Ps：因為一個章節(jié)字?jǐn)?shù)超過投稿限制了，所以up只能分成兩期鵝鵝鵝

Notes:

hey hi! this was more of a bridging chapter to open for the next one, which is going to be a really long one so i hope you'll be patient with me and trust that ill do the climax of this story justice :)

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story title and chapter titles all taken from "passerine" by the oh hellos. you can drop me a follow at twitter.com/thcscus :D

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and stay safe out there! wear your masks <3

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Summary:

All able-bodied citizens of the kingdom are called to the king’s castle, the letters all said, carried from bustling towns to quiet villages by messengers on the kingdom’s most swift-footed horses and courier birds taking to their familiar wind-carved routes. War is coming, and it is time to defend your motherland.

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//

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Or, war, warmth, and the act of welcoming someone home.

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Notes:

hi niki :D

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Chapter's trigger/content warnings are as follows:

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Violence/Depictions of violence

Assault

Death

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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

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Chapter Text

Three men stood on a balcony where once there were two. A mortal king, a mortal prince, and their red-eyed teacher. In the gardens below, travelers were gathering, most weary from their journey from every corner of the vast kingdom. Even now, more were still pouring into the capital city, staring in wide-eyed confusion, a conscription notice tucked into their pockets or crushed Between nervous fingers.

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All able-bodied citizens of the kingdom are called to the king’s castle, the letters all said, carried from bustling towns to quiet villages by messengers on the kingdom’s most swift-footed horses and courier birds taking to their familiar wind-carved routes. War is coming, and it is time to defend your motherland.

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The conscription letter had gone on to specify that only those over the age of eighteen were to be included in the king’s army. Many had chosen to ignore that. Among the horde trickling slowly into the heart of the kingdom was a brown-haired boy a year shy of the stipulated age. He kept the hood of his battered cloak up, so no one could see the traces of boyhood still etched into his skin like a brand.

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Someone noticed. It was a girl with hair as pink as the hibiscuses she grew in her garden. She had lived in the city all her life. Once, a man with the same hibiscus-pink hair had walked into her flower shop, his eyes bleak and unfocused. He’d asked her if she had any yellow roses for sale, and had bought it all. It was only later that she realized who the man was, but by then he’d already left, heading towards the woods that bordered the city. Now, she marched along the city streets that had become unfamiliar over the course of a week. She’d left her garden to the care of an elderly neighbor. A sign was left on her flower shop door, telling hopeful customers that it was closed indefinitely. There was nothing else to do now but follow the course of the crowd, keeping an eye on a stranger that was definitely much younger than her, wondering whether or not he’d outlive her.

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They passed underneath the castle gates, where a woman they called the Captain kept a watchful eye. She was under orders to turn away anyone too young, too sick, too old—but every time she looked into their eyes, she only saw herself. She’d clawed her way to her position, made sure to earn her reputation, and had stood guard over the royal family for over a decade. It was her stubbornness that got her to where she was, adorned with medallions from the king—both old and new. It was stubbornness that she saw in these people now. So while she did her duty by barring the way for the youngest, the sickest and the oldest, if she turned away for a moment when an aged warrior did her best to hide the wrinkles on the backs of her scarred hands, or when a seventeen-year-old boy pulled his hood lower over his face, or when a strong-jawed smith from the city limped by her with a broken foot that wasn’t quite healed yet… well, she would consider that her duty, too.

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By the time the boy and the flower shopkeeper found themselves in the garden, it was crowded. People stood shoulder-to-shoulder, pushing and pulling like a tide on the trampled remains of the dead queen’s flowers. The shopkeeper grimaced as her boots treaded across petals and stems, violently returning them to their soil. The boy did not notice the flowers at all. He was staring up at the balcony, looking at the man whose call was answered by thousands.

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Most of them had never seen their king before, but they’ve all heard the stories of a boy crowned on the eve of his sixteenth birthday after his father’s mysterious disappearance—or death, or assassination, depending on which rumors you believed—and guided by a strange adviser. A kingdom of peace would never have had any reason to know the name Technoblade, but those who heard the folk story of a red-eyed emperor from a cold and distant land whispered amongst themselves at the resemblance, or the coincidence, or whatever word they could use to explain away the uneasiness brewing in their gut.

