Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was easy to get into the SMP, but without an invitation from an outside nation, leaving was near impossible. The borders were fortified with Netherite, guards posted at regular intervals and trained to kill without asking questions. If you were to attempt to get through a checkpoint without proper paperwork, you could expect to end up on the business end of a crossbow in a matter of moments. Phil had been sure to inform all of his sons about it as soon as they’d turned sixteen, correct in his assumption that they’d all do anything to get out as soon as they were able to.

Life wasn’t exactly horrible inside the walls, not if you didn’t attract undue attention to yourself. Wilbur had managed to evade the gaze of the public for nearly twenty years, keeping his cursed blood under check, but everyone’s luck was doomed to run out some day – and, well, Sally had already rung his death bells this evening.

Fundy – his son, his beautiful son – clung tight to his coat as he left the home he’d known for barely a year, whimpering as he listened to the stressed heart-beat of his father. He was only a week old, and he was already being thrust into the cold reality of the world. They were lesser people, Wilbur knew that, merely a stain on the SMP’s society as a whole. Bastards like Dream or Sally would relish in seeing their animal blood spilled on the floor.

Wilbur did not want to give them that satisfaction. But he couldn’t exactly rise up against the hatred of an oppressor on his own. If he were to ever hope of carving out a safe space in this life for his son, he would need help.

Maybe it was time to pay a visit to his childhood home.

-

Tommy was a human. A member of the majority, the status quo, the winning side of Dream’s relentless race war. As a result, he ought to be protected by the dictator’s men, maybe even celebrated for just how awesome he was, right?

Ever since Phil’s suspiciously sudden departure to work on the battlefield, Tommy and Tubbo had lived alone in the house. Initially, they’d been thrilled to live together, being best friends and almost brothers, but as soon as Phil was unable to field any of the heavy household decisions, it became cripplingly clear just how much their father had dealt with for their sake.

Phil wasn’t exactly liked by the state. The officers who visited daily made it clear that even though he was no longer living at home full-time, they would treat Tommy and Tubbo with just as much cruelty. And they did. Tubbo theorised that they’d called Phil out to active duty just to get rid of a known hybrid sympathiser. They hadn’t known that he’d be leaving two human teenagers behind.

At the time, Tommy had only owned three prized possessions, the only three things he had that meant anything to him sentimentally – music discs, given to him on his fifteenth birthday, by his three family members. They weren’t exactly worth much on the market, but now that he was living alone, suddenly the teen found himself caring a lot more about the emotional value attached to the items.

Dream’s men had, as a warning shot, stolen one in a raid.

Music tax, they’d called it, even though no such thing existed. Tommy had cried that day, hot angry burning tears, and Tubbo was barely able to console his friend as they clutched onto the two remaining discs, fearing for the day that the men would come back and try to seize those, as well.

Which is why, when a desperate knock on the door rang through the house, Tommy had jumped, moving to open it with a bitter look on his face and a long combat knife clutched in his hand. Whatever soldier was stood on the other side was going to get stabbed this time – he didn’t even care how many laws he’d break in doing so.

The last person he expected to see at the end of his knife, though, was his older brother, shivering in the cold night wind and clutching a child to his chest helplessly.
“Wilbur?” Tommy breathed, lowering his weapon gently.

The tall man made eye contact with the younger teen, and he took in a sharp breath of surprise when he realised just how tired his brother looked. Standing aside, he watched weakly as he entered the house, closing the door behind him with a soft thump.

“Tommy,” Wilbur said with a quiet, defeated voice. “I need your help.”

-

Wilbur could safely say that this was the worst family reunion he’d ever been to. Considering the fact that this was his first family reunion, that was saying something.

He could feel the concerned gazes of Tommy and Tubbo burning into him as he sat at the kitchen table with them, clutching Fundy to his chest. He didn’t blame them, really – he hadn’t had a chance to call up in advance to warn them about the impromptu visit.

Undoubtedly, they’d be confused at best, wondering what the hell Wilbur thought he was doing crashing in on their peaceful lives with a plead for help and a fox child in tow.
“Wilbur-“ he heard Tubbo start, voice hesitant. It had hardly dropped since Wilbur last spoke to him. “It’s, um. It’s been a while.”

He laughed tiredly at that. “Yeah. A while.” The hybrid looked up, making eye contact with his brother’s best friend. Despite his still relatively high voice, Tubbo had changed, grown up into a proper teen during his absence. Wilbur remembered when he and Tommy barely looked old enough to be in school, bright faced with sparkles in their eyes. Now, they almost looked as exhausted as Wilbur felt.

“You… have a kid?” Tommy asked, his blue eyes wandering down to peer at Fundy curiously, who wriggled restlessly in his sleep as Wilbur held on tight.
“His name is Fundy,” Wilbur supplied, a hint of warmth surfacing in his voice. “His mother walked out on him, so he’s just with me now.” He sighed at that – the memory of Sally was still raw and bloody. If Wilbur never saw her again, it would be too soon.

“Is he… yours?” Tubbo sounded confused, like he was trying to make heads or tails of the situation. Wilbur had never written about being a father in his letters to the household – he was only nineteen, after all, and the idea of Phil being disappointed in his recklessness had scared him enough to keep it a secret for a while.

Now, he had a bigger reason to keep it secret. Fundy was a hybrid, as much of a hybrid as Wilbur was. If he claimed Fundy as his biological son, everyone would very quickly make the mental leap that Wilbur was, by association, an animal. All of his work hiding for twenty years would go straight down the drain. He’d already been outed once by the connection, and if he was going to escape, he wasn’t willing to have it happen again.

Shaking his head softly, Wilbur tore his eyes away from his son. “He’s a hybrid. I didn’t have any choice but to take him with me,” he settled on, dodging the question tactfully.
“You’re just like Dad,” Tommy wheezed, bursting into hesitant peals of laughter. “You were away for what, like, two weeks, and you already managed to adopt some kid?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Shut it, Tomathy. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, Tommy! It’s not that funny. It’s actually kind of respectable! I couldn’t just adopt a kid off the streets.” Tubbo cut in, backing Wilbur up.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Tommy spoke, calming himself down slowly. “You need our help, or something?”

Wilbur gazed around the room loosely, a frown appearing on his face again. “Well, I was actually going to ask Phil for the help, but he’s not here, apparently.”

“We can help!” Tubbo insisted. “You can trust us with anything. Honest!”

There were a few beats of silence before the fox sighed, relenting against the determined gaze of the two teens. He couldn’t exactly turn his nose up at the offer of help, not now, when he had nothing to his name but a few coins and his worn-out clothes.

“I want to find our freedom.”

-

The plan was simple.

Dream’s SMP was a big, big place, but outside of the capital, civilisation faded quite drastically from the high-octane industrialisation back into pure wilderness. Thanks to Dream’s narrow-sighted leadership focusing entirely on only his most central population, the majority of the external rural areas were either in ruin or on the verge of rising against their rulers, in a perpetual state of barely contained anarchy. Perhaps that was an intentional leadership flaw, one made to coax struggling towns into merging with the capital and, by association, with its military.

As it turns out, Tubbo knew where an abandoned settlement was, his family having originated from there before its initial crumble. On the full moon night, which was fortunately only two days after Wilbur's sudden arrival, the family would pack up, sneak out of the capital, and head there, away from the prying eyes of the guards and maybe even out of the minds of the Dream Team. Tommy would focus on reconstruction, Tubbo would replant and repair the farmland that would undoubtedly have gone to waste, and Wilbur would do his best to guard them both, Fundy never leaving his side.

Wilbur would make this new home for his son, so that he would never have to experience the hatred that he’d been through for his whole life. Outside the capital, Fundy would be safe, and cared for. They’d be able to forget about Sally’s threats.

The decision to pretend Fundy was not his biological son still played on his mind, but Wilbur had no other choice. He hoped that, in the future, his son would come to understand just why Wilbur could not feel any warmth towards his own bloodline.

Wilbur felt like some kind of rebel leader as he draped a dark green cloak over himself, wrapping Fundy up in a thick layer of similarly-coloured blankets. The journey there would be long, and he hadn’t been in the forest ever since he was three. The hybrid couldn’t seem to shake the underlying fear that it would simply catch alight again with his family all inside it, but he remained calm, soothed by the presence of his family.

Tommy and Tubbo were surprisingly well prepared, tools and seeds and non-perishables already packed up in backpacks. Wilbur had been surprised at the sight of them, cans and tins and other material packed together tightly.

“Were you planning a trip, or something?” he asked aloud, moving to shrug one of the packs over his shoulders.

His brother had shrugged, buttoning up his own cloak before he picked up another. “We were gonna leave anyway,” he said, and the defeated tone in his voice made Wilbur’s chest ache with guilt for having missed the suffering of his siblings. “They took one of my discs, man. I can’t risk the other two.”

“Dream’s men hate us,” Tubbo clarified, taking the last. “They want us gone. Tommy didn’t want to give in to their demands, but we couldn’t stay much longer if they kept taxing us so much.”

Pulling his cloak hood up over his beanie, Wilbur sighed. “Well, we’re going to be safer out of the city.” he spoke, forcing a determined look on his face. “Dream’s men can’t touch us out in the forest.”

At that, Tommy and Tubbo brightened, and even Fundy squeaked in joy. Wilbur elected not to tell them that he was lying through his teeth. It wouldn’t be right to ruin their one chance at peaceful freedom, not now.

-

Wilbur felt different when he entered the forest, and that scared him. Darkness wrapped around the forms of the travelling party, disguising them in the depths of the night. Before long, they were fully into the wilderness – Phil’s house wasn’t far from where the city ended and the forest truly began.

