his throat as he grounded his stance against Dream. His fingers fluttered about as drops of fire seemed to drip down off his fingertips, the molten rock consuming his hand in a shroud of heat waves that emulated outward towards the Prince.
Dream gulped anxiously, still not used to fighting against the blazeborn who held in him, the very blistering heat and intense power of a volcano.
Reaching into his pocket, the Prince pulled out another splash potion and threw it at the ground, the shards of glass breaking at his feet with a shatter, and the effects of the bright orange potion seeping into his body as the fumes slowly cleared out from the area.
The shatter caught Jack’s eye, and his irises flashed a very bright red in line with his volcanic powers as he tilted his head left and right to crack his neck.
With a smug expression, Jack attacked first, throwing a sludge of molten fire right at Dream’s side. The Prince narrowly dodged the attack, moving his body side on so it flew right past him.
Even if it did hit him, it would only inflict upon him a sort of graze that would maybe make his skin bleed, or potentially bruise. But thank the gods that Dream had his potions of fire resistance, otherwise this sparring session would’ve gone a lot differently, and he would probably be injured for the worst.
In a matter of seconds, Dream had rushed the pirate and struck at his feet in a series of hits that attempted to knock him off balance, to which Jack countered by doing a one-handed cartwheel away from the spray of the Prince’s stick.
And so they continued, on and on for hours. Jack would let up on using his volcanic fire magic every so often so Dream didn’t have to use so many potions, and in no time at all, Dream had managed to have a solid foundation for integrating potions into his fighting technique.
Quackity would be proud.
In the huts by the residential areas of the main isle, a recovering George sat keenly with crewmate Niki, observing her attentively as she gave him a rundown of the kinds of potions she brew in her shack, and what kind of things to look out for if he wanted to become sufficient in potion-making.
“-so the bright red ones here are splash potions of healing, these ones that are deep scarlet red are splash potions of strength, and the ones that are a murky darkened red are splash potions of harming. Knowing the difference between them all is important if you want to be an effective potions master.” She recited in a pleasant but assertive tone.
From his wooden stool, George gestured to behind Niki. “What about those ones in the cabinet?”
Niki turned her head to look at what George was talking about before turning back and smiling. “Those are potions of fire resistance. You quite literally become fireproof if you pop one of those. No kind of fire can hurt you until it runs out.”
“And all of these last about 8 minutes?”
“Yes, they should all last about 8 minutes.” She noted happily, glad that she could talk about potions so passionately to someone who really wanted to listen. “We don’t typically craft potions here that are of lower potency. It would be a waste of ingredients and we can’t be put in a position where any of them become scarce.”
George hummed before nodding. “Understandable. But what exactly would you use all of these for?” He furthered, quirking his brow in genuine curiosity.
“We’d use them whenever it is necessary really. The Captain wanted us to be prepared for anything that might come our way.” Niki said, preparing new potions by placing water bottles on the brewing stand and rummaging around her many cabinets and drawers for the ingredients.
“Sounds like Quackity is ready for anything.” George said offhandedly.
“He didn’t want to take any chances.” Niki began to speak absentmindedly, as her focus was mostly on getting things ready for these new potions of fire resistance that she was about to make. “If anything caught up to him, he wanted to make sure that we could combat it.”
“Caught up to him?”
“Just ghosts from the past-”. Niki stopped herself mid-sentence, smacking her hand against her lips and clasping her mouth to prevent anything else from getting out, her eyes wide and her eyebrows apologetic to the absent Captain.
George’s head cocked to the side in intrigue and concern. “Niki?”
“I’ve said too much already. It’s not my place... Can we please just go back to talking about potions?” Niki asked with a pleading voice, her face appearing to be displeased with herself and annoyed that she wasn’t more careful with her words.
George nodded to her and gave her an expression of solidarity and understanding. “Of course. I heard nothing.”
They transitioned back to talking about potions. It was, albeit, a little awkward for the first few minutes, but they got into the swing of naming all the ingredients and processes to brewing different kinds of potions that one may need.
It was all so fascinating and wondrous, the many potions available to be brewed seeming like a fantastic thing to hold the knowledge of. And as his mind filtered through the uses of each potion that Niki told him about, George thought to himself how very good it would be to have a mass arsenal of them that maybe Dream could use in battle at Veerim Valley.
Or maybe, if he was well enough to go, George could perhaps use them too. If he were to join Dream in the fight, then he could maybe help too.
He only wanted to help.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was midday in the kingdom of Wyrlorn, and Captain Tubbo was sitting in the music room of the castle with his best friend and brother of sorts, Prince Tommy. They had taken it upon themselves to revive the use of the beloved music room of old, and try to get more members of their little family to hopefully play just once more before they were to leave the city and make for the valley, where this final battle on the overworld was to happen.
Tommy found it hard to calm himself, switching irritably between being sat down on one of the chairs and being stood up next to Tubbo, who was resting quietly beside the peeved Prince on a nice stool of spruce wood.
Tubbo listened as his best friend yelled out in bouts of frustration that never seemed to leave the creases of his forehead.