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The stories also said that the king was kind and generous, with the starry-eyed ambition that came with his youth, and that the younger prince could charm a thousand detractors with his wit and humor. Standing together, they seemed to be as different as night and day: one dark, one light. But no one could deny the shared brotherhood etched into their regal bearing, both products of a boyhood almost drowned in etiquette and decorum.

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The prince shifted closer to his brother. “That’s a lot of people, Wil,” he murmured.

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The king’s eyes were unreadable in the hazy light of the clouded afternoon. “Not enough,” he replied.

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Their tutor crossed his arms as he surveyed the gathering crowd, already calculating battle positions and drafting strategies. This was, after all, not his first war, nor did he think it would be his last. “I’ll oversee training as much as I can, for as long as we have time. I’ve identified some potential battalion leaders from the guards and the people who came earlier. I’ll delegate the responsibility of training the newer recruits.”

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“Which is most of them,” Wilbur? pointed out. “They never had a reason to learn how to fight, before this.”

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“You underestimate your people, Wilbur,” Technoblade replied patiently. “There are other reasons besides war. Look, there. See that person with a bow? They’re a hunter—used to shooting down fast-moving targets, which makes them an asset for our archery line. Folks from the mountain regions are used to riding on horseback, so that’s our cavalry already established. Miners and smiths are used to swinging sharp and heavy objects around. Give them broadswords instead of pickaxes and hammers, and we’ll be ready to go.”

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Wilbur cut him a bemused look. “You sound almost optimistic. Did you hit your head on a wall this morning?”

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“I’ve seen worse odds.”

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Tommy scoffed. “This is different from all your war books, Techno. This is real life.”

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He did not notice the knowing look shared Between his brother and their tutor.

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“Anyway,” Technoblade continued, “I’ve reached out to mercenary guilds to supplement our offensive. Our coffers can handle the hit. After all, this kingdom has only been busy with trade for the decades.”

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“And if it all goes to shit anyway?” Tommy asked quietly.

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Technoblade’s expression hardened. “It won’t.”

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“How can you be so sure?” demanded the young prince. “From what I’ve been hearing, we’re nothing more than a bunch of poor saps armed with twigs against this—this—what did they call themselves?”

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“The Green Army,” Wilbur replied, not taking his eyes off the people below them.

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“Ridiculous name, if you ask me,” Technoblade said.

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Tommy did not laugh, as he usually would. “That message you received said they massacred an entire town, Wilbur,” he choked out. “An entire town, wiped out overnight like ants.”

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Wilbur’s hands tightened around the balcony railings, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed. “They were taken by surprise. We will not be so unfortunate.”

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None of them said the obvious, which was the fact that if Wilbur had not held his secrets so close to his chest, the town that once sat on their northern border might have survived. They might have been warned. They would have been saved from their merciless doom. Hypotheticals, Technoblade had told them before, were worthless, and only crippled their way forward. But it still sat in the uneasy silence Between them, broken only by the tutor saying, “Other towns along the Green Army’s route have been evacuated. We should be expecting refugees to arrive in the city in three days, but the temporary camps will be finished and ready by then.”

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“And what’s the status on the Army itself?”

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“Based on the spies’ reports, we have half a month, at most, before they arrive at the Valley, which gives us another week to prepare the troops before we set out. The armory should be done tallying and divvying up weapons by tomorrow, and caravans have been loaded with other supplies.”

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“And the other thing we planned…?”

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“Gathering the materials as we speak. The alchemists are working as fast as they can, given that it’s delicate work. But it should be done before we go.”

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“Good.” Wilbur raised his head towards the sun, breathing in the last sweet winds of spring. As he did, Tommy and Technoblade were the only ones to notice the fresh scratch marks running down the pale column of his throat. Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by a quiet shake of Techno’s head. “I guess it’s time.”

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In one smooth motion, Technoblade jumped onto the balcony railings, balancing precariously like an acrobat on a tightrope, his beloved trident in his hand. He drove the butt of the trident against the railings, producing a sound like a bell tolling, over and over until the crowd was almost silent, their attention caught.

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“Your king,” he shouted, “will now speak. I suggest you listen.”

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He dropped back Between Tommy and Wilbur, who gave him a grateful smile before turning back to their people. Their army.

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“Friends,” Wilbur began, his voice carrying out over the still crowd, now hanging on to his every word. “I see you all from where I stand. I understand you are afraid. You are confused. Years ago, I promised you peace on my father’s crown, and now I call you to war. This is nothing less than treason. Rest assured, I will be facing consequences for it.”

