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There are four ghosts in a small blackstone room underneath L'manburg.
They are trapped there, forever on the edge between playing pretend and a real man's war. Nobody comes to visit them. The smallest says it's maybe for the best.
They simply wait, brothers, son, and friend, for the end of a revolution they don't know they've already won. For the lingering fear of betrayal to pass by them.
It never does.
There is a ghost on the path, over the lake. He is only there sometimes, when he is not after the one who won. The one who killed him. He has an arrow in his chest and a bow in his hand and determination hardset in his eyes to counteract the blood still spread across his uniform.
He is a terribly excellent shot, after all this time.
Dream sees him in the horizon as he looks over his lands. The ghost glares.
The arrow passes through Dream. Had it been solid it would have hit his heart.
The ghost reloads.
There is a ghost taking a panicked breath behind a van. He looks back at the podium that doesn't stand anymore, at a president long gone. The arrow stuck through his back shifts as he moves.
All he knows is to run. All he knows is to leave, and to leave now, because Tommy isn't safe he isn't safe L'manburg isn't his anymore its ruled by a tyrant he has to go he has to go he has to go--
He runs. He does not know where he will run to, but for now, he runs. He always ends up back where he started, anyways.
There are three ghosts hovering meters above the ground. The platform they stood so proudly on has long since been demolished. The festival they celebrated has long since ended.
The concrete holding in the smallest still stands though, in the spirit world. He tries and fails to break it for the umpteenth time, tears of fear still in his eyes.
The president laughs.
The third laughs too, weaker, as he looks out at New L'manburg. He sees Quackity comfort Tubbo as they both look up at the ghosts. Or at least, what they can see of them.
Even alive, Tubbo has tears in his eyes. The ghost thinks that's odd, considering the fact that he won in the end.
There is a ghost sitting in a lake under an abandoned tower, next to an abandoned country in a forgotten ravine. He tried climbing the tower, once, but only got so far before he was pulled back down.
There is the ghost of a cow next to him. How it got there he has no idea, but he is grateful for the company. He can see why Tommy was so attached to it.
The ghost tosses an empty potion bottle, the only thing to his name, in the air and sighs. It falls on the ground. It doesn't break.
There is a ghost propped up against a crumbling mound of stone. The sign that once rested on it has been worn away from explosions and Withers and one rage-filled night when Quackity stormed up there and did his best to tear the monument down (it didn't budge). The gash in his side from where his vice president shot him is still prominent, the blood glistening in the sun.
Quackity spares the ghost a single glance before walking faster to his destination, trying to hide the tremble in his hands. The ghost smirks and drifts after him.
The ghost knows he regrets it, to a degree, deep down. It also sparked something in him, he can tell through the glint in his eyes. As it should be.
There is a ghost who returns to the van where he died too often for comfort. He takes a swig of a bottle laying there, one that only he can see, and sighs.
His chest tightens when he looks out the window. Nobody could see him. Not yet, at least.
He likes it that way.
He goes back out to haunt his proteges once again, taking the bottle with him.
There is a ghost roaming the lands. He sees all the others, all the deaths and past lives, and feels like he wants to cry. He has the feeling he knows why he wants to cry, but he doesn't really want to, does he? He doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to know why the ghost with the bow that follows Dream gives him hurt looks every time they cross paths, why the ghosts in the Control Room won't meet his eyes, why the ghosts of the man with the horns simply smirk and laugh and go on their way.
So he forgets, and takes a little more blue with him as he leaves the strange room carved into the mountain. He doesn't want to think about the lyrics on the walls.
He simply floats alongside his younger brother and forgets.
There is a ghost outside the castle. He cannot leave.
He watches as people come and go, traveling to the portal or to the outside lands. He sees the king a lot, too. (Of course he does, it's their castle.)
Not the king, no; Eret. The true King is gazing at him from atop a hill, guilt heavy on his face, even when obstructed by his goggles.
The feeling of wrongness in his chest grows.
The ghost doesn't know what else to do, so he makes a new protest sign. Then he breaks it apart into sticks. Then he makes a new protest sign. Then he breaks it apart into sticks. Then he makes a new protest sign. Then he breaks it apart into sticks. Then he makes a new
There are five ghosts in a small blackstone room underneath L'manburg.
The newest kicks and screams and cries for vengeance that will never be his. The oldest stares down the hall at a brother he doesn't know anymore. Technoblade only looks back for the briefest of moments.