“Gods can you believe it?! Stupid prick really had the gall to down me for believing in the call of fate and finishing the song with the other Champions out there.” Tommy grizzly spat out, the vein in his neck showing as he swung the ukulele in his hands carelessly about. If he wasn’t careful, he might accidentally break it.
Tubbo gripped the flute in his hand before placing it down to lie in the open case next to him. With a fond but tired exhale of breath, he got up from his stool and elected to stand up by Tommy. The Captain tried to get the Prince’s attention, but Tommy was too busy fretting about and muttering curse words to himself about his older brothers.
“Listen man, if it’s any consolation, I think you have a great destiny ahead of you. I don’t know where we’ll end up, but we will change an outcome of this world. I just know it.” Tubbo proclaimed brightly and fiercely, Tommy turning to look at him now. “We will find our destiny, do a little ass-kicking along the way, and we will right the wrongs that fate believes we have the power to change.” He consoled, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and giving it a few good slaps of reassurance.
Tommy gave a small upturn of his lips at Tubbo’s words, sighing into the air with a slight groan as he used his breathing to calm himself down. “You’re right. You’re right…”
“Hey, nothing bad can happen as long as we stick together, Tommy.” Tubbo said with a wide smile of his own, his stance strong and proud, like he was a tall tree that remained unmoved against the harsh winds of a storm.
The warmth from Tubbo’s aura brought positivity to the Prince, and Tommy felt more at ease when he was comforted by his best friend. As long as he had Tubbo, he never really felt like he was alone.
“You’re a good friend, Tubbo. You’re a good brother.” Tommy said sincerely, a quip of emotion wanting to form in his eyes as a single teardrop, but the Prince pushed the motion down and shooed it away, stubbornly detesting the portrayal of his more vulnerable feelings.
“So are you. So is Techno, in a way. And somewhere in there, Wilbur is too.” Tubbo commented, cautious as to not try and upset Tommy in any way or make it seem like he was taking anybody else’s side.
Prince Tommy rolled his eyes in annoyance at the mention of his brothers. “Yeah right-”
“Tommy.” Tubbo cut him off. “I don’t think they would be acting the way they have been if there wasn’t more to what is going on with them.” Tubbo went on, trying to make his point clear before the Prince tried to speak over the top of him.
Tommy folded his arms as he stood there, tapping his feet on the ground and occasionally biting at the dry skin on his bottom lip. “So what do you think is going on with them? With Techno?”
Tubbo let out a breath of effort and ran a hand through the wide curls of his untamed hair. “Honestly… I think he’s scared. Scared of something he can’t control. Scared of uncertainty. Scared of his own destiny, maybe.” He put forward.
The notions of this were not foreign to Tommy, as he knew who Techno was and how he had come to be with them in the overworld. But for all that it was heavy and one of the greatest burdens Tommy had ever heard of, it seemed unreasonable to him for Techno to be mad at the idea of others believing in the song and call of fate.
Especially when Tommy had the very sneaking suspicion that Technoblade could hear more than he was letting on. But that was for Techno to figure out, and not him to push the General into.
“And Wil?” Tommy asked further. “What do you think is going on with him?”
“Wil is…he’s hard to read now, if not near impossible.” Tubbo noted, scratching his head in thought. "If I had to guess, I think he’s stuck. I think Wilbur has set himself on a path that he won’t stray from because…because he simply can’t see any other way out.”
Tubbo’s expression went cold as Tommy’s face began to fall, the pale blue of his eyes feeling dark and woeful as he thought about his brother.
Tommy’s hands were still fidgety, but they seemed to cease as he slunk down onto a stool and mulled over everything with the worst posture Tubbo had seen in his life.
“I just want him to be okay…”, Tommy spoke out airily, his voice feeling small despite his tall height and usual demeanour of energetic and obnoxious heroism.
“I want him to be okay too.” Tubbo said, leaning over and putting his hand on Tommy’s back, giving it a few pats as the Prince huffed and puffed out all his negative emotions. “The others will look after him. They will .” He promised Tommy with a firm nod of his head.
“That’s all well and good, but I’m still not feeling particularly cheery as of late, Tubs. Having a scuff with Wil and Techno really does a number on you, you know?”
Pooling in Tubbo’s mind was a choice of two options on how he should approach Tommy’s angst and hurt.
On one hand, he wanted to just go about the situation as he usually would: from the stance of Tommy’s best and first friend, whom he had known and grown with since childhood. He would typically give Tommy some kind of activity to do, whether it be training or education with Techno, picking flowers with Phil, going on mystical walks with Kristin, or just engaging in fun banter with Wil; they were all ways Tubbo would aid the Prince in moving him away from his despair.
On the other hand, Tommy needed someone to help him through his feelings. And the way Tubbo thought he could do that was by essentially being what King Wilbur had commanded him to be: a protector of sorts, but perhaps also just something a little more than that. But then again, talking through the Prince’s feelings was something that Tommy and Wilbur used to do all the time.
There was a clash of what Tubbo wanted to do, and what he believed Tommy needed. Tommy needed someone to listen, but in Tubbo’s mind was the anxious worry of reminding Tommy of all Wilbur once was to him, and bringing him back to this ruined image of the Prince’s older brother.