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The crowd stirred. Even Tommy looked to his brother in surprise, a question swiftly dying on his lips as Wilbur spoke on.

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“But that will be later,” the king continued. “For now, we face an enemy that has mercilessly slaughtered our brethren on the northern border. That is what we shall keep in mind as we ready to face them. More than a battle to defend ourselves, this is a war of revenge. We shall remember the innocents lost to the nonsensical greed of our invaders, and I vow to deliver you your vengeance on a silver platter.”

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Techno’s eyes darkened, but he did not interrupt. His gaze drifted to the marble pavilion sitting in the distance, right where the crowd stopped. Its chests had been pilfered, the blunted training weapons melted down to make sharper, deadlier blades. The ivy tumbling from its roof swayed slightly in the wind, offering him a brief glimpse at the empty, dust-covered floor beyond.

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He wondered if he’d ever set foot in it again.

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The shopkeeper was the only one not watching the king as he spoke of bravery and keeping the faith. Instead, she followed the tutor’s far-off gaze, but all she could see was a small white building, overgrown with weeds.

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“This will not be the end of our nation,” the king said with a note of finality, his dark eyes sweeping across the gathered crowd, but not seeing their faces at all. He spread his arms, as if welcoming an embrace from someone no one else could see. “It has stood for centuries, and it will stand for centuries more. We will see our enemies burning, my friends, and I will scatter their ashes on the graves of the people they took from us. And anyone who survives the fire will wish they had perished in the flames, and not by my hands. My only hope is that you might feel the same, and trust that you are in the most capable hands I could find.” He turned to the tutor. “You are in the safe keeping and guidance of General Technoblade. Together, we will defend this kingdom—or die trying.”

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The silence of the crowd gave way to thunderous applause, the exultant cry of hundreds of people who did not know, truly, what awaited them on the battlefield. The aged warrior with the scarred hands was intimately familiar with violence, and turned bitterly away from the excitement. She had been like them, once, but no longer. They would learn, sooner or later, but it would not be a gentle lesson.

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However, they were united in some things. They trusted their young king and their prince. They trusted their general. And they wished to see their enemies burn.

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The boy in the crowd felt that unity down to his bones. This is it, he thought, this was what it meant to be a part of something. To belong. He felt a smile creep onto his face, and soon he was joining the noise, hollering until his lungs began to ache, joining in the people’s furious glee. He was going to hold the line. He was going to drive the enemy back, and protect the land that raised him. And he was going to be a hero. At seventeen years old, Tubbo was the oldest he’d ever been, but he never felt so young.

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Only one person did not seem impressed by the king’s words. The tutor-turned-general was staring at the king, his mouth a thin line of disapproval.

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“Since when did I get the promotion?” Technoblade asked slowly.

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Wilbur shrugged, dismissive. “You’re already acting like a general, anyway.”

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“But I—”

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“Technoblade.” The king’s voice turned cold as he stared his old tutor down. “You promised to help me. Was that a lie?”

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Technoblade’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Careful, Wilbur,” he said quietly. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”

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Wilbur blinked, his eyes suddenly clearing. He opened his mouth for some sort of retort, perhaps an apology, but then there was Tommy—brilliant, loud Tommy—leaning so far over the railings, Technoblade had to pull him back by the back of his shirt. When he turned to them, he was beaming, his eyes bright in the afternoon gloom.

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“We’re going to win,” Tommy said, his ears still ringing with the crowd’s approval. “We’re actually going to win, aren’t we?”

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Wilbur and Techno exchanged one glance—one glance, and all was forgiven, the conversation shelved for another day. The general still looked at the king with something close to concern, and the dark circles under the king’s eyes were getting harder and harder to ignore each day, but none of that mattered anymore. If Tommy said they were going to win, then by the gods, neither of them would tell him otherwise, not when he looked the happiest he’d been in a month.

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“By this time next month, we’ll be back to worrying about trade routes and bothersome sycophants,” Wilbur assured him.

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“What the hell’s a sycophant?”

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“Gods.” The king gave his brother a look that was equal parts annoyed and adoring. “Remind me to hire a Better linguistics tutor for you when we get home.”

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Tommy rolled his eyes. “Good luck finding someone that can stand me. I’ll chase anyone away in three days, at most. Bet your whole damn life on it.”

