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There was a still quiet over L’manberg. Deep craters littered the country’s topography, ripped tapestries waved in the wind, and there was a hint of gunpowder in the air. All of this was attributed to the man who’d fallen from grace and power into the depths of insanity as he destroyed everything he’d once loved and created. His name engraved onto the blown up rocks of L’manberg, just as the name of Ozymandias was etched onto the abandoned, crumbling statues of the barren desert.
However, hope was not lost. So long as Tubbo had the same pride in his nation that he did during its wake, the prestige of his nation could be restored. And so he and the citizens of L’manberg started to rebuild.
As stilted platforms towered over the cavernous holes, and houses decorated the nation, there was one house that seemed to spring up with no explanation. The house, perched on a hill that overlooked the entire country, was of peculiar shape and style. It was rumored to be inhabited by the ghost of Wilbur himself, though no one could be sure. Some say they saw him lingering around the craters late at night, or perhaps they said that he could be found looking over L’manberg from the window of his mysteriously built house.
With the press of a single button Wilbur became one of the most infamous names in L’manberg, right next to the disreputable Schlatt. Thus, despite the reoccurring sighting of his roaming spirit and the nagging curiosity as to where the house came from, no one acknowledged him. The subject was seldom discussed, and no one sought him out.
Almost no one.
At the foot of the rumored house, Philza tapped gently on the spruce door. He had a solemn, almost sad look on his face. The door slowly groaned open on its own, and after a moment’s hesitation, he invited himself in. As he did he glanced around at the interior, observing the simple decor. It looked less like a haunted house and more like a cozy cottage. It was dead silent, except for the creaking steps Philza made along the way. He seemed to be the only one there. Slowly, he explored the rooms of the house with a silent reverence, as if visiting a grave. Gradually, he made it up the stairs and into the room with the window overlooking the country. Gazing out said window he could see the sun rising in the east, and the orange hue and pink clouds that decorated the sky. It was serene.
“Hello, Philza.”
Phil turned his head to face the voice behind him. There lay Wilbur stretched out on a worn out sofa, languid.
“Will.”
Wilbur looked pallid and slightly transparent. His tattered coat and shirt were replaced with a fine yellow sweater which was the only color to be seen on him. The bags under his eyes from when they last spoke were gone, and, ghostly appearance aside, he looked as if he’d never endured a war.
“Pleasure for you to drop by after… how long has it been now?” Wilbur asked, bitter. His voice was coarse.
“I’m sorry Will I was just–”
“Just catching up with Tommy and Techno, right? The lesser of the disappointments?” Wilbur chuckled.
“You’re not a disappointment Wilbur. I– I just wish I could’ve done more to help you. To stop you. You didn’t have to do any of this.” After killing his own son, it was hard enough to even think about facing him. But he’d yearned to ever since that day.
This only made Wilbur laugh. “Oh Phil, Phil not even you could’ve stopped me. Where were you, hm? When I was fighting to make L’manberg independent? When I had it taken from me? When I spent every waking day trying to get it back and every night fearing that I’d be destitute for the rest of my life? Where were you then?”
Philza’s heart sank. “Wilbur you know I can’t be around all the time. There are other worlds I have to explore. Things I have to make.”
“Ah, but only now that I’ve made a ruckus have you decided to come check in. Just to tell me off. See, Phil, you didn’t come here to help me. It was never about helping me. You just wanted to swoop in last minute and save the day. That’s what it was about.” As bitter as his words were, they had a very relaxed and indifferent air about them, as if this was all matter of fact.
“I came here for you, Wilbur. I came here for my son!”
“Oh, don’t call me that,” Wilbur’s tone lost it’s indifference and he sat up. “How about you go take over the server with Techno, or help Tommy get his discs back or something like that. Prioritize your favorites like you always do and leave me to sully in my hatred alone.”
“You know I care about you. Why can’t you accept that? Why can’t you let yourself be happy? Even now you can’t even let go of what’s happened and move on to the other side.” Philza said, stepping forward.
Wilbur stood. “Just admit you don’t give a shit. If you cared you would’ve helped me when I needed you most. You were never there.”
“And I’m sorry!” Philza shouted. A silence loomed for a moment, with Wilbur looking at him in bored disbelief before his father continued. “All I came here to do is to apologize. That’s all I’ve wanted to do. I haven’t been there for you when I needed to and you’re right. If I could go back and change that I would. Not just for what happened to L’manberg, but for all you had to go through without me.” Philza turned towards the window. “I know you loved L’manberg. Even if I wasn’t here I at least know that much. And… and maybe I could’ve convinced you that you didn’t need to destroy it. That you were allowed the thing you loved and created. That everything was going to be okay.” The orange hue had changed to a bright blue. It was sunny out. It was beautiful.
After a moment without answer, Phil turned back. The room was empty and cold, and the house was completely silent.
He sighed, concluding there was nothing else for him to do but leave his son alone. His heart was heavy with nothing but the single wish to be able to go back and do more, because ultimately his son was right. There wasn’t a thing he could’ve done to stop him that day.
Hands slid over the railings, feet gently stepping downward. He took the time to soak in the house as he made his way towards the door. Fingers on the doorknob, he could feel a clear shift in atmosphere.
“Thank you, dad. For killing me.” The voice was coming from behind him. “I’ve never been more at peace.”