Chapter Text
The sun rises over a town, renewed with the strength and power of its new rulers. L'manberg stands strong, obsidian walls slowly coming being mined down by a hooded green figure, his body embraced with the dark netherite, enchanted with mystical powers. His stance is fierce, powerful, almost as if he were claiming a secret victory. He's been at work the whole night, but you couldn't tell, all is seen is the plastic smile he bears on his mask. If you stood closer though, took time to listen, you might hear him hum a cheerful tune.
It seems as though his facial expressions are in unison with the mask he wears on his face.
The citizens of this town, this L'manberg, their L'manberg, awake without the knowledge of what has happened the night before. All they had known were the walls of L'manberg, ever-changing, ever rearranging themselves. This time the walls were short-lived, it seemed that no one truly believed it though. How long before the next wall, how long before another decision gets made right under their noses. A collective silence rings across the small town, perhaps because it is the break of dawn, or perhaps because everyone is holding their breath, waiting to see how long this peace will last. One thing is for sure, though, they all notice the absence of a bright laugh, of a young vice president: loud, brash, reckless, but so full of love and joy.
The town might not be quiet for much longer, but the heavy silence between each word said, each noise in L'manberg, will last for a long, long time.
The president of the town awakes, a grim expression on his face. He walks outside, to gaze upon his town, to bask in the morning sun, and reminisces over the missing presence of a certain blond. His posture upright, looking straight ahead, almost as if he can see the future, a sharp intake of determination enters his system.
Mistakes are not things to dwell on, the logical president thinks to himself.
If you looked at him, despite the fitted suit and his fists all curled up, you'd see a kind young boy, a bright look of optimism on his face. You'd imagine he was going to great things. If you looked just a little closer, however, you might notice the glaze over his eyes, or his fists trembling ever so slightly.
And maybe, just maybe, you'd notice the way he looks at the sun, the way he might want to be engulfed by its warmth, a familial love that it seems he has lost.
Fundy holds a book in his hand, opens it up and reads through the log and the pseudonyms of one Tommy Innit. He puffs up his chest, claiming the momentary victory of having the little brat report to him everyday, and smiles with pride, but his heart's not in it. He was supposed to have a lot more of these. 12 more, to be exact. He sighs and closes the book, placing it in a chest across the room. Would he have made the same decision, if he was president? A pang in his heart shoots up as the fox-human hybrid looks outside his window, and his gaze wanders towards his late fathers home...well....sewer. He quickly shifts away, quickly turns and sees the president watching the sunrise. He shouldn't be dreaming like this, shouldn't be wanting more, Tubbo is doing the best he can.
He looks so small compared to the world in front of him, Fundy thinks, watching the president sigh.
Fundy remembers what it was like, to feel so small, but to want so much more. He remembers his youth, his rebellious days. Rebellion was much easier as a child, the consequences were so much more than he could anticipate though. Fundy was surprised that Tubbo, being so young, and so kind, hadn't wanted to go the extra lengths for his closest friend. For someone that young, it's a difficult decision to make. He has to be there for the young president. As a cabinet member. As the foreman.
As a friend.
As the sun rises, Ranboo looks upon his finally finished house, adorned with a giant R at the top. He can't quite remember why he'd wanted that, his mind feels fuzzy as he tries to think. It's not good for him to think, and pondering over his house is a trivial thing to try to remember, to push himself for. What he does remember, rather what the feeling of overbearing guilt won't let him forget, ias the new friend he had made, just recently exiled from L'manberg. It could've been him instead, but Tommy stood up for him. Every step of the way, even when the dual faced human-like creature couldn't remember. As the minutes man, Ranboo was probably supposed to have some sort of impartiality, apathy towards things. Everyone probably figured that he was good at that, his monotone like voice, the strange un-humanlike appearance, trouble remembering probably signaling to the fact that memories would never be distorted if they couldn't be recalled. But that isn't who Ranboo was. It just isn't
The problem is that Ranboo can't even remember who he is.
Quackity taps his foot impatiently, gazing obsessively at the pig scum in front of him. He hasn't slept tonight at all. He can't sleep most nights in L'manberg, and as the morning breaks, he goes off to Mexican L'manberg and gazes upon Man...L'manberg. He still can't shake the memory of the old government and its president, and the previous night has just reminded him of everything he suffered under...Schlatt. Quackity flinches thinking about the name, thinking about the doubts he's having being so close to the government of L'manberg. He's hoped that maybe because of the closeness, he could help rebuild, help change the curse of the presidency in L'manberg. But fate is repeating itself, and he's been through so much, Quackity just wants to be able to rest, peacefully. He sits on the ledge of his city, legs dangling off the edge, and lays his back flat against the hard soil. As he closes his eyes, the warmth of the rising sun comforts him, and so does the piece of land he is on, the one place where he knows he has full control...and power. Quackity eyes fly open and he sits up straight, trembling. He looks around fearfully like someone has whispered to him.
Like he doesn't want to admit that the thought was his own.
George bites his lip as he watches his once closest friend work on tearing the walls down. The same walls that were put up because of the destruction of his home, back when he was king. Who was he now? A memory floats in his head, one of the trio of Sapnap, Dream and him, all together. All laughing at each other, yet basking lovingly in the presence of each other. He sighs, lightly grazing his hands in his hair, missing the presence of a crown, one that was promised to him. When did things get so complicated? He wants to approach his best friend, but he just doesn't know how anymore. Instead he averts his gaze and looks towards his new home, Mexican L'manberg. He can see the presidents legs dangling off the edge, probably lost in a day dream and as he makes his way over to the land, George sneaks one last look at Dream
A parting glance perhaps.
Tommy. The sight is almost too pitiful to explain, for the young boy who once had the world in his hands, and his friends by his side. Tommy can feel the worried glances of his ghost...friend, but he ignores them, too mad at how the blissful ignorant ghost left L'manberg...left him, in ruins. The journey across the ocean, the burning of the belongings, the betrayal of a best friend all weigh him down as he heads in his tent, and he wishes he could sleep through the whole experience, the whole exile until he's allowed to see his best friend again. Even with the betrayal though, Tommy knows it won't be long till he's back home. He believes it with all his heart. Tubbo's his best friend, he's sure the president will visit him as soon as he can, and then they can make plans to escape, to fight back against Dream! And sure, exile is lonely, but he has Ghostbur! And everyone else will surely come visit once they figure out what's happened! It's what he'd have done anyways! What Tommy is quickly learning, however, is that everyone else.... is not like him
Theseus is learning the harsh truths of the world
Ghostbur watches over the young boy sleeping, and pushes away the ache in his chest, wanders away so that he can't hear the muffled sniffles of a young, lonely boy. The last time it was like this, just them two, far away from the rest of the world, it was......well....he can't remember exactly. The old memories of a tunnel comes to mind, filled with buttons, the promise of rebellion and uprising and- Ghostbur steadies himself and tries to calm his nerves. He can't be thinking too much about the past, it isn't good for him. It can't be his fault that all of this is happening though, it just can't. It goes against everything the pale ghost stands for. Ghostbur clutches his blue, feeling it fill up as the pain leaves his chest. Temporary relief, he knows it will be back in the morning. He hopes that in the morning, it will be like everything is back to the way it was. Which way? He's not too sure, just one that might make everyone...
Can perhaps make Tommy happy again.
The sun rises across the world, both places established and the ones that have yet to be discovered. The ground is filled with memories, both from the past and the present, and it senses visions of the future. The pain, the sorrow, the anguish. The triumphs, the celebrations, the unbridled joy. All the moments in between. But most importantly, it is filled with uncertainty,
and at the same time
It is filled with hope