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Wilbur grinned at Technoblade. “I can think of one person. Techno, will you—”

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“Finish that sentence,” Technoblade drawled in his usual monotone manner, “and I will end your bloodline right on this balcony. I will throw you off, witnesses be damned.”

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As the king and prince dissolved into laughter—for one, shining moment, children again—Technoblade found himself smiling. The sky was dark and bleak, but there, on that balcony, there was sunlight.

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“It’s you and me,” said Technoblade, putting one hand on top of Tommy’s head, the other on Wilbur’s shoulder.? “One more time.”

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The Blue Valley stretched before Tommy, disappearing into the hazy horizon. The two mountains that bordered the valley rose menacingly in front of him, twin endpoints of the imposing mountain ranges that served as the kingdom’s natural borders. A river ran through the middle of the valley, lit into liquid gold by the sun slowly rising over the distant hills.

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All in all, Tommy thought as he breathed in the cold dawn air, this would not be the worst-looking place to die in.

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The valley was named after the blue irises that thrived in it, lining the cliffsides and blooming along the riverbanks. But they were not the flowers Tommy was in search for.

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He ventured down the hillside, keeping his eyes close to the ground. He’d rolled up his pantlegs to keep them dry from the morning dew that clung to the underbrush, but it left everything below his knees vulnerable to the traps that had been set around camp. One wrong move and he’d lose a foot for his troubles. But he was determined to make the trip worth it.

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It had been a week since they’d arrived at the valley, and while that meant most of their preparations were finished, it also meant that the other shoe would drop any day now. Tommy could feel it breathing down his neck. The only way to combat it was relentless distraction—keeping his hands busy. So he traveled down the hill, one careful step at a time, until a flash of yellow in his periphery caught his attention.

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“Found you,” he said, making his way over to the flowers clustered under a rock, almost indistinguishable from their blue-iris neighbors, if it weren’t for the golden center that earned them their name.

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When Tommy strolled back into camp, he had a fistful of morning glories clutched in his hand and a grin on his face. Everybody was already awake—clustered around cookfires, going through morning exercises, or just milling about. Someone had brought their guitar, and its soft music echoed above the sounds of conversation and laughter. People raised their heads when Tommy passed, calling his name or waving him over to join them for breakfast. He cheerfully declined, but not before exchanging jokes and pleasantries with some of the more familiar folk.

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It was easy to miss the shadows this way. In the right light, he might miss the tussled hair of those that had not slept in days, or the bleak look on the Captain’s face quickly hidden by a strained smile, or the smell of sulfur that clung to their clothes like a nasty, unrelenting parasite.

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“It’s pretty tragic, isn’t it?”

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The question stopped Tommy dead in his tracks. He turned towards the person who’d asked, and found himself in front of a girl seated by a grindstone, slowly sharpening a small blade. “Pardon?”

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The girl smiled as she nodded towards the flowers in his hands. “Morning glories. They wilt the same day that they bloom, lasting only until the sun sets.” She paused. “Maybe less, now that you’ve picked them.”

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Tommy flushed with embarrassment, suddenly getting the urge to hide the bouquet behind his back, as if that might somehow erase what he did. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—”

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The girl simply laughed. “No, don’t be. I would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I told you off for picking flowers.” At Tommy’s confused look, she explained, “I own a flower shop, back in the city.”

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“Oh.” Tommy looked down at the flowers clutched in his hand, his brows furrowing as he thought. “It is sad, I suppose, that they die so quickly. But aren’t they beautiful while they last?”

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The grindstone slowly ground to a halt as the girl merely sat there, staring at Tommy with an inexplicable expression on her face.

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Well, thought Tommy, this is awkward.

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“You know, Your Highness,” the girl said at length, “you remind me of someone. He’s a soldier in this camp, and about your age, as well. He’s off somewhere training right now, but I have this feeling that if you’d only meet, you’d make good friends.”

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Tommy opened his mouth to reply, but found he could only nod in agreement. The girl gave him a small, sad smile, as if she could understand his silence even more than if he had spoken, and went back to her work. Tommy pried his feet from the ground and begun walking towards the heart of the camp, but the girl’s words followed close on his heels. That was the true tragedy, wasn’t it? More than the flowers that only bloomed for a day, the bitterest devastation was in the what-ifs. Tommy didn’t understand why, but he found himself lingering one scenario: a different life where he had met that person that he reminded the girl of, where neither of them were young soldiers. You’d make good friends, she’d said, but that wasn’t right. Tommy felt, inexplicably, down to his bones, that if he’d met that boy, they would be brothers.