Wilbur was once the person who listened, but there was no comfort from him since the war began.
The young Captain thought hard about what he should do in the moment of silence that filled the air. As much as he wanted to be what Tommy needed, there was too much in that that was akin to the way King Wilbur would have sorted the situation out. And he should not try to think like Wilbur when it came to Tommy as of now.
Wilbur had upset him enough already.
And so had Technoblade too.
So Tubbo chose the safer option.
“Wait! Tommy, I’ve got an idea!” The Captain exclaimed enthusiastically as he shot up from his stool.
“What? What is it?” Tommy replied, a little bit startled but matching Tubbo’s energy.
“We should go play our song outside!” He offered delightedly, his voice mirthful and booming. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Tubbo looked at Tommy with expectant eyes.
Tommy looked at Tubbo with a knowing and cunning expression.
“Butterfly meadow outside the forest?” The Prince guessed, reading the Captain’s mind as he shot out one of his hands to give Tubbo his cue.
“Butterfly meadow outside the forest!” Tubbo confirmed with a great big smile, doing the same gesture as Tommy before grabbing his flute from its case and waving it in front of the Prince.
Tommy stopped being reckless with his ukulele, and held it securely in his hands as he popped up from his own stool, enlivened and eager to play his and Tubbo’s part of the Call. “Hell yeah!”
When they arrived at the meadow, some 20 or so minutes later, they stared in awe at the place around them, the beauty of the meadow never losing its touch under the watchful care of Kristin and Phil.
Tommy and Tubbo looked at each other, grinning like children before taking off and just wandering about the meadow. Tommy took off his boots, and Tubbo followed suit, removing his heavy Captain’s boots and placing them by a large rock next to the Prince’s as they frolicked about in their own youth.
Among the bright red, yellow and white wildflowers, were the small patches of pink and white tulips, blue cornflowers, and spotted orchids that lit up the area in a lively picturesque scene of untouched and mellow quaintness. The flowers and grass swayed ever so lightly in the passing breeze, and the hue of the green beneath them that rolled out for miles was a small emblem of everything beautiful that their country was.
And there at the heart of the meadow, was the breathtaking sight of the many species of butterflies that littered the plains of Wyrlorn and had made the land their homes. Sapphire blue ones, dark orange ones, indigo purple ones; the fluttering sound of the butterflies were to Tommy and Tubbo like the pitter patter of rain on a window, and they stared at the butterflies in fond regard as they approached the area slowly, making sure to not disturb or scare them off.
When they came upon the butterflies, Tubbo got giddy as he heard the faint buzzing of soft and fuzzy bumblebees in the same area, smiling increasingly widely as he spotted a few of them by the spotted orchids and tulips. Tommy remained enthralled by the butterflies, watching them float and flutter about without a care in the world, free and in the fleeting moment of the memory that this was to become.
The Prince thought he could smell something on the wind, but Tubbo noted he could not gage what his friend was talking about, so Tommy went back to enjoying the sweetness every flower that crossed his path and went past his feet, the soft caress of the flowers and grass in between his toes reminding him of the days when he was a young child, and the he did not carry any burdens of war in his heart.
In the heart of the meadow Tommy and Tubbo stood, flute and ukulele at the ready as they proudly held themselves up high.
Feeling the grass in between his toes, and smelling the stains of the grass on his clothes, Tommy nodded to Tubbo to start playing their part of the Call.
With a deep breath and a close of his eyes, Tubbo began to blow into his flute, the melody being taken by the wind and carried through the air like wisps of notes all around them, that made it sound like Tubbo’s tune was resounding out and journeying across the entire meadow.
Tommy counted himself in and joined Tubbo in playing the single and simple melody of their part of the Call. And then once they had finished their part, they repeated it over and over again, Tommy adding to the sound by backing up the melody with a swift and enchanting chord progression that seemed to throw him in a trance of musical bliss.
The wind picked up once more, and as it threw their song about the air, Tommy and Tubbo could hear how it flitted about the trees as the breeze rustled each branch and every leaf that it came across. As if the wind itself knew who they were, it seemed to dance all around them, brushing through their hair and flowing through their clothes, bringing to them the sounds of chirping birds and chittering creatures of the nearby forest.
It was like everything in the world around them became amplified, and their own sense of their bodies became muted as they felt even the very earth shift and coil under their feet.
Their part of the song was lovely and becoming; a summer sun with echoes of laughter; prominent mud stains on scuffed up knees; an innocent but sincere recognition of friendship.
As Tubbo played the melody in full one last time, Tommy went back from strumming his chord progressions, to plucking at the strings of his ukulele in the same melody as Tubbo.
It was the last bar of their part of the Call. Less than a minute before the music would cease, and Tubbo toiled at the thought of who and what he was to Tommy. Sure, he was his best friend and his brother, but he was also his Captain. He found it needlessly difficult to try to juggle the balance between his duty as a Captain to the royal family, his promise to Wilbur to protect his younger brother, and his loyalty to Tommy.
It was all so unnecessarily hard.
He did not know why it felt like he was being pressed into placing one in higher regard than the others; but there was this moment of aggravation and indignation that scratched at Tubbo’s rib cage, and as if possessed by the striking power of lightning itself, Tubbo cracked away the feeling and decided that his decision was to not decide in the first place.