The undergrowth seemed to whisper at the hybrid as he led the pack onwards, guided by Tubbo’s whispers of directions. In all honesty, he was hardly listening to his brother’s friend, subconsciously letting the essence of the land guide his footsteps as if he’d known them ever since he was young. Perhaps this was the call of the forest, a hybrid’s innate connection with nature. The idea of it sickened Wilbur, the whispers and longing feelings nauseating him as he struggled to fight it off.

Fundy must be feeling the effect too, because Wilbur could feel the kit mumble and coo at the noises, even as his eyes were shut. He didn’t seem to be so troubled by them, though – they seemed to sooth him, the singing harmonies of the ecosystem lulling him into a gentle sleep. Wilbur ought to have been grateful for that, really, but he couldn’t help but be further unsettled by it, even as their journey through the forest extended.

It was going to be a long, long walk, yet. The outpost was still another mile or so out, and they’d been walking for an hour and a half already. Tommy and Tubbo clung to Wilbur’s side every step of the way, blinded by the darkness instead of thriving in it. He could feel their outstretched grasping every five or so minutes as they tried to subtly reassure themselves of each other’s close presence.

“Is it far?” he heard Tommy whisper, complaining tone loud despite his hushed tone as the three diverted around the mighty body of a fallen oak.

“I think we’re getting close, actually,” Tubbo whispered back, turning to Wilbur with questioning eyes. “The trees are thinning out, I think? I don’t know, I can’t really tell. I’m sorry.”

Wilbur shook his head. “No, the breeze isn’t strong enough for there to be a clearing nearby.” The information came pouring out of him like a tap he didn’t even know he had access to, and he paused for a moment before continuing. “Don’t ask me how I know that.”
Tommy cheered quietly from his position at the back of the pack, and Tubbo clapped along, a relieved look painting itself on his face.

“Why are you cheering?” the leader asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I just told you we’re not near the village ruins yet. We could be another hour away for all I know.”

“Yeah, but you know stuff about survival,” Tommy replied. “So, we’re probably not going to die.” He mulled his own words over. “I mean – I know stuff about survival too. But it’s better if two of us do. No offense, Tubbo.”

“None taken,” his friend smiled.

Barely dodging a stray branch, Wilbur shook his head. “No, I’m going off instinct,” he clarified. “I know no more than—”
The sound of rustling stole his attention, the hybrid freezing on the spot. Beside him, Tommy and Tubbo rushed in to stick beside the taller man, the optimistic attitude suddenly lost. Wilbur reached for Tommy’s combat knife reluctantly, clutching Fundy closer. The rustling continued, an figure cloaked in shadow and adorned in what appeared to be formal clothing slowly approaching the group. Two ears protruded from his head, perked firmly to attention.

It was a hybrid. Wilbur froze as the faint yet familiar scent undertones hit him. He hadn’t caught wind of this type of hybrid up close before, though, and his heart hammered as the figure drew ever closer.

“Be ready to run.” he snapped to his brothers, arm stretching out to create a barrier between the stranger and the boys. Tommy started to pipe up with a protest, but Wilbur silenced him with a sharp look, before turning to face the hybrid once more.

He could make out their features, now, lit up in the moonlight. The stranger was tall – not taller than Wilbur, but tall nonetheless. His – at least, they appeared masculine – eyes were obscured by dark, opaque sunglasses, though Wilbur could make out the faint sheen of something glowing underneath them. Dark brown hair, relatively neat and short, lay straight on their head, only parted by their ears – the one strictly hybrid nature to their form. They were gray, turned a lurid silver by the moonlight, shaped and coloured nothing like that of a kit’s – in fact, if Wilbur had to wager a guess at their hybrid subspecies, he would say that this animal were some type of wild canine.

A nervous expression seemed to be plastered on their face – nervous? – and, as Wilbur looked over the Dream Team army uniform they wore, he noticed that it seemed to be somewhat worn out, torn and battered by the elements of nature. Wolf hybrids didn’t usually travel alone, Wilbur thought. They stayed with their claimed family, hunting and roaming and thriving that way – a little like fox hybrids, except the wolves placed a terrifyingly high value on spiritual alignments and moon deities.

Blood gods, Wilbur thought, and shuddered at the idea of it.

The mysterious wolf took another step forward, and Wilbur showed his knife off, its edge catching the glint of the moonlight threateningly. That seemed to be enough to frighten the wolf into staying still, and they raised their hands in defense, only looking more nervous.
“Wait, wait!” the wolf pleaded, voice deep and hoarse. “I don’t want to hurt you, wait.”
Wilbur didn’t let up, narrowing his eyes. “State your intentions,” he snapped, a surge of protectiveness rushing through him.

“I heard you talk about surviving!” the wolf admitted, backing off slightly. “I could smell the city off you first, and then I heard you talk about village ruins, and then I noticed the fellow hybrid smell.” He raised his hands up higher. “I’m a refugee as well. From Dream’s ranks! I ran away, but I’ve never been in the forest alone before.”

The wolf didn’t seem like they were lying, surprisingly. “What’s your name? What do you want from us?” Wilbur asked, voice still snappy. Refugee or not, wolves never approached groups if they didn’t have a semblance of a plan. That was another thing that made them different to foxes – while foxes were impulse hunters, wolves would methodically scheme out their approach and devastate people with calculated attacks.

“Eret,” the wolf said. “My name is Eret. And – in return for my loyalty, would you allow me to follow you to safety? I would – I swear by the moon that I would fight to protect your family, sir.” The formality of Eret's language caught Wilbur off guard. 'Sir'? He was only 19.
“Are you going to trust him?” Tommy whispered from behind Wilbur. “I think we should trust him. Wolves are strong.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo agreed. “And I think he’s telling the truth. He swore by the moon – that’s like, a really strong promise, isn’t it?”

Eret must have heard their gossiping – most forest hybrids had heightened hearing, and wolves were maybe the most prolific when it came to listening, so that was a given – because they relaxed a little, a glimpse of hope appearing on their face. As much as Wilbur’s gut instinct said he should turn the wolf away and protect his family from this predator, he knew he could not do that. Not now that the family he wanted to protect were so insistent on helping this stranger.

Taking a deep breath, Wilbur lowered the blade, re-sheathing it at his side.
“Alright, Eret. I’m going to trust you.”
As a look of relief crossed the face of the wolf, Wilbur wondered with a glimmer of hope that maybe he could trust this one. Maybe they’d be a strong ally, a strong friend, perhaps a key fighter should the Dream Team find their village – which they would, eventually.
For now, he’d give Eret the benefit of the doubt. They might end up being Wilbur’s one saving grace.

--

“You know, I didn’t think I was following the hybrid scent of a baby kit.” Eret admitted as the group continued on their way, the wolf having taken post next to Wilbur in lead. They eyed Fundy curiously.

“Fundy is my son,” Wilbur spoke, holding the kit tighter to his chest protectively. He didn’t miss the faint sound of Eret sniffing the air again, almost as if they were confused by something. “My adopted son, in case you were confused.” Of course, of all the hybrid subspecies to befriend, they’d had to pick the one touted as being the bloodhounds of the animal kingdom. Knowing how the Dream Team ran, Eret’s job in their ranks had probably been to sniff out hybrid bases for raiding.

“Oh, so you’re not-“ Eret began, but they were cut off by Tommy.
“No, he’s not an animal, he’s normal.” Eret and Wilbur both shot the blonde teen equally concerned looks, and Tommy seemed to shrink into himself. “I mean – not a hybrid. He’s not a hybrid. Sheesh.” Tubbo knocked into him purposefully for that, and Wilbur sighed. Of course he hadn’t yet outgrown that term. At least Tubbo could keep him in line, now.

Wilbur wondered how he appeared to Eret. There was no way the wolf wasn’t at least a little suspicious of his cover story. They seemed to be keeping quiet about their suspicions now, though – was that a blessing or a curse? The fox wasn’t quite sure anymore. Chances were that they were biding their time to confront the leader about it, and maybe that was better than having Tommy or Tubbo bear witness to accusations about his ugly secret.

A gentle breeze distracted Wilbur from his steadily approaching self-wallowing though – if his beanie were off, his ears would have perked up instantly. Finally, the forest was fading out, the trees thinning and the undergrowth shortening. Eret caught Wilbur’s eye – the wolf had come to the same realisation. They’d found it.

Stumbling through a layer of bushes, the group toppled into what would be their future home.
“It looks like shit,” Tommy said almost instantly, ruining the mood of the moment. Tubbo whacked him gently, and he wheezed. “Sorry, I mean. It looks… like… garbage?”

“The swearing wasn’t the problem!” Tubbo retorted, voice raising in pitch as he placed a hand to his forehead.
“It’s not going to be perfect yet,” Wilbur cut in. “It’s a ruin for a reason.”

The land wasn’t actually as bad as he had anticipated. The buildings they’d found still stood strong – there wasn’t much loss of structural integrity, save for a good amount of rubble, and a heavy weed problem. Bones lay out in the open, though, and a ghostly wind howled through the land. This must be the centre of the town, where the manor and the local guard would be stationed, because in spots, Wilbur could spot half-destroyed wall lining around the immediate area, circling around this small spot area specifically. He realised with a start that he’d seen other lumps of stone just like these a few metres back – they must’ve been going through the countryside of the town without realising.

Eret whistled in appreciation beside Wilbur. “We could almost form a small nation with this land.” A thoughtful look crossed their face. “If we repaired this entire town, we could house way more people.”

All three of the brothers looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Eret raised their hands defensively again. “Just spitballing some ideas!” they clarified. “We can just focus on us for now.”