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It was only until the royal tent was in view that Tommy realized he didn’t even ask the girl for the boy’s name.

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“—if we move this battalion here, they could provide cover. But we would also run the risk of—Tommy?”

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Tommy looked up. He hadn’t even realized he’d entered the tent. He found Wilbur standing at the large desk that took up the most room, leaning over a map littered with small carved pieces that represented various troop positions. Beside him, his hair unbound, was Technoblade. Both were staring at Tommy with concern.

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“What?” he demanded.

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“You’re—You’re crying, Tommy,” Wilbur said softly.

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Tommy touched his free hand to his cheek, and was surprised to find it come away wet. He rubbed furiously at his eyes until they were clear of tears. This was not the time. This was not the fucking time.

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He strode deeper into the tent, ignoring the worried look Wilbur threw Techno, and Techno’s answering shrug. Tommy stopped at one corner of the map and pointed to a cluster of carved archers clustered on what would be the hill they were currently on.

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“We don’t need that many,” he said determinedly. “Just one. Just you, Wilbur.”

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Wilbur seemed frustrated by the change of topic, but had no choice other than to follow his little brother’s lead. “You’re overestimating my aim, Tommy.”

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Tommy drifted away from the map, throwing himself on a spare chair in the corner. He gestured Techno over, and the general silently complied.

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“You always pull through when it matters,” Tommy said as Techno took a seat on the ground in front of him, his back to Tommy. As Tommy gathered Technoblade’s hair into his lap, he added, “Except the many, many times you lost a duel with Techno.”

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Normally, this would warrant a chuckle or, at the very least, an indignant eyeroll, but Wilbur simply leaned over the map again, his expression shuttered once more.

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Techno turned to Tommy and whispered, “We must not break his intense, beast-like focus.”

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Tommy snorted. “The only beast-like thing about him is that tangled lion’s mane he calls hair.”

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Wilbur’s head snapped up to glare at them both. “I heard that.”

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“Of course you did,” Techno said, turning back away. “Lions have an unparalleled sense of hearing.”

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Tommy laughed quietly to himself as he began braiding Techno’s hair, his fingers making knots with the ease that came with years of practice. This had been their routine for the past week: Wilbur would pore over the battle plans with wild-eyed obsession that got more and more frenzied by the day, Techno would call out every flaw in Wilbur’s proposed changes until they encountered one that seemed to be actually useful, and Tommy would braid. It kept his hands busy. If it weren’t for the distraction of Techno’s hair Between his fingers, Tommy would most likely join the flower shop girl over the grindstone, mindlessly polishing his spear until doomsday.

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Sometimes, Tommy would wake up in the middle of the night and find his brother still awake, reviewing their plans and muttering to himself—or, not to himself. The voices. The mysterious, omniscient, creepy-as-all-hell voices that had plagued his brother for years.

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Tommy began to weave the morning glories he’d found into Techno’s hair, to hide the fact that his hands had started shaking. Two nights before had been the worst of it. Tommy had been awoken by the noise of glass shattering. Opening his eyes, he found Wilbur standing over his cot, a shard of broken glass clutched in his hand and raised over his head, ready to strike it into Tommy’s chest.

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Tommy had stopped breathing completely. “Wil?” he’d said, his voice coming out meek and trembling.

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“We’re meant to kill you,” Wilbur had croaked, blood dripping down his arm from how tightly he was holding the broken glass. “We’re going to kill you, Tommy. It’s fate, it’s meant to be—”

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“Wilbur.” Tommy had reached out to clutch at his brother’s shirt. “Wilby, please, don’t hurt me.”

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Wilbur had blinked rapidly, his eyelashes glistening with unshed tears. “You haven’t called me that in such long time.” And the glass shard had dropped, but not into Tommy’s flesh—into the ground beside his cot, driven into the soft dirt. Wilbur had kneeled beside him for the rest of the night, whispering apologies that chased Tommy into his uneasy sleep. By morning, Wilbur seemed to have completely forgotten the incident, or chosen to ignore it completely, and Tommy was already plucking flowers off the hillside with shaky fingers.