And why shouldn’t he?
It wasn’t like he couldn’t do it all. He was the bloody son of the Captain Sparklez for crying out loud.
He should have never been in a place where he had to choose whether his main priority was being Tommy’s bodyguard, or being his friend.
Tubbo could do everything. He could be what he wanted as well as being what Tommy needed.
He’d protect his friend in any way he could. Because that was his main goal, his main mission.
Protect Tommy.
He was Tommy’s protector .
Maybe there was more to it than that, but for now, that was all that mattered. Tubbo could cross that bridge when he got to it.
Tubbo played the last note of their melody, and Tommy made one final pluck of his ukulele that seemed to ring out for miles and miles as the air whisked it away to every corner of the kingdom, the song becoming but a faint memory of their time in the meadow.
Truly, nothing in life was greater than this feeling they shared about their conjoined destinies. And yet, it still felt empty in some way. Like there was a space by the rocks and pebbles in the grass that was meant to be filled by something, or… someone …?
Never mind that. It was a lovely day still, and in their dazed trance of playing their song, almost an hour had gone past already.
Holding onto their free time as long as they could, the time came for Tubbo to go back to the city and check in with the guards as well as the soldiers, who were diligently still preparing themselves for their departure to the valley, training hard in the barracks and putting their time to good use before it was time for battle.
Tommy remained for some time after Tubbo left, but shortly moved on from the meadow to go and find his mother, who was most definitely wandering about somewhere. If it wasn’t the edge of the forest, then it was the castle gardens. And if it wasn’t the castle gardens, then it was the 3 great pavilions of the Wyrlornian palace.
One pavilion at the top of a steep set of stairs that overlooked the boundless open sky; gold framing the white columns that held up the roof. And in the middle of it all, an empty fire pit that had not been lit since the days of the previous King.
Another pavilion that in fact lay in an outside area at the very centre of the Wyrlornian castle; rusted steel bars that were fashioned to swirl and coil about the pillars alongside the thick mass of vines came down from the top of the pavilion and crawled down its few steps.
The last pavilion by the great pond of the castle gardens; silver streaks that ran down the rough stone like blood to the vast flowers of blue, purple and white, and then the pond flora of pink and white and yellow spread across the serene waters.
The pavilions were where Kristin had spent most of her time when Phil was still the King of the country all those years ago.
So off Tommy went. To go find his mother and just have a nice mundane chat with her.
In the stables where his horse was, Tubbo eyed the iron armour that was sitting on the side of her stall. Pepper’s armour looked a little less shiny than he last recalled, but it mattered not as long as it was kept polished and ready for battle.
Reaching into a bag just hanging outside her stall, Tubbo pulled out an apple from a burlap sack and fed it to Pepper with a sweet smile, mumbling little words of adoration for his beloved mare.
Tubbo did one last check of Pepper, going inside her stall at the end of the stables to see that she was alright, when he heard someone enter the stables ever so quietly, like a ghost that left no footprints.
The Captain stayed inside Pepper’s stall, feeling a little uneasy at whoever had come into the stables and anxious to see who it was for some reason.
He breathed away the slight bouts of fear and reminded himself of who he was.
Not a moment later did Tubbo emerge smoothly but cautiously from Pepper’s stall, ready to confront or converse with whoever had eerily walked into the stables.
Oh?
It was just Eret.
The Captain sighed in relief, glad that it was not some stranger or worse that had come upon him in the stables.
Tubbo’s presence had not been noticed by her yet, and so he waited for a second and watched, observing her as she seemed to place something inside a pouch attached to another horse. Tubbo couldn’t quite remember the horse’s name, but it was something like Terrance, or maybe Chester? His memory wasn’t really doing him any good.
Done with the quiet, Tubbo called out merrily to Eret, the Steward whipping their head around in mild shock before wiping the expression off their face and waving to the young Captain as they glided on over to greet him.
In his observant state of brief hypervigilance, Tubbo noticed something. There was a certain red powder or dust-like substance that Eret had quickly wiped off his hands as he came over to him, and the residue of it just showed the slightest bit even against the deep red of Eret’s gown, which was the scarlet dress he typically liked to wear when he wanted to be comfortable around the city.
Waving back to Eret and giving Pepper a few pats, Tubbo beamed a trusting smile at the Steward before initiating conversation. “I spoke to my father yesterday.” He stated brightly.
Eret smiled back. “How was it?”
“It was nice.” Tubbo said, getting into the flow of the conversation. “I really missed him. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Eret cocked their head, but did not ask any questions of their own. “Ask away, Captain.”
“The other angel of the Lady, did you know him?” Tubbo asked clearly and concisely.
Eret nodded as he clasped his hands together and held them gracefully, rolling his shoulders back and fixing his posture. “Yes, I knew him.” He affirmed, feeling more relaxed that this conversation wasn’t going to be more than he bargained for if Tubbo had asked a different set of questions.
“Do you know what happened to him then? I was going to ask Technoblade but…you know…”, Tubbo trailed off.