Clearing his throat, Wilbur started forward again, sights set on the manor. “That’s the closest building,” he said, “and it looks intact. We can set up camp there for the night. Get out our blankets, repair the beds if we need to, that sort of thing. Tommy, Tubbo, can you do that?” He looked over the boys, who suddenly seemed to be brimming with excitement despite being utterly wiped out from the multi-hour long walk. With a salute, they scrambled off, beelining towards the manor with frightening speeds.

“What about me?” Eret asked, looking somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of now being alone with the leader and his son.

“Walk with me, Eret,” Wilbur said. “I want to talk to you.” He eyed the wolf as they looked increasingly more concerned. “It’s not to do with distrusting you, I promise.” Though Wilbur’s mind screamed that he should not trust a wolf hybrid at any costs, he didn’t exactly have the room to dismiss him yet – and Eret seemed trustworthy as an individual. Wilbur would trust them – and if Eret bit the hand that saved them, well. That was a problem for future Will.

--

Wilbur ran a hand along the loose rubble of the fallen wall. Beside him, Eret walked, ears flattened against their head as if they were attempting to defer to the taller hybrid as some sort of de facto leader. Wilbur had never led before, but he supposed there was never a better time to start than now.

“What did you want to discuss?” Eret asked, coming to a halt alongside Will.

“Your uniform,” Wilbur said simply, looking the man up and down again. “You mentioned you were part of Dream’s army.” Eret nodded sharply at that, a look of regret painting itself across his face. “So you know just how ruthless they are.”

Eret frowned. “Yes, but – how is that important now? We’re out of his reach. We’re going to rebuild these walls, and then they can’t touch us, right? The villages only fall because Dream doesn’t care about them.”

That wasn’t true. Wilbur had listened to enough talk going around in the centre of the capital that even he knew Dream wasn’t entirely focused on the centre of the nation. He hunted hybrids, after all – tracked them down and destroyed their settlements.

“You know as well as I do that we are not going to be a normal village.” Wilbur spoke, tone sharpened with forced maturity. “My son is a hybrid. I need to make this town as safe as can be for him, and I need to know how I can do that.”

Eret paused, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “And – how can I help with that, exactly?”
“You used to be one of his men.” Wilbur clarified. “I need to know I can trust you to be honest with us. To assist us in fortifying our defenses and raising the walls in a way that might stand a chance against Dream. I can’t put my family in further danger, Eret.”

The wolf looked hesitant, before a look of steely determination plastered itself across his face.
“Dream always strikes first with fire. I can start preparing to gather materials for fireproof walls tomorrow,” the ex-soldier spoke. This time, the gleam of hope surfacing in the fox’s chest was brighter as he spotted dawn rise above the three gathered hybrids.
Placing a hand on Eret’s shoulder, Wilbur smiled at his new ally. The wolf tentatively smiled back.

Maybe this time, they were on the path to a brighter tomorrow.

--

By the time they returned to the manor to scout out what Tommy and Tubbo had changed, the boys were fast asleep. They’d set up four beds, probably initially planning to sleep separately, but that layout idea must’ve fallen through, because they’d toppled on each other in a tangle of limbs and promptly passed out. They looked far less stressed than they had a few nights ago, relieved expressions painted on their faces. Moving them out of the capital was the best decision Wilbur had made in months, he thought – even if that wasn’t exactly a difficult competition, all things considered.

Wilbur watched as Eret let out a deep, exhausted breath as they laid their eyes upon the laid out sleeping stations, dimly illuminated by quickly set up lanterns.
“I haven’t slept in a bed for so long,” they breathed out, laughing gently. “This is like a dream come true.”

“Hey, don’t forget you still have to fight for this dream,” Wilbur said as he set Fundy down on one of the beds in order to get him ready to sleep. “It’s not all smooth sailing yet.”

“Oh, I know that.” Eret approached the furthest set up, sitting on it tentatively. “I’m just grateful for the chance to.” They smiled warmly at the leader, stretching their limbs out one by one as they adjusted to the feeling of the soft mattress. “Thank you, Wilbur.”

“No problem,” Will replied gently. He rather liked this feeling – the idea that he was managing to save at least four peoples’ lives simply by moving to this outpost. Eret’s words from earlier danced in his mind. Starting a nation – it was such a tall task, one that he’d never expected to even consider. But it was starting to seem likely. The SMP was in a constant state of unrest, everyone knew that. If Wilbur dared invite others in need to help the forgotten town thrive, would they be the straw that broke the camel’s back?

He shook his head, deciding not to worry about that just yet. All that mattered right now was Fundy. The kit made grabbing motions with his little hands as Wilbur laid him down in the bed, draping the covers over him tightly. This nation was for his son, he decided. All of this was for his safety. Fundy would never have to experience Hybrid Studies, or get discriminated on by vindictive partners. For as long as Wilbur breathed, he would remain safe, away from the conflict of the world. That was a promise.

Shuffling to lay beside his son, the fox sighed, arm wrapping protectively around the little parcel laid beside him. He was still asleep, miraculously, breathing slow and calm. Wilbur placed a small kiss to the top of his head, where his kit ears would eventually grow, humming a gentle melody.

Maybe in the future, their family would grow, but for now, Wilbur was content to lay here with his son and dream.

Chapter Text

The land looked a lot different in sunlight.

Wilbur woke up first of the group. He considered whether or not he should leave Fundy rest a little longer in the bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his son to rest alone yet. So, he’d swathed the kit in green blankets again, gently cradling him in his arms as he went to properly scout out the area they’d crashed in for the night.

Natural light seemed to burn away the night-time spookiness of the building, casting a new positive ray of optimism down on the structure. It actually didn’t look damaged at all, most of the furniture left in a snapshot image of whatever strewn positions they’d been left in however many years ago. Everything looked almost as if someone had purposefully left the house for someone to stumble across.
Perhaps humans had lived here. This was the centre of the town, after all – humans usually held positions of power, even out of the capital. Maybe that was why it was relatively untouched, even after so long.

The chests Wilbur found were empty of valuables, unfortunately, but he did find some things of use besides the heaps and heaps of spoiled meat and rotten produce. Arrays of stone and wooden tools hung from hooks and rested on surfaces, and a map of the village in its prime was discarded on what seemed to be a wooden table.

When he stumbled across what seemed to be an underground planning room in the sturdy stone barracks, though, he found something interesting. Old documents listing in hasty pen what attacks the walls were sustaining were strewn across the low table in the centre of the room, more military oriented maps lining the stone-cold walls around what appeared to be a flag. A chest – large, and wooden with iron accents – sat in the corner.

Wilbur opened it with care. He half-expected to find nothing again, maybe some rotten apples if he was lucky – but what he found surprised him.

Uniforms.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised at uniforms being in a town’s army barracks, but he still couldn’t shake the shock. There were about ten to twenty of them – they looked brand new and hardly worn, having been folded into neat squares and tucked away as if the people who’d made them were betting on the chance that someone in need of a lucky break would find them. What’s more, they held no noticeable scent, probably because they’d been sealed away for several years.

The majority of them consisted of surprisingly fancy royal-blue blazers with brass buttons and red sashes to go over the chest and around the waist, clean white shirts with accompanying jabots, undershirts and matching trousers supplied. How fancy had this little outpost been, to have such a supply?

Wilbur set Fundy down gently on a table, before turning back to the chest.

Sat on top of the rest of the uniforms was a unique one, standing completely and utterly out from the rest of the mass of fabric. Maybe this would’ve been the one for the leader of the army, the one who called the shots, the one who people looked up to. Instead of being a navy blue, it was dark – nearly black, actually. Red and white accents lined the lapel and the shoulder of the blazer, carrying a hauntingly commanding aura about the garment.

Wilbur reached to pick it up and analyse on a closer level, but the rustle of paper falling out of its pocket made the refugee jump to his feet.
Huh? Was that some kind of letter?

Setting the jacket down, the fox leaned in to pick it up from where it’d dropped on the ground, flipping it over to where it’d been written on neatly. With a start, Wilbur realised as he began to read that he recognised the handwriting, and the contents of the letter only served to consolidate his reason for surprise.

To whoever finds this letter, the note began.

Against all odds, we have protected our town against the majority of the Dream Team’s forces, but we cannot hold out any longer. Our buildings stand tall, and our people are safe even as we are forced to flee to the capital of this God forsaken country. I know the chances of someone finding this letter within the next century are slim, but if you are reading this, please heed my warning and my advice.

Dream’s men are merciless. We have learned that the hard way. They hated our town from the start for our good spirits and our hospitality towards the hybrid folk. When they heard we’d formed a military offense for our town, they struck. When they hear of new people in the area, enough to pose a threat to their forces, they will undoubtedly strike again.

Stranger, if you are still reading this, you are probably going to stay for a while. Please, if you rebuild on our land, lay low for as long as you can. Give yourself the time you need to build enough allies and resources to stand a chance against his men when they inevitably come for you. When they do finally descend upon your people, these uniforms will be waiting for you, to remind Dream’s men that our rebellious spirit lives on.

Viva la revolution. I pray you succeed where we have ultimately failed.

- Phil Watson, General of L’Manburg

Phil had written this letter?
Phil had lived in this town when he was younger?
…Phil had led a failed revolution against Dream?

Wilbur couldn’t believe he knew so little about his father. He knew his dad had been despised by the guards who roamed the streets, and he knew his freedoms had been brutally limited, but Wilbur had always assumed that was just because he’d adopted hybrids and raised them with care. How was he supposed to react to the fact that he was actually an enemy of the state?
How was he supposed to react to the fact that he was inadvertently carrying on the legacy of his dad?