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Tommy looked up now to find a white cloth tied around Wilbur’s left hand, where the glass had cut into his skin. It was the only evidence that that night had not been a dream, and that Wilbur’s voices were slowly taking over.

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It must be the stress, Tommy thought as he braided the last of the morning glories into Techno’s hair. When the war was over, Wilbur would be back to normal again, and Tommy could go back to not being absolutely terrified of his older brother.

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“Done,” Tommy said at last, flicking Techno’s finished braid over Techno’s shoulder.

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“Finally.” Techno stood and plucked one of the morning glories off his hair. He tucked it behind Tommy’s ear before moving over to one of the chests tucked under the table. “Consider this as a sign of my gratitude.”

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He opened the chest and pulled out something dark and folded. When he unfurled it, Tommy shot to his feet, his eyes going wide at the blue-and-red coat Techno held up, its golden buttons gleaming, the royal coat-of-arms stitched over where Tommy’s heart would be.

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“They finished it.” Tommy couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “They actually finished it.”

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“Gods, Tommy,” Techno said with a small smile. “It’s just a uniform.”

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But it wasn’t just that, and Techno knew it. He and Wilbur had received their own uniforms weeks before, the general and the king in their bold colors. In the chaos of preparation, no one had noticed the prince following in their wake in a simple white tunic until the very last minute. And now the tailors had done it. They’d actually finished it.

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Tommy bounded up to Techno, grinning so hard he thought his cheeks might split from pure glee. Techno rolled his eyes, but held out the coat for Tommy to slip into. It fit. Perfectly.

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Tommy spun in a small circle before giving Techno a mocking bow. “Sir General.”

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Techno returned the gesture. “Your Highness.”

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“You two,” Wilbur said, and Tommy could hear the smile in his voice, however faint, “are so stupid.”

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Tommy waltzed over to his brother, knocking the carved piece that Wilbur was about to put down on the map. Over the sounds of Wilbur’s protests, Tommy grabbed his hands and pulled him along, humming a vaguely-familiar tune, spinning him in slow circles that could be called a dance under the loosest of definitions. Wilbur went slack as Tommy continued to hum the song, allowing Tommy to spin him more and more.

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“I can’t believe you still remember that,” Wilbur said softly, his expression unfathomable.

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“Remember what?”

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“That song—”

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And then they heard it. The sound that turned Tommy’s blood cold. The sound that made Tommy and Wilbur freeze in their tracks. The sound that made Techno reach instinctively towards both of them.

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The drums of war, echoing over camp, eclipsing the music of a guitar, the conversations of friends, the screeching of a blade against a grindstone, the thud thud thud of a seventeen-year-old soldier practicing his archery against a dark oak tree, the thud thud thud of the army’s collective heartbeat, the thud thud thud of a thousand feet marching closer and closer.

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The enemy had arrived at the Blue Valley.

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They emerged from the mist like specters, the hazy sunlight glinting off their polished blades. Up on the hill, Techno could see them moving through the valley in a steady stream, the soldiers indistinguishable in their tight formation. At the front, someone bore their flag: two swords crossed on a simple green background. The sight of it made Techno ball up his fists with a sudden, unidentifiable anger.

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This was it. It seemed like the entirety of the Green Army was here, as expected; while the valley would serve as a chokepoint in the Royal Army’s favor, it was also the only direct path towards the heart of the kingdom. So now both sides were going to throw all their pieces on the board. One decisive battle, a quick end. Only one army would emerge from this valley intact—and Techno would be damned if it wasn’t Wilbur’s.

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Techno turned to the king standing beside him. “Are you ready?”

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Wilbur’s eyes were looked on the mountains. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

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The camp behind them was empty. Everyone was in position, moving like clockwork under orders that they’d been practicing for days. The only ones left on the hill were Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno.

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And the archers.

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Tommy bounded up to them at last, his chest heaving with effort. “They sent up the flare,” he announced breathlessly. “It’s go time.”

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Wilbur turned towards the group of archers behind him. Between them was a raging campfire, sending flickering shadows over Wilbur’s face as he took one arrow from his quiver and dipped its cloth-covered point into the flames. The dozen archers—the best of the best, handpicked by Wilbur himself—copied him wordlessly. The cloth, smothered in a special incendiary fuel, would burn faithfully until it reached its mark.

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Wilbur turned back towards the Valley, nocking the arrow into his bow. With a deep breath, he pulled the arrow back and aimed towards the sky. Behind him, the archers did the same.