He knew some things of Technoblade’s past, but he wanted to know how it connected with the other angel of the Lady. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something important to it. There must have been.
“I understand.” Eret nodded once more.
“I know that you were there… Is it true that Dianite really killed him because of the Lady?”
Tubbo did well to try and be delicate about the situation, and Eret appreciated that. But it did bring up some leftover feelings of guilt that Eret could not quite shake off, even after 221 years.
“Dianite is cruel.” Eret stated plainly, recalling the horror he had seen that fateful day when the other angel of the Lady was killed. “He kills as he wishes and pleases, and so he killed the other angel because he would not stand aside.”
“My father told me that the angel would not stand aside because he was protecting something.” Tubbo said inquisitively, raising an eyebrow in curiosity as he kept staring at Eret.
“That is correct.” Eret said with a nod, then staring off into the distance in a bit of a haze of memories. “My angelic brother, Schlatt, protected him to the very end, and it tragically ended up costing him his life.” Eret went on, reflecting in grief as she blinked away the emergence of tiny tears that threatened to form at her eyes.
Tubbo was utterly engrossed, leaning into Eret’s words and wanting her to just tell him who it was the angel ‘Schlatt’ was protecting. “ Him ?” He grunted out in great anticipation.
“The lady had employed the help of us angels to try and protect him from Dianite, but we failed. And in our greatest failure, we lost him. He has been missing for over 2 centuries now. We believe he has perished in the Nether…or worse.”
Eret’s face was mournful, but they could not hide the small tremors that twitched at the side of their mouth.
“Who is he ?” Tubbo asked impatiently, just bloody wanting Eret to elaborate in the way he wanted her to elaborate.
His gaze going from empty space to the pale grey eyes of the Captain, Eret exhaled deeply as he bore right into Tubbo.
“The lost Prince of the End: The Lady’s son.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun had slowly made its way over the ridges of the hills and valleys in the very far off distance as the coming of dusk began to settle into the deep slumber of night.
Technoblade hadn’t seen Tommy all day, the Prince somehow managing to either avoid him entirely, or coincidence stepping in between them as this unprecedented force in the world.
‘Just like fate’, Technoblade’s mind casually commented in the back of his brain.
He did not shake away the thought, but he did internally groan and cringe at it as it came to him. Tommy’s words were ones he took to heart, and he had come to his senses in terms of trying to just perhaps listen more. He just hoped that he was actually listening correctly.
Over many hours in between overseeing the soldiers undergo extra training, and ensuring the borders were not breached yet, Technoblade had been subconsciously looking around for Tommy, but he could not find him anywhere.
At around midday, he had wandered around the many halls and rooms of the castle, silently praying he could find Tommy lurking or brooding in a corner somewhere, but not admitting it openly to himself that he actually was hoping he’d run into him sooner or later. He had no such luck in his quiet search, and Tommy’s whereabouts remained unknown to him for the first time in a long time.
Techno spent the better of his day inadvertently searching with his eyes for that little blue-eyed fiend, his eyes scanning rooms and out from balconies to see if he could spot his younger bro-.
His young...friend.
In a state of unawares, Techno had stopped in front of a door he had not taken notice of in quite some time.
The music room.
Subconsciously, his feet had taken him there, to a place he always loved but a place that was slowly becoming lost to him. He gazed at the cracked open door wistfully, memories of him and Wilbur and Phil flooding his mind as he breathed in the dust and old air that was pooling out of the room. But with it came something else; the lingering aroma of citrus candles that were lit and burning away in the room to try and cover up the not so pleasant smell.
Pushing open the door, Techno stood in the frame of the doorway. There were fresh candles that had been brought into the room recently, and they had been burned down to at least halfway.
Maybe Tommy was here earlier? Or Tubbo? Perhaps even Fundy? Maybe they lit the candles.
Maybe they had become what he, Wilbur and Phil used to be.
With this thought came a nostalgic sadness that things were not like they once was, but there was also a hopeful happiness
Technoblade gazed at the inside of the room wistfully, eyes softening and heart bleeding for the times that he knew he could never get back. There were jabs of regret, of guilt, and of hurt that still attached itself to his chest, and it almost felt like he was choking on the memory of it all.
Due to his mind being overcome with so much feeling, Techno didn’t notice a sleepy but stern Phil walk up to him intently, like he was looking for him. He had this look on his face, and Techno could just tell that he was in for a lecture or good talking to.
Techno thought about dodging around Phil and straight up sprinting down the hallways to avoid him and deal with that problem later, but in his heart he knew that Phil’s intentions always came from a place of love and wisdom.
“Techno.” Phil greeted him maturely, no particular negative expression on his face.
“Ah, so you talked to Tommy then…”, he said with an exhale of breath through his nose.
Phil rubbed away a bit of sleep that was still in his eyes, suppressing a yawn before he continued talking. “Yes, he did come to me after-hours yesterday.”
“Fantastic...”, Techno remarked with a gruelling tone, his eyes refusing to meet Phil’s as he looked literally anywhere else. He wasn’t being attacked, but the anxiety took over, and he felt like all eyes were on him even though there was no one else present in the lonely hall.