Would Phil be proud if he could see his son standing here, a fire of determination lit in his chest? Wilbur hoped so. He turned to Fundy with a confident heel spin, smiling down at his son with a new sense of purpose shimmering behind his eyes. Fundy looked up at him with bright brown eyes, sparkling with wonder in the faint light of the barracks’ lanterns. The kit reached up with open arms towards his father, and Wilbur picked him up in a smooth motion.

“Come on, Fundy,” he said, voice warm and strong, cradling the child in his arms. “We have a town to rebuild.”
Fundy babbled excitedly in reply, squeaking and yipping with a rush of energy Will had never seen his son exhibit before. He’d make this town safe for his son, Wilbur thought. In honour of his father’s sacrifices.

With one last longing look at the chest of uniforms, the fox clutched the note to his chest, exiting the barracks with a confident stride.

--

When he returned to the manor’s upstairs sleeping quarters, Eret and the boys had awoken already, looking mildly distressed at Wilbur’s disappearance. The wolf noticed him first, ears perking up as the fox entered the room clutching Fundy to his chest.

“He’s back!” they announced, getting to their feet. Tubbo and Tommy whirled around from where they’d been peering out into the forest from the windows, eyes wide and full of life. They must’ve slept very well, Wilbur thought, if they were only just waking up an hour or two before midday.

“Wilbur!” the boys chirped in unison. Tommy ran to the taller man’s side. “Where were you?” He pointed towards the paper held tightly in his hand, blue eyes shining with curiosity. “What’s that?”
Deliberately hiding the letter from Tommy’s view to irritate him, Wilbur shrugged. “Fundy and I went out to look at our lovely little town centre,” he chirped in a light tone of voice. “Tubbo, your family must’ve lived nicely. This place is basically spotless.”

Eret made a noise of confusion. “But I thought the people were forced out of here by something? There’s no way Dream’s men would have left a town still standing.”
“Yeah!” Tubbo chirped up from where he still stood by the window. “The walls were totally destroyed, so why were the buildings left untouched?”

Wilbur shrugged again. “I don’t know exactly, but I do know that this town used to be a hotspot for revolution.” A cheery look painted itself on his face. “I’d bet people came here to hide from Dream’s men all the time. They even tried to fight against him, once. Not that that worked, of course – but it’s something!”

“Revolution?” Tommy frowned, thinking awfully hard all of a sudden. “You mean we’re not just in hiding? We’re gonna have a revolution?” A gleam of mischief-laden excitement shone in the teen’s eyes. “I wanna kick Dream’s ass!” He whooped, fist rising in the air. Tubbo whooped too, making the same motion, and Eret joined in, a gentle smile on their face. From his arms, Fundy let out a little squeal, almost as if the kit were trying to voice his support.

A laugh escaped Wilbur’s throat. Despite everything, they clung onto hope and refused to let go. Wilbur couldn’t help but feel proud of the men stood before him. Tommy and Tubbo, two young boys with hearts of gold. His son, Fundy, who despite being but a child, showed spirit stronger than Will could fathom. They were his family, through and through.

And then there was Eret – the wolf hybrid – who, despite having known the group for half a day, showed loyalty and commitment that could last for a lifetime. (Maybe some hybridism wasn’t all too bad, Wilbur thought with a glimmer of hope. He still felt scared to his core at the idea of his family knowing of his identity, but that was besides the point. He wanted his son to grow up feeling proud to be himself, not innately scared like Wilbur was. This new town could be the start of that.)

“Calm down,” the fox chuckled. “Not yet. We have to get settled first. That means wall building, town repairs, farming – and once we’ve gotten a good headstart, maybe we can think about secretly letting refugees in our walls.” The new day really had brought a new sense of hope, Wilbur thought, as he watched his friends and family whoop once more.

“Wait!” Tubbo spoke, raising his hand as if he were in the middle of class. “Can we name our town yet?”

Tommy nodded with great enthusiasm. “Excellent idea, Tubbo.” he spoke. “Dream’s men can’t just call us the No-Names. We have to kick ass with our badass team name first before we do it with swords.” He paused, smirking. “I suggest something like Knifeland. Or Gun Town. Or – or, or, Pogtopia.”

Tubbo batted at his arm, laughing. “Those are too violent! I think we should be named after a flower. Something with a strong meaning, like poppies!” He beamed an innocent smile, despite the fact that he’d just casually suggested they name their budding town after a flower that symbolised death.

Eret shook their head from where they stood. “They won’t take flowers seriously, Tubbo,” they supplemented, “I think you should pick a historical name. Maybe something foreign. Russia had a lot of nice names, back when the SMP Earth factions still ran strong. Maybe Petrograd?”
Wilbur sighed, placing a hand to his head in exasperation. “Eret, I know you mean well, but I don’t want to name our rebellious town after the capital of a country that ended up destroyed by revolution.” Eret looked sheepish as they recalled the downfall of the Russia faction.

“Besides, I have a better idea,” the leader smiled, remembering the name that Phil had used for the land in his letter.
“Oh, yeah? What kind of name beats Pogtopia, big man?” Tommy huffed, crossing his arms.

“Well,” he started. “This town already had a name.” He pulled out the letter Tommy had once been pointing at, which re-captured the attention of the blonde teen instantly. “Led by our dad, Phil, they led a revolution against Dream, but they lost, and barely managed to escape under treaty. In this letter, with the last of his supplies, Dad wrote to whoever would find it – that would be us – and begged them to carry on their legacy.”

“I’d love to honour them,” Eret nodded. “Anything for the memory of a fellow revolutionary.”
“What was the town’s name?” Tubbo chirped, eyes gleaming with peaked interest.

From where he stood, Tommy relented. “It sounds like a good idea – Phil's a huge man - as long as the name isn’t something lame like Poppy City.” Tubbo whacked him again for that, and he laughed, hands up in defense.
Wilbur swept his eyes across the men in front of him, glancing down at the wide awake form of his son nestled into his chest. He cleared his throat, preparing himself to speak the town’s name aloud.
“In the honour of General Phil Watson and his brave revolutionaries,” he started, as if he were speaking to a crowd of four thousand and not just four, “we shall henceforth be known as warriors of L’Manberg.”

The four began to cheer, chanting the name of their new town with pride in their voices. Wilbur could only smile, a burst of hope glimmering in his chest. This was the start of something great, he could tell. Fundy would grow up surrounded by the cheer of good, honest, loyal people. He would grow up happy, brave, and strong, and Wilbur would fight until his last breath to make that dream a reality.
“Well, then,” he spoke with energy in his voice once the celebration had simmered down a little bit. “Let’s get to work! For L’Manburg!”

“For L’Manburg!”

--

For a group of ragtag refugees, they took on work with bucketloads of spirit.

The next few months were entirely work-based. Life in the town’s shell was rough, but rewarding, and Wilbur could tell that their family was finally settling its roots here.
Wilbur seemed to take on the role of a de facto leader, assigning duties and patrolling around the borders to make sure they remained undetected and collecting supplies for the boys in town, all while keeping Fundy tucked away and strapped tightly to his back or his chest. He marked out the old perimeter of L’Manburg in order to help Eret out, surprised at the scope of the town. How had they never learned of this place in History class? Had Dream made that large an effort to squash the memory of this legendary place? Occasionally, Wilbur wondered how many of his lessons had been nothing but propagandist lies, but he elected not to focus on it for too long. He was a father now. There was no time to linger on the past.

Fundy grew every day, spending most of the time draped over Wilbur’s shoulder in the harness he’d hand-made for him. The little kit seemed to get bigger every moment, big blue eyes taking in the world around him with wonder. Wilbur never let him go for a moment, even though Tommy and Tubbo teased him relentlessly for his clinginess. Fundy was his only son, for Christ’s sake. Wilbur would not abandon him as his birth parents once had. Fundy was going to grow into a safe haven.

Tubbo was a skilled farmer, having experimented with growing food during shortages of crop in the capital. Wilbur had to applaud how quickly the boy set up a liveable farmland, working only off of the skeletons that the old L’Manburg had left behind for them. This town must have been very advanced, Wilbur thought, because they’d near-automated their systems at a point, super smelter devices half-crumbled in the aged farmhouses.

Tommy took to work fixing the actual town, surprisingly dedicated despite his usual lack of focus. The teen seemed happy having something to put his mind to, and he looked positively radiant every time Wilbur dropped by to offer a helping hand despite the thick layers of dirt that often muddied his skin. He’d always been the building type, deft and nimble with his hands, even if he relied too much on cobblestone.

There weren’t many repairs to be done, thankfully, and each building took only a few days maximum thanks to their incredibly sound structural integrity. It was yet another sign that L’Manberg had been on the brink of prosperity. As he walked through the cleared city streets, Wilbur wondered if his father had ever been in his position, overseeing the creation of this new safe space. He couldn’t help but worry for his father ever since he learned of his call to active duty. Would Dream’s men hurt him out in the SMP warzones? Wilbur tried not to think about that as he kept his work up.

Eret, the relative newcomer, was a welcome addition to their family ranks, pulling through on their promise to repair L’Manberg’s walls. Wilbur saw them most as he patrolled the land, laying block after block of dark blackstone bricks. Sometimes he dropped by to lend a hand, sharing stories of the past and talking about the future. Wilbur usually liked talking to Eret – they were only a year younger than him, surprisingly, despite their deep voice. It was a nice change of pace most of the time, and Wilbur had a suspicion that Fundy quite liked spending time around the other hybrid.
So, as Tommy and Tubbo worked on the internal structure of L’Manberg, Wilbur often found himself on the outskirts, working alongside his new ally.

--

“You’re a good leader,” Eret’d said as they laid another block of blackstone down, securing it into place with a great deal of effort. “Kind, responsible. I wish I’d met your pack sooner.”