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“Hold,” he ordered.

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The Green Army marched closer.

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“Hold!”

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Techno felt a hand close around his, nails digging into his palm, and looked down to find Tommy staring intently at the encroaching forces, his eyes unblinking. They were close enough now that Techno could see the glare of the dawning sun bouncing off their breastplates.

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Wordlessly, Techno squeezed Tommy’s hand.

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Now, Techno thought. It has to be now. At the same time, Wilbur called out, “Fire!”

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A dozen and one burning arrows arched out over the valley like comets of red and gold. The Green Army paused, perhaps in confusion at the pathetic display of force—just thirteen arrows soaring across the air. It would not even hit their frontlines.

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But that didn’t matter. They were not the intended target.

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Once upon a time, Wilbur’s aim had been so poor, it would have taken nothing short of divine intervention to correct it.

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So Techno corrected it. Now, Wilbur shot true. His arrow landed amongst the weeds, and then there was fire.

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It felt like the whole valley was set ablaze, the heat searing Techno’s skin even from where he stood. The burning arrows had ignited a line of fire that ran horizontally through the valley, cutting the Green Army off completely. Soldiers from the Royal Army had doused that area in the ever-burning fuel the moment they saw the enemy coming, and then promptly fell back into the mountains, taking shelter for the next phase. The fire would not hold them off forever.

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Wilbur gave a signal, and the archers scattered to their next positions, leaving the three of them truly alone, watching the wall of fire for the first signs of life. It came in the form of a man in a white cloak, stepping through the flames like it was merely an inconvenience. He shrugged off the heat, flicking an ember off his shoulder before his eyes found them on the hill. He pointed his sword, straight at Wilbur.

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“That isn’t a white flag of surrender, Techno,” Wilbur said quietly.

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“No, it is not,” Techno replied, finally letting go of Tommy’s hand and reaching for his trident. “It was a long shot, anyway. A little heat is nothing to mass murderers.”

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You should know, his voices purred.

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This is not the time for your sass, Techno thought back, as if that might stop the age-old melody that was starting to play in his head.

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The rest of the enemy army followed after the man in white, less gracefully, but stubbornly—like godsdamned cockroaches crawling over the valley. And then there was a battle cry, ringing from all directions as the Royal Army appeared from their hiding spots—in trees or in the weeds, from the river and from the mountains—and catching their enemy by surprise. But the Green Army was well-trained. They recovered swiftly, and though most of their army was stuck behind the fire, they were biting back. It wasn’t long until bodies were dropping—and not just the enemies’.

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Techno’s hand tightened around his trident as the valley filled with sounds of war, but it was not out of fear. Techno would never admit it out loud, but he could feel something almost like excitement pounding through his veins. This was familiar. This was something he knew, deep in his bones, he could do without failure. Being Wilbur’s teacher, and then Tommy’s—that had been terrifying. But this? This was nothing. This was just another battle to fight, just another war to win.

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“We need to help,” Tommy said, his feet already moving down the hill.

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Wilbur’s hand shot out, dragging Tommy backwards. Both Techno and Tommy looked at him in surprise, but Wilbur was looking past them, at the carnage happening right below their feet, his eyes dark as the earth of a freshly-dug grave.

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“Wilbur?” Tommy asked in astonishment.

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Wilbur blinked rapidly, like he was coming out of a dream. “Not yet,” he said quietly.

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“What do you mean not yet?” Tommy demanded, pulling himself out of Wilbur’s grip. “Our people are dying down there!”

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“Wilbur.” Techno spun Wilbur by the shoulders towards him. “We have to go. Now.”

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Wilbur took a rattling breath. “I know. Gods damn it, I know.” He glanced at Tommy, standing beside them with his face drawn in confusion. “But I can’t let Tommy—”

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“Don’t talk about me like I’m not fucking here!” Tommy spat angrily. “Wilbur, this is neither the time nor place to underestimate me. We need to fucking go!”

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“Tommy,” Wilbur said, staring at Tommy in shock, “I never underestimate you—”

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“Then prove it! Let’s go.”

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“You’re right.” Tired resignation colored Wilbur’s words. “But stay close to me.” He looked grimly back at Techno. “Don’t lose yourself out there.”

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Techno could hear the warning in his voice.

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“Take your own advice, Your Majesty,” Techno replied sourly, taking in Wilbur’s wide eyes and trembling hands.