Phil let out a breath of effort, but remained patient with the General all the same. “What happened, Techno?”
Techno’s posture and body language became defensive. “Listen Phil, he was talking about fate and destiny and the Call, and I may have gotten just a little bit too frustrated and…I said something a bit harsh.” He admitted to Phil with a debilitated flail of his arms that went through multiple stages of tension as he paced about the hall.
“Techno…”
“I didn’t mean it- well, I did. But not in the way that came across to him.” Techno tried to defend, huffing a bit as he went on in his dragged out explanation of his little falling out with Tommy.
Phil looked at him with displeased eyes. “And what way is that?”
“Champions are basically heroes, and heroes don’t have happy endings, Phil. Heroes don’t get to survive, and they don’t get to come home.” Techno began spewing out, the tightly wound up fear that he kept a lid on for 221 years finally unfurling and manifesting itself in these trifling spurs that end up hurting more than just himself. “When you try to be a hero, whatever powers that oversee the realms just smite you down and make you wish you’d never tried to be good in the first place.” Techno relented, stopping his pacing as his back was turned to Phil.
“This is about Schlatt, isn’t it?”
Techno was silent.
Phil was right.
“Techno, you shouldn’t dwell on the past.” Phil tried to reason, putting a hand on the General’s shoulder. “You have to let yourself heal from what happened. And that starts by not letting your fear or guilt steer your mind. Wilbur lets fear steer his mind, and look at how darkened he has become. You both can overcome these troubles if you keep an eye on what really matters.”
“Schlatt died because he tried to be a hero. He died because I wasn’t strong enough to get both us , and him and the kid out of there in time.” Techno enunciated ever so prominently. “He died because I was too weak…”
The General closed his eyes as flashes of the memory came to his mind. The yell of an old friend, the cries of his blood, the hurt and pain that he felt was all his fault still, even now.
“What happened to him and the kid wasn’t your fault. Schlatt was murdered by Dianite. You did all you could and you got yourselves out of there. There was nothing more you could’ve done, Techno. You have to accept that it happened and let it go.” Phil urged him delicately, giving a light squeeze to Technoblade’s shoulder.
“Accept it?” Techno let out with a soft scoff, wanting to shrug Phil’s hand off but failing as he let his head hang down once more, and hunched over in such a way that looked like he was retracting into himself. He paused slightly as his eyes became rigid and his voice got quiet when he began to speak again. “You should’ve seen the look on his face, Phil... When he told us to go, he stared at me with these eyes and I could just tell…I could tell that he knew he was going to die…”.
“Maybe his time had come to an end? Maybe that was how it was meant to be?” Phil tried to offer in consolation, heart breaking that another one of his sons was going through such wretched distress. “But I know that regardless of what happened to him, his soul has since found its way to the never-ending skies of peace in the Void Realm, where The Lady watches over him in the kind heavens of an endless space.”
Techno turned his head to look back at Phil, his eyes glistening with the presence of tears that he refused to let fall. His expression was miserable, but it was not completely inconsolable, the tiniest flicker of hope evident in the General’s pink irises.
“He is at peace, Techno. You don’t have to carry the weight of his death needlessly.” Phil said with his whole heart, the warmth of his words reaching out to Technoblade in small rays of pale sunshine.
“I just-”, Techno began to carry on again, “if Tommy understood that fate is cruel, and fate is determined-”
“Techno…”, Phil called out, beginning to get only a bit fed up with the General’s incessant need to prove himself right. He was so damn tired. Had he gotten more sleep, he might’ve been less inclined to grow weary of Techno’s antics. But gods, he had been up for way too long and all he wanted at that point was a nap.
“Gods, I wish he had more brain cells to comprehend that fate isn’t all he’s made it out to be…”.
“He’s 17, Techno-”
“That’s exactly my point. He hasn’t lived the same number of years that you and I have. And if he ever wants to stay alive that long, then he should really just listen to me.” Techno concluded.
“Why should he?” Phil quipped back, staring at Techno with eyes of assessment.
“Heh?”
“Why should he listen to you? From what I can tell, I think the person who should be listening…is you.” Phil said firmly, calling him out on his bullshit.
“Phil-”
“Techno…you’re projecting.” Phil stated plainly, not letting Techno try and talk himself out of anything this time. “I know you can hear the Call too. I know both you and Wil can hear it. You all hear it. Tommy and Tubbo, you and Wilbur; the only difference is that you and Wil choose not to listen .”
There was a certain kind of desperation in Phil’s voice that rang out in Techno’s ears, and he could feel in that moment, the effect of this war on the old god; how it wore him down and drained him as it tore away at the bonds between his sons…
Just like how fate had affected Technoblade for all these years.
As if a channel had opened up inside him, Technoblade shed a single tear from his pretty and pink eyes, blinking away the wetness and letting it roll down his cheek momentarily before wiping it away with the corner of his white long-sleeved shirt.
“.. I want it to stop…”, he whispered out in a small voice that Phil had never heard before.
“It’ll only go away if you accept that you have a role to play in the future of the realm.”
“These roles I am to play are paved with nothing but Blood, Phil…”, Techno despaired, gloom clinging onto the creases of his furrowed eyebrows as he took in shallow breaths.
