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It was cold.
Technoblade was cold.
He was a Piglin. He was always cold in the Overworld.
But this was a different kind of cold entirely. This wasn’t the kind of cold that came from living in the tundra, or from ruling over the Antarctic Empire, it didn’t come from a lack of heat outside. This kind of cold came from within. It came from his empty heart, from his churning stomach, from the lack of a father to embrace or a brother to tease. It wasn’t the sort of cold that would go away if he sat beside a crackling fire and let the flames tickle his feet, nor was it the cold that would leave him if he returned to the Nether and made his home there.
Technoblade was cold.
He looked into the distance from where he stood at the tree line, his ears flicking in the wind while the branches above his head creaked and groaned as they moved. His arms were folded across his chest, cloak drawn close to try and trap a little warmth to keep the ember still burning away in his chest alive. So long as that tiny spark of light remained, there was the promise of warmth: the promise of a tomorrow where he could see his father and brothers again.
No, not father and brothers… Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy. And Tubbo, sometimes.
He swallowed. They weren’t family anymore.
Technoblade felt a hand rest upon his shoulder and he flinched, an eye twitching as the gloved fingers pressed firmly enough to keep him in place.
“It’s time to go, Technoblade.” Dream said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Or do you want to go back on our deal?”
“No.” Technoblade said immediately, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a moment as if he could commit the scene to memory, before turning and looking at Dream. Technoblade was a warrior at heart, with the blood of many - too many - staining his hands. He was strong, never knowingly (or unknowingly) underprepared, but today wasn’t like that. Today wasn’t even close to that. He had no weapons, no armour, nothing in his inventory. He had no plan, no intentions of escaping.
“C’mon then.” Dream pushed the man. It was enough to make Technoblade stumble, but he knew it was a light push. Dream was the admin, there was no messing with him.
He’d made a deal, and he’d stick to the deal. But that deal said nothing about turning to look over his shoulder as he walked away, deeper into the forest. Dream didn’t tell him to look away - so long as he kept walking as he was instructed the man seemed to be unphased by it - and so Technoblade kept looking back for as long as he could.
As he walked further into the forest his view became more and more obscured, and the home that he’d lived in with Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy for so long became little more than a flicker of light through the branches. Eventually, the forest became too thick and the two men found themselves too far away for Technoblade to see the light anymore. Or perhaps it was late and Phil had turned the lights off. Perhaps they’d gone to bed for the night.
He wondered if Phil had noticed his absence at dinner.
He wondered how long it would be before his brothers began to ask questions.
He wondered if he’d ever be missed.
Technoblade pulled his cloak tighter around himself. He was cold.
# # #
The empty place at the dinner table didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t unlike Technoblade to miss a family dinner - he often had far grander adventures to busy himself with - but he usually said something in advance. That fact alone was the reason that Phil’s stomach churned too much for him to stomach much of his food. The conversations with Tommy and Wilbur at least helped to temporarily keep the worry at bay, and his anxiety only crept back when Tommy went downstairs to bed and Wilbur floated after him.
Phil was glad for the space. He wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to keep it together much longer.
“Tech…” He whispered quietly, his hand moving to his neck and reaching underneath the collar of his shirt to pull out the charms of the necklace he wore. To anyone that looked on, it would look like tat, junk, something poorly made and with little value. To an extent, that was probably true, but as Phil ran his fingers over the compass and watched the needle point towards a lodestone in the basement he could bask in the sentimental value of the item.
A compass from his son, pointing back to the place he considered his home. This was Technoblade’s home, the lodestone wasn’t destroyed, and so long as that was the case then Phil had faith he would come home.
He reminded himself that Technoblade took totems of undying with him when he went out, that he had full netherite tools and armour, and that he had more enchantments than anyone else on the server. Not just that, but he still had two lives left.
Technoblade would be fine.