Wilbur had chuckled awkwardly, laying the block he was grasping next to the newly placed one. Fundy was strapped to his back tightly, head poking over his shoulder as he watched his father work with great interest.

“I’m not really,” he fielded, trying to dodge the compliment. “My dad was a better leader. He was selfless, responsible, strong…” The fox sighed sentimentally. “I just want to keep my family safe.”
Eret hummed at the words, preparing to lay the next block. “Your dad, was he human?”
The question caught Will off guard. He froze briefly, before resuming what he was doing. “Why do you ask?”

There were a few moments of silence as Eret seemed to think the words over. Wilbur felt his blood run cold as he watched Eret pause to sniff the air again, as if they were trying to come up with a rational argument.
“You don’t seem to have a scent,” they admitted, resuming their brick laying. “It’s catching me off guard. I’ve never met a human without a scent before. Unless you’re—”
“Fundy’s with me all the time,” Wilbur cut in. “I bet his scent has started to mingle with mine.” It wasn’t a far cry, really. Wolves had great scenting skills, but that meant they were more adept at picking up lingering scents than current ones.

Eret shrugged. “Makes sense. I’ve never heard of a human adopting a hybrid before,” they said, a faint smile crossing their face. “It’s very progressive of you. Hybrid rights, and all that.”
“Hybrid rights,” Wilbur replied weakly, trying not to focus on how ill that term made him feel.

He was trying to make a good world for his son, right? So why did he feel so… wrong at the idea of hybrids walking out in the open? Was he jealous of how proud Eret looked with his wolfish appearance? Or was he scared of his own species, even after so many years?

Will turned to resume laying the brick silently, brow furrowing as he dwelled on the topic.
He wanted Fundy to be happy, above all else. They might be out of the city, but that didn’t mean he wanted to… encourage animalistic behaviours. He knew how the hybrids of the capital rioted. The idea of Fundy acting like his feral blood relations made Wilbur feel woozy. He couldn’t believe his perception was still being warped by Hybridology class, even now – damn it, Wilbur knew he deserved to live in peace! – but he couldn’t shake the shame of having given his son his faulty genes.

Wilbur’s hand trembled briefly as he laid a brick, and Eret watched him with sincere concern.

“Are you okay, sir?” they asked, voice deep and thick with worry. “Do you need to rest?”

“No, I’m okay,” Wilbur reassured, glancing at where Fundy had fallen asleep on his shoulder and was now drooling. “I’ll stay another half hour, then I’ll go check on Tommy. Make sure he hasn’t torn anything important down.”

--

Wilbur was ever grateful that he had brought his guitar to their new residence in L’Manberg. The family had decided to keep living in the manor they stayed in the first night, cleaning it up in the first week until it was like living in a mansion. They’d set up actual beds in the bedroom eventually – it was way too spacious for just one person – and every night, Wilbur would set Fundy down on the duvet of his warm yellow bed and play music for him.

They were gentle, personal tunes, songs that Phil had once sang to the boys when they were only twelve. Really, they were moreso ballads, memories of battles that Phil had once been in and fought. His father really was a survivor above all.

Fundy loved the music, doing his best to babble along to the gently sang songs of heroes saving friends from the jaws of doom. The little kit was entranced by the notes he strummed out gently, entertained entirely until he eventually exhausted himself and fell asleep. Usually, Wilbur would tuck him in at that point and put his guitar away, but sometimes, he would keep playing.
One night, when he decided to keep going, Wilbur noticed Tommy sneak into the room. He didn’t say anything, or interrupt, but he sat down by his brother and listened, placated by the music until Wilbur decided it was time to sleep.

The next night, he kept playing again, and this time, both Tommy and Tubbo walked in and silently began listening. They huddled next to each other near the bedroom’s fireplace, a blanket draped around their shoulders, and fell asleep that way, lulled into a state of peace by Will’s playing.

Curious to see if it would happen again, Wilbur played a third night in a row – and this time, all three of his fellow L’Manbergians listened in quietly. Eret wasn’t someone he was expecting to ever see join his playing sessions, but Wilbur found them to be a welcome presence, even when they couldn’t stop themself from humming along to certain melodies.

Soon, the guitar sessions became nightly. Wilbur would play Phil’s war hero songs until he ran out of them, and then he’d slip in some of his original music. The other three would simply relax to the music. Eret started off listening on his own in a separate huddle, wary of overstepping, but as the weeks passed, they started to huddle alongside Tommy and Tubbo, their humming and occasional singing prominent and soothing.

One day, Wilbur sang a new song. It wasn’t anything technologically fancy – just a short theme to perk up his family after a long day’s work. Still, though, he couldn’t help but feel his chest swell with a sense of pride as he sang the lines for the first time, noting how his three allies’ eyes widened as they realised what Will was playing.

“I heard there was a special place, where men could go to emancipate.
From the brutality and the tyranny of their rulers.
Well, this place is real, you needn’t fret.
With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, and Eret.
It’s a very big – and *not* blown up L’Manberg.”
He sang that line with a warm chuckle. Maybe Dream’s men would blow them up eventually. For now, they were safe and whole. He hoped that fact made the Dream Team very angry.

“Our L’Manberg,” Wilbur hummed. “Our L’Manburg.”
Clueing in, he heard Tommy and Tubbo join in on the third repetition. “Our L’Manburg.”
On the last line, Eret finally joined in, deep voice a perfect balance compared to Wilbur’s higher melody. The four sang together, voices blending into a triumphant song.
“Our L’Ma-a-anburg….”

There were a few moments of silence after Wilbur finished, a warm smile on his face as he rested his hand on his guitar.
“Was that our anthem?” Tubbo piped up quietly, voice thick with exhaustion from the day’s work. “I didn’t know we had an anthem… Did Phil write it?”

“No,” Wilbur replied. “I mean – yeah. It’s our anthem. But Phil didn’t write it, I… well, you know, I like to think I have a little talent.” He suddenly felt a little embarrassed at having written an anthem for their makeshift town of all things, face heating up despite himself.

“We’re basically a real country,” Tommy said, quietened by his awe. He didn’t seem to pick up on Wilbur’s embarrassment. “Phil would be so proud of us.”

Eret leaned in from where they’d been half-asleep, suddenly awake again. “We’re not a real country yet.” they said. “There’s only four of us. Uh... five, if you count Fundy.”
“We can get more people,” Wilbur said abruptly, surprising himself with how speedily he cut in. “Accept refugees. Grow our town. We’re basically rebuilt, aren’t we?” The leader eyed the three with a quirked eyebrow, silently prompting an update on their projects.

“The farm’s basically perfect,” Tubbo beamed, pride shimmering in his eyes.
“Yeah, and I’ve made all the houses look posh and shit.” Tommy grinned, giving a little mock salute. “I was hoping you’d let us get more people. I worked really hard on the houses and everything.”
Eret smiled. “I’ve almost finished the walls. We’re as safe as can be.”

Wilbur was silent for a moment as he looked over to where Fundy was asleep beside him. Opening the town to refugees was a tall task, but it would make the town safer for now. If they were secretive about it, L’Manberg could grow its nation without even being noticed by the Dream Team. Plus, if Tubbo’s stories about his parents were true, the people who lived outside the walls were all either hybrids or hybrid supporters. They’d be making a safe haven for the people. A safe haven for hybrids. A safe haven for his son. A hybrid wouldn’t have the need to riot and turn feral if it was in a place it felt cared for.

In L’Manberg, they could renounce their animalistic ways. They could be human. They could be happy.
“Then let’s go do it,” Wilbur said, a serene smile on his face. “Let’s make L’Manberg a nation.”
The cheers of his family reassured him that he was in the right.

Chapter Text

Once again, the plan was simple – the best ones always were. Eret and Wilbur would be in charge of locating crumbling settlements and secretly relocating stragglers into L’Manberg’s walls. There were a surprising amount of reports of falling towns every month, and it didn’t take long for them to start hearing of settlements in dire need of assistance.

They weren’t in wartime yet, but Wilbur knew they would need to make a good first impression, so he decided to break out the uniforms, distributing them among the group. They were well-made, comfortable despite their formal presentation – Wilbur almost felt like he didn’t deserve to touch the commanding near-black fabrics of the general’s outfit. It fit him well, surprisingly, even without adjustments, the striking complexity of the suit sharpening his features and giving him a new, powerful air of authority.

It felt almost unnatural seeing Tommy and Tubbo wear the uniforms, the wartime outfits contrasting their childlike faces – even though they wouldn’t be leaving town, Wilbur had felt it was key for them to try and appear a little formal in the presence of newcomers, especially if they were to be their guides to freedom. With minor adjustments, the blazers and sashes fit them perfectly, and Wilbur’s heart filled with pride whenever he laid eyes upon them. They were becoming something great, he could feel it. The fox couldn’t help but wonder if Fundy would eventually grow up to wear one of the uniforms himself.

The day for the first departure came around sooner than expected. A nearby village had been raided beyond repair the past week, and most of the villagers would finally be running out of food. Now was the perfect time to find out if their strategy would work. Tubbo had spent the past planning month finding wild farm animals in the forest (all likely set free from abandoned settlements), and he’d managed to procure a couple of horses for the men. Normally, horse breeding was a rigorous year-long project, but these horses seemed to be fully primed for action already – perhaps they gravitated towards hybrid presence, or maybe Wilbur’s luck was just being a little kinder to him this year.