“How are you so sure that that means what you think it means?” Phil put forward, meeting the General’s eyes with care and consolidation. “The path of Blood doesn’t always signify death and suffering, Techno. Blood is sacrifice. Blood is birth right and family. Blood is life .”
Techno shook his head as words of shadow and Blood came to echo out in his mind. “I don’t want to be a hero… I don’t want to be a Champion.”
“If you’ve been called, then you must understand that it is so because you have a destiny that greatly outweighs the confines of what you want. It is a burden, but it is also a righteous duty.” Phil assured him, giving him a light smile.
“If it follows in his footsteps, then I do not want it. I’ve never wanted that, Phil.”
“Even if it is, then you will be the one to dictate what happens after. You have to believe me, Techno.” Phil said, loosely placing his hands at Techno’s biceps and facing him head on as he stared into his eyes with an uplifting expression. “You are more than just Blood .”
Techno stared at Phil intensely, and as his heart began to warm up in the strength of Phil’s words, he felt a kind of buzzing lightness in his chest.
He was more, and he had the power to rise up above the looming shadow of what he could’ve become had he gone down another path.
The road not taken.
He was greater than just Blood. He was a blade. The Blade , and that was a destiny he had begun to carve out for himself all on his own those couple of centuries ago.
Techno couldn’t exactly promise to accept the Call fully yet, but he could promise that he would stop trying so hard to hear, and instead just open his ears and listen.
A comfortable silence came over them, and they stood in the hall for a minute until Phil ushered them to go for a stroll down the halls off the castle. An odd pastime, but never really all that odd to them.
“Phil?” Techno called out softly, the sound of their feet quietly tapping out as their boots hit the soft, dark green carpet beneath them.
“Yeah, mate?”
“I’m glad that I met you. I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not taken us in.”
“Well, when two lads who look like they’ve been through hell show up on my doorstep, the least Kristin and I could’ve done was give you two a hot meal. Everything else after that was just simply…meant to be I suppose.” Phil commented, sentiment expressing itself as the corners of his mouth turned upwards and his eyes became soft with fondness.
“It’s been 188 years already, you know.” Techno noted with a hum.
“Only 188 years?” Phil repeated in surprise. “Feels like it’s been longer than that.”
“Phil, that’s basically more than half my life.” Techno said, his voice back to speaking the way he usually did.
“How old are you again?”
“If my maths is correct, then I am 322 as of this year.”
“Gods, you’re such a baby.” Phil mocked him with a laugh.
“Okay, old man.” Techno shot back, rolling his eyes as he smirked humorously at his own joke.
The two of them shared a small fit of hearty chuckles and amused exhales through the nose.
“Even Wilbur is more of a baby than me.” Techno said, his mind being brought right back to the King.
All this talk of their ages, and yet Techno couldn’t help but think about his-
Well, his other brother.
He couldn’t help but think of Wil with a fond expression, the memories in his head reminding him of old sheet music, out of key singing, and the flurry of projects he used to write and play with Wilbur.
Two lost sons that played their music from two sides of the world.
It reminded him of someone else too… Someone he missed very dearly, and desperately wanted to see in the coming weeks in case something went wrong and he couldn’t see him again.
Techno digressed. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s had his fair share of years, but still not nearly as many as either of us.”
There was a pause after Techno spoke. A pause of remembrance for him, and a pause of reflection for Phil.
“You know, when the king before me passed and left me his crown, I did not expect that my rule would have flown by so quickly. But it did, and before I knew it, Wil was being coronated.” Phil recounted, shifting their conversation as they came to a balcony that overlooked the royal gardens.
In Phil’s eyes, Techno could see his sadness. He was crestfallen about the despondence he had brought upon Wilbur. He was regretful, guilty even about the way things had turned out, but Techno did not say anything and he did not feel like he needed to, for the understanding between the General and the old god ran so deep that it was almost metaphysically connected in spirit.
“I used to regret taking up the crown in the first place. I used to punish myself for creating this future wherein my son would find himself King of Wyrlorn and the burden of saving the kingdom and the world would fall upon his shoulders…”, Phil started.
“And now?” Techno asked, the faint roars of laughter getting louder in the gardens beneath them.
“And now, I see all that has come from that.” Phil said, motioning his head to the sight in front of them but not letting his eyes leave the people in the garden. “I cannot want for a different past in which we were not delegated royalty, for if I did there’s no telling what we could've lost if things were different.”
As if prophetically timed, Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy came walking through the gardens below with large smiles on their faces, Kristin following closely behind them as she watched the young ones have their fun and snarky banter.
It was almost like…fate.
‘Blasted fate’, Techno thought to himself, a small upturn of his lips and a tender look in his eyes for the little ones.
With a loving smile and a hopeful gaze, Phil welcomed the night as a chill came to him in the wind, and he spoke further in a moving way that shook the very walls of Technoblade’s heart. “Talk to Tommy. He will forgive you if you just start listening , Techno. Once you listen, you can work through anything. And if you can do that, then you can help Wil too. He will need you before this is all over.”
And so Techno would. He would start listening. If it meant that he could help more than just himself, he would listen.