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“I’m serious, Techno.” Wilbur’s expression hardened as he lowered his voice, speaking to Techno and Techno only while Tommy was distracted by fight below. “This is a direct order from your king. Keep them in check.”

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He thinks he can control you, the voices whispered. He thinks he is your master. Will you prove him right, like the loyal little dog you are?

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“I promise, Wilbur,” Techno said.

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After all, domesticated dogs, someone once said, still fucking bite.

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“Alright,” Wilbur said, shouldering his bow with a look of determination. “Let’s go to war, boys.”

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The first time the Captain killed someone, she was fifteen. He would have killed her. She had seen it in his eyes, lost to a drunken frenzy in a small, lonely tavern far from here. He’d come at her with his heavy hands, and so she’d taken a bottle from one of the tables and broke it against the side of his head. And when that hadn’t been enough to stop him, she’d shoved the sharp pieces clean into his throat.

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She’d ran from the tavern right after, ran from the town and didn’t stop running until she reached the kingdom capital, where a king with mercy sewn into his smile had offered her a job, a home, and a life that ensured no man would ever dare cross her again.

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But even after all these years, the Captain could still remember the feeling of skin giving way beneath the sharpness of her weapon. She could still see the man’s face, contorting with pain and disbelief, barely able to process what was happening before the death throes took him. She could still hear him choking on his own blood, gurgling wetly before he was finally, finally still. But there was a moment, Between the killing and the running, where she merely sat beside the corpse of her own doing, numb and empty and cold.

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The soldiers this time would not be so lucky.

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She could see it in their faces: the ones who’d never seen a day of violence in their lives, making their first kills right in front her. She could some of them hesitate, panic, fall into the same abyss she did once before. Most shook themselves out of it, their brains shelving the damage for another day. But others stood frozen, caught in their own thoughts, until their comrades found them—or their enemies did.

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The Captain could not help. She wanted to, more than anything, because wasn’t that her job? Wasn’t she meant to protect them?

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And then another enemy would come flying her way, and all she could think about was staying alive and surviving to the next hour, the next minute, the next breath. The Green Army had already begun to find ways through the wall of fire, and it wouldn’t be long until the rest of them would arrive with a vengeance.

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The Captain swung her gladius, deflecting the oncoming blow of an enemy before thrusting her blade deep into his chest. She did not look to see him fall; she was already moving across the battlefield, slicing her way towards a group of Royal soldiers pinned Between a rocky incline and half a dozen enemies. She took two down before the rest noticed her, and the Captain found herself facing four people at once.

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With a shield in one hand and her sword in the other, there was little the Captain could do but face them down.

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This is it, she thought, this is my final stand.

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“You little shit,” one of them spat at her. “You think you’re so brave, all on your own?”

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They surged towards her, and the Captain raised her shield instinctively for a blow that never came. When she looked again, she found all four soldiers dead on the ground, with a man in a red-and-blue coat and flowers in his hair standing over the still-twitching bodies. Blood dripped down the prongs of his trident, too much to have come from just the four bodies. Four throwing knives were already missing from the bandolier across his chest, and the expression on his face was cold enough to freeze hell.

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“Stop staring and get to work, soldier,” Technoblade said—the very same Technoblade the Captain had seen carrying the small prince on his shoulders around the castle, the same Technoblade that shuffled uncomfortably in too-tight suits at formal functions that he nevertheless always saw through to the end, the same Technoblade that the past king, the Captain’s savior, entrusted with his sons.

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The Captain could barely recognize him.

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But then again, something in the back of her mind told her that she was truly seeing him for the first time. She’d heard the rumors, the whispers, the questions about how he never seemed to change over the years. She disregarded all of that now. He was the man who’d just saved her life. Nothing else mattered in war.

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She saluted. “Sir, yes, sir!”

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With a curt nod, Technoblade was off, merely a blur of color cutting a violent path across the valley, his trident flashing in the sunlight. A whimper caught the Captain’s attention, and she turned back to the Royal soldiers that she had been trying to rescue.

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“Are you alright?” she asked them.

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One of them—a fresh recruit she did not recognize—blubbered, “Who the hell was that?”

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“That was your bloody General,” she snapped. “So you can stop cowering in your corner now. The Blade has just joined the fight.”

?【所有內(nèi)容版權(quán)均歸原作者所有，up只是搬運】

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