(Maybe that meant their next disaster would be a devastatingly huge loss, but for now, he wasn’t going to look the literal gift horse in the mouth.)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Wilbur said aloud, as he let Eret lead him to the entrance of the nation. The leader was still a little unsteady on horseback, having never had the opportunity to ride one directly. His horse was brown, with white accents – Will had caringly named it Milo at some point over the past week. He’d left Fundy in Tubbo’s care, and though he knew the teen would look after his son, he couldn’t help but worry if he was doing the right thing or not.

“Honestly, me neither,” Eret replied, laughing. They seemed more comfortable on the back of their horse, which was a deep, obsidian black colour. The L’Manberg uniform looked good on them, too, navy blue accompanying their complexion well. Wilbur thought that it must have been designed for the wolf. Maybe it was fate that had brought this hybrid to their side when they’d needed them most.

The entrance to L’Manberg was nothing complex yet, just an arch in the wall that had sprung up. Despite its simplicity, though, it still appeared grand, and Wilbur could not help but gaze up and around at the opening as he and Eret rode through. To think that just last year, they’d been travelling here with almost nothing to their names. Now, they were well-stocked with food, and clothing, and supplies. Sure, maybe their prosperity wasn’t eternal, but that didn’t mean Wilbur felt any less proud of his achievement. In only a year, they’d rebuilt the forgotten town on L’Manberg. He wondered how long it would take to put it back on the map.

“You remember the directions, right?” Wilbur asked aloud, voice hushed now that they were out of the safety of the walls. The crumbling settlement wouldn’t be far on horseback, but there was a chance they would need to set up camp with the refugees, and he really didn’t want to end up losing his way on top of that.

Eret grinned. “Don’t worry, sir,” they reassured, “I’m great with directions.” Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief, gently prompting his horse to follow after the wolf’s trail.
The journey was relatively quiet, Eret seeming at peace in the midst of the forest. The wolf hummed a gentle melody as they travelled, a modified version of the anthem Wilbur had sung about a month ago. Of course he’d be at peace, the fox reminded himself. Eret wasn’t a repressed mess of a hybrid.

Wilbur still didn’t like the forest, not really. In the past year he’d learned how to push the majority of its whisperings out of his mind, but that didn’t make it any better for him. Instead of the natural tug of the wild, now he felt a bitterly empty hollowness, and every inch of his psyche screamed for him to open up again. Opening up would mean relenting to his animal nature, though, and the leader could not risk that. A bit of cold couldn’t hurt him much, right? Wilbur would do anything to keep his humanity in check.

He let out a deep breath as he rode onwards, putting the concerns out of his mind. This was an important mission. He couldn’t let his animal side distract him today.

--

Dream’s men really were merciless.

By the time the two L’Manbergians arrived at the village’s location, all that was left of its structure was a charred ruin. The heavy scent of hybrid fear laid thick in the air, piercing through the bitter taste of soot and ash. This place can’t have been that developed, not yet – though the reports Eret intercepted had claimed that over a hundred threatening individuals lived here, it was entirely possible that Dream’s scouts had lied in their statement in order to make their pursuits sound more impressive.

Sliding off of Milo and leashing him to a nearby tree, Wilbur let out a breath of fearful awe at the scenario, slowly approaching the burnt wreck. Despite the fallen state of the settlement, the fear-scent of the nesting hybrids was still strong and fresh. They can’t have left yet. Behind him, Eret did the same, audibly scenting the air.

“I think they’re still here,” the wolf confirmed in a whisper. “Should I call out to them?”

Wilbur thought for a moment. “Don’t use your English,” he said after a moment’s thought. “And don’t be too loud.”

“Huh?” Eret’s ears twitched in confusion. “Don’t use my English?”

“This was a hybrid den,” the leader reminded them. “They’re hybrids. English will scare them.”

Understanding flickered across Eret’s face like a lightbulb, and the wolf stepped further into the city, their voice raising in volume. Hybrids didn’t often use their ‘hybrid voice’, and Wilbur was grateful for that – when hybrids resorted to sounding like animals in everyday speech, it was often a warning sign for their ferality. When Will had decided to reclaim his humanity, he’d quickly understood the need for him to never use his hybrid voice again.

It felt wrong commanding for Eret to use theirs, really. Wolves had strong hybrid voices, most of their sounds being rough and snarly and threatening. Will had to fight the urge to run when their yipping began. Their voice started quiet and tentative, clearly rough due to lack of use, but slowly picked up in frequency, the soft animalistic noises echoing through the burnt settlement gently.

For a few moments, Wilbur assumed it hadn’t worked, wondering with a sinking heart if the scent was fresh only because the inhabitants were freshly dead – but soon, life began to stir among the wreckages. He watched with a mixture of awe and apprehension as the charred remains of the houses began to shift, scorched planks of wood tentatively being pushed away from the inside. The leader stepped closer to his companion, brown eyes trailing around in awe.

Only one villager came out at first, dirtied and muddied by smoke and ashes, their unidentifiable hybrid ears flattened to the top of their head in fear. They were frighteningly skinny, and seemed to watch the two L’Manbergians with wide, worried eyes.

Eret seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the fact that there was life still in the charred remains of the dens, their yipping fading into stunned silence. Noticing their hesitation to speak, Wilbur stepped forward to take charge of the situation, a welcoming smile appearing on his face.

“We heard you were in trouble,” the fox said, allowing himself to slip into his more charismatic identity. “My name is Wilbur, and this is Eret. We’re here to help you.”

--

Earning the trust of the first hybrid was the only slightly difficult part to the operation, apparently. Wilbur told them of the nation they were building, reassuring them they would be safe if they decided to follow them inside the walls. That was all this hybrid had wanted, apparently, because as soon as the leader promised them safety, they were off to collect all of the survivors.

“Wow,” Eret whistled in awe, having taken a backseat in the actual discussion. “You’re good at this.”

Wilbur chuckled. “I’ve always been more of the talking type.”

It didn’t take long for the refugees to collect in the centre of the ruined town. There weren’t many – around fifteen hybrids and ten humans tops. Most had probably fled to the capital or unfortunately died in Dream’s blaze. Twenty-five was a lot, though, when it came to L’Manberg. This would be their first start, a beginning of a new home for those who were lost.

The first hybrid must’ve successfully convinced them, because a human stepped forward. He looked to carry himself with a level of pride, even through his ceaseless shivering – had this been their mayor? He looked a mess, clothes tattered and ruined with bloodstains, and dark black soot staining his skin.

“Please lead my people to safety,” the man pleaded, desperation shimmering in his eyes. “Your L’Manberg is the only hope we have.” He looked to be deferring to Wilbur’s authority, despite easily being twice his age. The fox had to pause to take that fact in. He’d never had a human look up to him so quickly before. Was the uniform really that helpful?

“Of course,” he replied, trying to calm his suddenly raging nerves. He was really doing this, huh? “Your people will be safe following us.”
“Then I relinquish my power to you.” The man turned to the mass of refugees, stepping aside to gesture to Will. “Please, let us trust this man with our lives. He is your leader now.”

The people cheered quietly, their spirits lifted, and Wilbur felt a flutter of pride bloom in his chest. Beside him, Eret was beaming, their smile wide on their face. The fox was silent for a moment as he looked over the crowd, noting how their once despondent expressions had been replaced with a faint shimmer of tentative hope.

In a smooth movement, Wilbur raised his fist in the sky, a silent display of power and rebellion. One by one, the others joined in on the motion, sullen frowns replaced with hesitant smiles.
“People,” Wilbur said, voice rising above the chattering. “Thank you for trusting me. Really, thank you.” He couldn’t stop his smile from widening despite the mood of authority he was trying to channel. “The journey to L’Manberg is a half day’s walk. If we stick together, we will remain undetected. Dream’s men have yet to find us, and if we are careful, we can keep it that way.” A ripple of agreement rushed through the group. “Remember, we aren’t safe until we are inside our walls. Stay strong, safe, and quiet. Alright!”

Lowering his fist, Wilbur turned to lead the group back to where they’d left their horses. Hefting himself back on Milo’s saddle, he turned to look down upon the refugees once again. Already, they were clustering, preparing for the long walk ahead in groups of families. Eret climbed onto his own horse, trotting around to the other side of the group in order to create a protective formation, giving a thumbs up to Wilbur.

“We’re heading out!” the leader spoke, cutting through the hesitant chatter of the huddled people. “Next stop: home.”
At that, he nudged Milo into a steady trot, and the future of L’Manberg began its long trek home.

--

It was an entirely different feeling, leading twenty-six people into the walls of L’Manberg as the sun finally began to set above them. The walls, partially camouflaged by the lush forest, stood tall and proud, a welcoming sign that they had made it home unscathed and whole.

The path through the town had been completely renovated and cleaned up over the past thirteen months, a far cry from the rubble-ruined wreck the gang had once found it in. As the actual living land came into sight, the refugees seemed to perk up, an excited chatter building among them as L’Manberg’s gates closed behind them.

They passed by the farmland on their slow journey. Tubbo was in the middle of working, tending to a field of wheat with practiced efficiency. On his back, Fundy was strapped, watching over his shoulders with great interest. It would be harvest soon, and the crop stood tall and golden, almost taller than the teen himself. He wore the L’Manberg uniform even as he worked, though the jacket had been left hanging on a nearby fence post.

“Tubbo! We’re back!” Eret called, waving to the boy. He perked up at that, focused expression turning into one of excitement. He waved back to the travelling party with excitement.
“Welcome back!” Tubbo responded. “Tommy’s in the farmhouse! I asked him to fix the stables for you!”

“Thank you, Tubbo!” Wilbur piped up, waving as well. The ex-leader of the refugees looked out over the field of crop, his eyes widening as he took it in. For a small group, they really had achieved a lot. Most of their farmland prosperity was only thanks to Tubbo’s handiness with redstone, really, and Tommy’s persistence when it came to repeated repairs.
The group carried on up the path, only slowing down as the farmhouse came into sight.