If he could reconcile with Tommy, he would listen. If he could help Wilbur, he would listen. He only hoped that Wilbur would let him help, that he would not push him away.
Technoblade hoped that Wilbur was still able to be saved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
King Wilbur had horrible breath, poorly maintained wardrobe, eye bags even darker than the previous day, and a worsening mind that loosened every bit of rationality and replaced it with the tightly rung coils of treacherous fear.
He could not afford to waste a second of his time resting or lounging about doing nothing.
He had to make sure everything was perfectly in place.
He needed this to go exactly the way he was planning for it to go.
There was no other way in Wilbur’s mind.
Wilbur could not fail.
With the news from Phil’s crow spies, a sleepless and frantic King Wilbur scurried back and forth between bookshelves containing tomes of incana magic, pulling at his hair and muttering to himself about awfully difficult incantations that had not seen the earth since the darker days of the 1st Age.
Wilbur contemplated the accounts in Captain Sparklez’s journal, read through a particular entry that spoke to him in such a way that commanded his undivided attention.
It was an account that described the destruction of the old temple of Mianite…
Balls of red, the hissing sound of flint and steel, the jaded rumbling that came from the temple as chunks of it were taken with every consecutive banging sound that cannoned one after the other.
Syndicate, a sower of chaos from the 1st Age, had destroyed the old temple of Mianite in a spectacular way of grandeur and unbridled shamelessness.
And when the time comes, Wilbur would do the very same.
Dianite’s army of wither skeletons had just passed through the tundra of the north, and were now marching steadily through the mountain passes, a broken down labyrinth of blunt rocks and seemingly endless ridges. It would take the army at least 5 days on average to make it across the entire mountain range, and Eret had hoped that information would be a comfort to his King when he delivered it just a few minutes ago to Wilbur.
But the King did not sway. He did not react particularly in any way at all.
It was like the words could reach out to Wilbur so he could hear them, but he could only process what Eret was saying at face value, no deeper thoughts behind Wilbur’s eyes as he kept them trained on the fire incana book that lay in his hands.
“Eret, what is your status?” Wilbur said, snapping his head over to Eret who was just trying to do his duty to the king and their country.
Eret pushed down the urge to flinch away from Wilbur when he came striding over, staying strong in the face of the unhinged king. “I have successfully collected all the resources required. They have been safely stored on the horses and in the cart. I only need go and move them to the valley so it may be set up.” Eret informed him.
“You must be discreet.” Wilbur harshly whispered out, his hands shaking as he fretted about in the cool air of his study. “The entirety of this counts on our commitment to secrecy, we cannot let anyone else know. You must only move the supplies under the cover of darkness.”
“Yes, sire.”
With unsteady fingers, King Wilbur flicked and skimmed through page after page in the book he was currently holding, eyes zooming left and right as he persistently searched for what he was looking for. “I have yet to find the incantation necessary for this other part of my plan, but as soon as I have it, you must take it and go.”
Eret could only nod in submission to the King’s demands. To speak out against him was to dissent, and to outright defy him was an act of treason; and Eret could see that in Wilbur’s mind, whatever concern she may express for him would be thrown in with what the King now perceived as betrayal or disloyalty.
She dismissed herself from Wilbur’s study, whisking herself off to her chambers in wait for whatever spell the King was yet to give her.
Leaving Wilbur's study was like breathing in fresh air, his room of contemplation but a cold space of unintelligible thoughts, incoherent pages, and sleepless nights that knew not of the passage of time nor the warmth of the sun. It was so cut off from the rest of the castle, so secluded from the presence of other people…
So far away from everything and everyone.
Eret thought a lot when it came to the wellbeing of the King. Wilbur was not looking too good. He was not looking good at all.
For all the little stings of doubt that prodded at Eret’s heart, his mind told him that he should trust in Wilbur no matter what. It was his job as the Steward and trusted advisor. After all, Wil’s plan was sound so far, and somewhat brilliant in a way when Eret really thought about it.
But then there was Wilbur…
Floating away from all that made him a great man, and slowly descending into the darkness of what Eret could only describe as ‘lost’. A man driven to the edge by the weight of responsibility and the bloated swelling of his own hubris.
A lost son. Another poor and lost son.
Eret lay awake that night in torment. Wilbur’s fate was one of heavy calibre.
It held so much promise. So much potential for greatness and immortal valour that could cement his reign in history as a monarch of outstanding quality.
But there was also so much room for failure. So much opportunity for him to lose himself in everything that he was trying to achieve. He was already halfway there. Halfway from losing not just himself, but everyone else around him.
It was almost too tragic for Eret to bear. It was a situation of misguidance on Eret’s part, and extreme lengths on Wilbur’s. It was flaws and heartbreak…
It was a fall from grace.
Notes:
heyo, hope yall enjoyed this chapter, and apologies again for not updating in ages. there was a fair amount of plot setup here in terms of what i wanted to do with a certain demon that we havent seen in ages, and the buildup to the end of this fic which only has 3 chapters left to it.
Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos are greatly appreciate :]
qo7g4ny8 (Guest) on Chapter 9 Thu 07 Sep 2023 10:17AM UTC
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