any day now
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What’s done is done, the last chapter of that tragedy finished and signed, ink dried and pages closed gently. This is Philza Minecraft picking up the pen afresh to start a new story. He will not write a tragedy, not a tale of bitterness and sorrow and chances lost. Not this time.
Here is how the story starts: Phil rises from a circle of scattered, broken totems, takes his son by the hand, and leads him to a new life.
(or, phil, devastated in the aftermath of the sixteenth, decides to fix his mistake.)
Series
- Part 1 of any day now
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Fundy is never more than someone else’s shadow. Passed over twice for president, three times if you counted the election. Unexpected and all but unwelcomed as a spy. Bypassed as a soldier—Tommy was louder, more brash and bombast; Tubbo was steadier, always reliable and prepared; even Eret, traitor that they were, was clever and helpful.
And Fundy?
Fundy had a crayon-colored uniform and a tattered dream handed to him by his father.
(or, healing starts slow, with the truth and a visit and a storm.)
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- Part 2 of any day now
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The people tried to make him a hero, a legend. They tried to follow in his footsteps and praise his name, adorn him with laurels and hail him as an emperor and lord. But Technoblade knows how history treats heroes, and he wants no part of its cruelty.
He wishes he could have spared his brothers the same fate.
(or, far in the north, alone, techno mourns.)
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- Part 3 of any day now
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The last words Wilbur said to Tommy—before he left, before he pressed the button, before Techno betrayed them and everything went to shit—were a reassurance.
“I’ll be back,” he had said, soft and warm and easy. Like the old Wilbur, before the ravine and the rebellion and the election that went awry.
I’ll be back.
Tommy’s still waiting.
(or, wilbur is gone and tommy is struggling. then wilbur is back, and tommy...is still struggling.)
Series
- Part 4 of any day now
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A van by a river, a ragtag group of dreamers with blackstone in hand and dandelion dye smeared across their palms, a star-spangled sky above as the witness to their whispers of revolution and freedom—this is L’Manberg. This is their sonata form, the beginning of it all.
Here is how it starts: a shooting star, an impossible dream, a half-joking name laughed at in the dead of night.
(or, wilbur soot from beginning to end to beginning again.)
Series
- Part 5 of any day now