“Where are we to stay?” the ex-leader finally piped up, voice betraying his exhaustion. “Surely you don’t want us to sleep in the farmhouse with the animals.” A ripple of displeasure sounded among the people at that idea, particularly the hybrids.
“No, no,” Wilbur shook his head. “I’m taking you to my brother. He can assign your families appropriate housing. We aren’t exactly… short on living space. You are the first refugees to join us, after all.”
Eret quirked an eyebrow at that, as if they were silently questioning the decision to put so much responsibility on Tommy’s shoulders.

Wilbur made a silent calming motion in response. Tommy was almost eighteen, and he was the one who’d done most of the house refurbishment. He was fully capable of it.

The two L’Manbergians dropped off of their horses at the external stable, shuffling to tie them up properly. Wilbur gave Milo one last pat on the head before leaving him to open the great oak doors.
As expected, Tommy was inside, reclining on a hay bale. He must have finished not long ago, because he looked exhausted, hair a golden mess on his head. Despite his apparent tiredness, though, he perked up instantly, blue eyes widening as he spotted his older brother entering.

“Wilbur!” he called, half-tired frown immediately turning into a grin. “Was the mission a success? Are we a nation now?”

“Yep,” he replied, giving a thumbs up. Standing aside, he let the refugees filter in, no longer clustered so tightly now that the danger of immediate death had passed them. Eret followed after, readjusting their sunglasses in the new lighting. “You know the village best, so I was wondering if you could find them somewhere to stay? One house per family, I think.”

Tommy stood up immediately, giving a mock salute. “You got it, big man!” he beamed, revitalized. He flung on his L’Manberg blazer, striding towards the group confidently. “You guys are so lucky. My houses are what all the women would call PogChamp.”

At that, he started to lead the groups out again, chattering about nonsense the entire way. The bustling refugees waved their thanks to the two who’d rescued them one by one as they left until they were all gone, trailing after Tommy with a new sense of life breathed into their steps.

Feeling a weight finally melt off of him, Wilbur flopped back on the hay bale Tommy had just been sat on, a heavy sigh escaping his chest. As thrilling as it was to lead twenty-five people from a burning city to a new home, it was awfully draining.

“What are we going to do with all those people now?” Eret wondered, moving to sit behind their leader tentatively. They looked just as tired as Will felt, even with the sunglasses covering their eyes.
Wilbur was silent a moment, mulling it over. “We can give them jobs tomorrow,” he decided. “Tubbo would appreciate the help. But for now, I just want to give them a good home. Dream’s men can’t touch them while they’re in our walls.”

Eret hummed quietly, sinking into the tightly woven hay tentatively. “Maybe some of them can repurpose the shops Tommy refurbished.”

“You think we can get enough people for a working economy?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I’m that good a leader.”

“You’re an excellent leader, sir.” Eret smiled. “We only managed to rebuild L’Manberg under your guidance. And we only managed to get those refugees because you earned their diplomatic trust.”
Wilbur let out a nervous laugh. “Are you buttering me up or something, Eret?”

“No, just being honest! I really do think we can make this nation work if we keep going.”

The fox fell quiet as he thought over the possibility of that. Leading a nation of hundreds, maybe thousands of people… it sounded exciting, actually. Even with the constant threat of a raid from Dream’s men. Back in the capital, Wilbur hadn’t exactly had the greatest self-esteem. What hybrid would, knowing they were sub-human from birth?
There was just a slight catch, though. If Wilbur readily accepted the role of a leader, would he ever be able to accept himself? Animals weren’t suitable to lead. Wild creatures were known for making rash decisions, after all. Who would trust a feral fox to lead a town against someone as organised and threatening like Dream?

He tugged his beanie further down on his head absent-mindedly, cursing how the motion had become a sort of emotional crutch for him. Wilbur tried to put the concern out of his head. As long as he was hiding, he wasn’t an animal, he was human. He could be the leader these people needed. He could be the father that Fundy could rely on.
Will turned to Eret with a faint smile on his face. “I think so, too.”

--

Time seemed to pass by in a surge, the days blending into each other as L’Manberg slowly but surely rose from the dust. Wilbur and Eret continued to introduce refugees into their town, housing the displaced village folk and distributing work among the healed. Very soon, the founders no longer needed to upkeep their initial menial roles, instead overseeing the townspeople’s work in an organisational position. It almost felt like they’d adopted a government role, inadvertently becoming the men at the head of the country’s reformation.

Wilbur spent the majority of his day on his feet, managing reports from the folks on watch duty and planning out resource distribution. At some point, he adopted one of the manor’s rooms as a personal office, retreating to it whenever the publicity of leadership became a little too much to bear. Of course, Fundy stayed by his side every step of the way, never leaving his side for more than a moment any time he was safely inside the walls.

His son grew with the nation, developing faster than Wilbur could ever have imagined. He seemed to grow more curious as the days passed, stumbling around the office with unsteady steps as soon as he learned to walk. Wilbur felt a warm twinge of affection spark in his chest when he finally learned to walk alone without assistance at the age of two, charging around the manor with a revitalising spark of life.

Fundy seemed to show an increasing interest in the forest – Wilbur would sometimes take him outside the manor while he made his rounds to the wall’s watchmen, hoping the fresh air would do the kit some good. He still didn’t like the forest’s influence, the numb feeling sickening him every time, but Fundy would gasp in awe. Once, he’d tried to run into the bushes unprompted, spurred by some strange foreign instinct, and Wilbur’s heart had raced as he rushed after his son to keep it back.

The kit had babbled in disappointment, disgruntled almost-English yelps pitchy as he threatened to start crying.

“Fundy, it’s not safe in the forest,” Wilbur had murmured, resting on his knees so that he could hold his son in a tight embrace. “You can’t just run out there. We’re humans, not animals.”
In his grasp, Fundy struggled for a few moments in defiance, before giving into the pressure and wrapping his little arms around his father. He mumbled a non-English affirmation, and Wilbur sighed. He hated having to deny his son anything, but he couldn’t help the cold truth of the world.

Tommy and Tubbo loved getting to come home to the manor and see Fundy, and Wilbur couldn’t help but feel warm whenever he saw his two brothers play with his son as he got the last of his work done. He wished he could join them more often, but as more people joined their little rebelling faction, the demands of leadership seemed to only stockpile, especially as fears of discovery started to become very, very real. Eret had noticed the weight on his shoulders at one point and offered to take a greater administrative position, but Wilbur had declined politely. It wasn’t the wolf’s job to continue Phil’s legacy. This was something Will had to do by himself.

The people of L’Manberg seemed to respect Wilbur greatly. It was an odd feeling, being able to walk down the streets and receive waves and smiles of genuine joy from fellow hybrids. Budding shop owners would fluster as he walked into their establishments, tripping over themselves to greet their leader. It was new. They likely saw him as human, and that thought thrilled Wilbur in an odd chilling way. He ought to be happy that the people saw him as having earned his humanity, so why did it make him feel so empty? Still, he didn’t let that odd contradiction keep him down as he completed his duties, learning to carry himself like a true general would as he carried himself down the streets of his nation.

With the dawn of the third year of repairing came the first foray into real defensive preparation. As the flow of refugees ebbed away and the walls finally reached maximum capacity, the nation finally had a foothold in resource stockpiling. Iron was no longer in scarce supply, and soon, the barracks had use again. Wilbur and Tommy found themselves down there more times than not, with Fundy nearby keeping himself entertained in the newly-restocked chests of fruits and natural building blocks.

“Our luck’s going to run out eventually,” Wilbur said with a grim look on his face as he looked over the warmly lit planning room. “Tommy, when Dream’s men attack us, I’m going to need you at my side. Understood?”

The gravity of the situation didn’t seem to fully register in Tommy’s head, because he flashed a trademark grin as he leaned against the war table, a flash of childlike innocence glimmering in his blue eyes. “You can trust me, Wilbur,” he said, laughing. “I’ll be the best damn right hand man this SMP has ever seen.”

Wilbur laughed despite the gravity of the situation, his younger brother’s spirit lifting his own. “Good,” he said, feeling his own eyes crease with his smile. “I have plans for our nation. We can’t fight Dream with some loosely rallied townspeople, after all.” He paused, waiting for Tommy to nod along to his words before continuing. “I think we ought to form a proper battalion. A military to threaten Dream’s own destruction squadron. If we can’t match them in raw individual skill, we may at least be able to keep them at bay with numbers.”

Tommy hummed, as if he were considering the plan. “You’re saying we should make soldiers and shit?” he mused aloud, hand instinctively going to his chin as he thought. “Hybrids are really good fighters. We can definitely stand a chance if we do, but what if nobody wants to fight?”

“Are you kidding?” Wilbur couldn’t stop himself from chuckling again. “Haven’t you heard the people recently, Tommy? The spirit of L’Manberg lives on in them.” The townspeople were livelier than ever, a cheer of rebellious pride growing among them every day. For hybrids, they seemed to show a promising amount of loyalty, their smiles and hopes of liberation intoxicating even to Wilbur.
“I believe we have a good chance at defeating Dream’s men, once and for all. For Dad.”

A beaming smile settled itself on Tommy’s face again as he rose a fist in the air. “For Dad!”

And so, on the third year of L’Manberg’s existence, plans for a proper resistance force finally went into full swing. For the first time ever, Wilbur flew their flag sky high, erecting it on a pole in the centre of town where it could wave proud and tall.

--

Fundy’s fourth birthday was one to remember. It was the first time the founding group were free enough to celebrate it with him properly, booking the day off and relegating their duties to their subordinates in the village. The kit had started to speak not long ago, though he was far quieter than Wilbur had been at his age. Fundy seemed to think extensively before he spoke, pausing before every phrase as if he were afraid of saying something wrong.

That wasn’t the case now, though. He seemed to simply vibrate with joy at the sight of the decorated manor, its wooden walls beautified with soul torches and cyan wool banners (Fundy seemed to quite like the colour blue, so Wilbur had wanted to go all out for him on his special day).

It was nothing extravagant – they couldn’t spare many resources from their steadily growing military – but it was something to remember, the brothers and Eret sharing in the festivities of the occasion with sugar and fruit and all kinds of good treats. Fundy seemed overjoyed, his eyes glimmering with joy as he squealed in pure happiness at the warm environment of it all. It hurt Wilbur that he might not be happy for long, that Dream could very well be priming to take them down at any moment, but for now, his son’s happiness made him hopeful for the future.

Eret was surprisingly soft with his son – maybe hybrids just had an innate connection. They seemed to revel in playing chase with the four-year old kit, letting him chase them around the manor’s living room with vigour. Wilbur tagged in at one point when Eret needed a breather, suddenly unable to squash the urge to play chase with his son despite the logical part of his brain reminding him to keep control. The two foxes tumbled to the carpeted floor in a tumble of limbs, the game of chase ending in a resounding victory for Fundy as the gangly-limbed kit pinned his father to the ground with a triumphant yip.

“I got you!” Fundy exclaimed, his words coming out breathy as he rested on his dad’s chest. “I won, I’m the winner!” He beamed a wide toothy grin, triumphant pose wavering as the day’s exhaustion finally caught up to him. The kit crashed to Wilbur’s chest in a whump, taking full privilege of the position to snuggle into his father’s laying form. Will laughed breathily, running his un-pinned hand through his son’s messy hair.

“You did win,” the fox said affirmingly, unable to mask the affection in his words. “You’re my little champion, Fundy. I’m so proud of you.”
Fundy giggled, the noise coming out as a warm kit-like purr despite himself. He burrowed his head into his father’s casual clothes.
“I love you, dad.” he mumbled, words slightly muffled by the soft fabric of his clothing. He yawned, clearly completely tuckered out from the massive amounts of running he’d been doing mere moments ago, despite the fact that it was barely mid-afternoon. He’d let his son rest for now.

“I love you too, son,” Wilbur smiled, sitting up so he could embrace his son properly. He’d grown a great deal from when he was a newborn kit, already so much larger than he had been beforehand. The fox ran a hand through the kit’s hair one more time, and his heart stilled momentarily as he felt something that snapped his mind to attention. Tufts, poking upwards, parted Fundy’s hair, slowly growing out of the boy’s head.

With growing, of course, came the maturation of hybridity. Wilbur tried to still his beating heart as he felt his son lean into his touch, the tufts twitching under his gentle touch. His son was becoming a full fox. A true hybrid. Just like him. As much as he loved his son, the leader couldn’t shake a fear at the idea of Fundy developing further. He didn’t want his son to suffer, after all. The words of Hybridology lessons rang loud and clear in his mind, scathing remarks of teachers cutting any hope he had of simply accepting his curse at face value.

A soft snore from Fundy cut Wilbur’s fear short. The kit had fallen asleep in his arms, curled up into a ball. He couldn’t worry about his hybridity. Not now, at least. He had a family to keep together. A nation to run. Wilbur was past worrying about his humanity, surely.

Cautiously, he rose to his feet, wobbling a little thanks to the extra weight of his son in his arms. He made a shushing motion to the other three family members as he passed by, and they simply smiled, expressions softening at the sight of the father escorting his son to bed gently. Today, they could just be happy, Wilbur thought. Today, they were a family. Nothing could go wrong.

--

Something went wrong.

Panic echoed through the streets of L’Manberg as Wilbur hastily changed into his General uniform, doing his best not to disturb Fundy. He felt cold sweat settle on his skin as he rushed out, heart beating heavily against his ribs.

The report came in mere minutes ago. Someone suspicious on the border of L’Manberg with a suspicious amount of supplies was surveying the landscape, a bandanna wrapped tightly around their head and a look of ill intent about their person. Both Wilbur and the reporter had watched with barely concealed horror as smoke rose above the horizon, behind the walls.
Arson. The Dream Team had struck their first blow at last, and they’d struck at midnight.

By the time Wilbur arrived at the borders on horseback, Eret was already there, clearly shaken as they ordered the guards to fight the now raging fire. Wilbur took them aside, placing a hand on their shoulder.

“How did this happen?” Wilbur barked, voice sharper than usual due to his spiking fear.
Eret’s breath seemed to still. “I was on duty,” they said. “I saw someone approach the walls, think for a moment, then light a match and throw it. I couldn’t react in time to stop him before he pearled away.” They looked pale in the light of the blaze, orange hues painting their sunglasses in a dangerous light.

Wilbur let go resignedly, turning to the firefighters and taking a bucket. The walls withstood the attack well, but they couldn’t leave the blaze going. He grit his teeth as he fought the blaze among his people, sweat beading on his forehead as he realised with a cold dread what this meant for the future of their nation. Peacetime was over, the time for preparations had ended. Dream’s men had found them, and they weren’t happy with what they saw.

It felt like they were fighting the flame for hours, though it can’t have been more than thirty minutes. The acrid tang of burning seemed to assault Wilbur’s senses, biting at his sensitive nose ruthlessly as he fought to battle the heat mindlessly.

The fire was dying now – it hadn’t had much chance to rage, thanks to Eret’s speedy response. The wolf had backed away in the panic, probably overwhelmed by all of the smoke and shouting – the leader couldn’t blame him, really. He turned to the congealing guardsmen, raising his hand in order to summon their attention.

“Men!” he called, surprised at how easily he took on an authoritative tone. “I need you to gather everyone in the town square. I have a speech to make.”
At the sound of compliance, Wilbur turned, and he strode back, deftly ascending to ride back into town. It was finally time to be more than a leader.

--

Standing at a podium with hundreds of people before him was not something Wilbur had ever planned to do in his life, and yet, here he was, at the dead of midnight, a cold feeling in his chest as he looked down on the people who admired him. He waited a moment for their murmuring to die down, catching the fearful eyes of Tubbo and Tommy beside him before he finally gathered the nerve to speak.

“People of L’Manberg,” Wilbur began, speaking clearly into his microphone with a commanding tone. “For four years, we have enjoyed peace out of the reach of the Dream SMP. I had hoped our peace would last for many years more, but unfortunately, fate has had other plans for our nation.” He paused for effect, noting how fear shone in the eyes of the crowd that stood before him.

“Dream’s men discovered us this evening, and struck the first blow. They aimed to burn our village down, as they have done so to many of yours.” A ripple of gasps ran through the crowd, and Wilbur steeled himself once more to keep going. “Fortunately, we were prepared. Our walls withstood their attack, and our men were ready to counter the threat. We withstood Dream’s attack readily, and I believe we have the strength to withstand many more.”

Wilbur tried to catch Eret’s gaze, but the wolf seemed hyperfocused on the crowd before them, their blank eyes shining in the dark. Perhaps they were still shaken by the blaze. Wolves stereotypically hated fire, after all.

“If we are to fight Dream in a war, though,” Wilbur continued, “I’m going to need your unwavering trust. I believe that if we can band together as a nation and a family, we can rise up against the crushing tyranny of our rulers, and become truly free and independent form our oppressors.” He rose a fist in the air to emphasise his point, voice inadvertently peaking into a rallying shout. “Please, lend me your strength. For freedom! For L’Manberg!”

There was silence, and for a moment, Wilbur thought his people might leave in search of new safety, but suddenly, a risen fist broke the stun. Quickly, the crowd of people reacted accordingly, raising their fists in the air in a move of solidarity. Their chants blended in to each other, rising in volume and frequency until eventually nearly every person was chanting with enthusiasm. They cheered for their nation, for their revolution, for their leader. Wilbur felt his heart warm with hope.

Maybe they really stood a chance. Maybe he’d succeed in making this land safe for his son.

Wilbur beamed as he thought back to the letter Phil had written for them, wondering if his father had ever rallied troops to war in a similar fashion. He hoped his dad would be proud of him.

“Viva la revolution!” Wilbur cheered, and beside him, he heard his brothers do the same. “For L’Manberg!”

--

Despite the energy of the night prior, with the dawn of morning came a grim confirmation of their new reality. A reporter had basically knocked the door to the manor down, panic evident in their eyes as they clutched an envelope with an arrow through it to their chest. Wilbur had answered the call, only to be met with the reporter shoving the paper into his hands and promptly escaping to go back to his now-stricter post formation.

Despite his earlier conviction to his cause, he couldn’t help but feel his heart stop as he looked down at the paper clutched in his hand. It was neat, made out of high-quality paper. On the front, in neat handwriting, lay three foreboding words that would dictate the very future of L’Manberg.

The fox couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he read over them slowly, the black ink letters surely burning themselves into his memory forever.

‘DECLARATION OF WAR.’

Wilbur took a deep, calming breath in an attempt to stabilise himself, painfully aware of his fox instinct to run and never look back. No, he couldn’t run away from his problems any more. Now, he had a nation to look after. Brothers to protect, a friend to guard. Most importantly, he had Fundy, his son, the boy who he had built these very walls to protect. These people saw him as a hero, as a human, as a man of respect. He could not defy their beliefs, not now.

He turned to re-enter the manor with a stilted movement, an impossible weight resting on his shoulders.

L’Manberg was now at war, and as long as Wilbur was still breathing, he would not let his nation fall. He had a legacy to uphold.