He told himself that for the remainder of the evening when his son didn’t return home, and when he woke up the following morning to the sounds of Tommy and Wilbur leaving to do something ill-advised, he made sure to tell himself that again. It worked for the first few minutes of being awake, but it stopped working the moment he stepped foot into his son’s bedroom to see if he’d returned only to be met with a different sight entirely. Rather than the sleeping Technoblade he hoped he’d find, or even just a messy, unmade bed that could allude to him temporarily returning, he found everything put away neatly, a full suit of netherite armour on a stand in the corner of the room with his netherite tools all hanging on a rack. The bed was made, and left on it was an envelope.
Phil’s heart stilled in his chest, and he considered for a moment that he’d rather it stay that way than begin to beat again. If it did, if he kept living and breathing, then he had to step forward, pick up that envelope, and read whatever was inside it.
Death felt like an easier option.
But he forced himself to take in air, forced himself to take an uncertain step forwards and reach out with a shaky hand. He sat himself down on the edge of his son’s bed, not sure he’d be able to stay standing otherwise, and he began to pry it open. Phil blinked as he turned the letter over, recognising Technoblade’s calligraphy immediately, and he realised that his vision was already blurred with tears. He hadn’t even begun to read, he didn’t know what was happening, but his mind had jumped to the worse case scenario. He held the letter between in one hand, weighing down the bottom with his thumb to stop it from folding back over, and he used his free hand to wipe away his tears. At the very least, he needed to know what to tell Tommy and Wilbur.
If he told Tommy and Wilbur.
Realising that the tears weren’t going to stop coming, his hand moved to his mouth to hold back sobs and he brought the paper closer to his face, beginning to read.
Dear dad
Dear Phil
Sorry.
I don’t have much time, so long story short: I made a deal with the devil to keep you all alive. I’m to bring nothing with me, so the armour can go to whoever it fits best. The tools too. Anything else you can do as you please with, it’s not like I’m around to have a say in it.
Don’t try to look for me, it’ll only put you and my brothers Wilbur and Tommy in danger. I made this decision, and I’d make it again in a heartbeat to keep you all safe.
I know this doesn’t explain what’s going on, but even if I had time I don’t think I could. I’m sorry I can’t explain things. I’m sorry I can’t say goodbye.
Stay safe for me Phil. As long as you’re safe, everything I’ve sacrificed will have been worth it.
Love
Best Wishes
Kind Regards
Regards
Technoblade
(Your favourite son)
Wilbur found his father asleep on Technoblade’s bed, letter in hand, several hours later. He read over the letter and had to fight back tears of his own - only able to do so because he knew what crying would do to his ghostly form. Instead, he kept Tommy away from Technoblade’s room and gave Phil some time to be alone, not sure what more he could do for their father in that moment.
For a while, Wilbur and Phil came to the silent agreement not to tell Tommy about Technoblade’s absence, to make up lies or skirt around the question when asked. But Tommy wasn’t stupid, and the charade only lasted for so long. It was on Christmas day that he put the pieces together, and that only made Phil wish he’d told Tommy sooner. Revealing that something had happened to cause Technoblade to disappear when even he didn’t know what had really happened felt impossible, but it hadn’t been. Phil knew that now, because as he watched Tommy stand silently at the window and look out longingly for his older brother he realised that this was impossible.
“Toms…” Phil said, the usual Christmas spirit gone from his face. “You can’t keep waiting.”
“Yes I can.” He said stubbornly, and Phil heard his voice waver ever so slightly as his breath condensed against the window. Even without turning his head Phil could tell he’d been crying, but he’d never mention it aloud. These days Tommy was too proud to receive a hug from his old man, so Phil kept his distance no matter how much he wanted to cross the room and hold him close.
One dead son, one missing son… He wanted to bring Tommy into his arms and never let him go, protect him the way he’d failed the others.
“He’ll come home, dad.” Tommy whispered, leaning forwards to rest his crossed arms on the windowsill, and his head on his arms in turn. “It’s Christmas day. He has to come home for Christmas.”
Phil said nothing more, because there was nothing more to say.
And if he picked Tommy up and held him close when he eventually fell asleep at the window later that evening, exhausted from spending a day waiting with hope that his brother might return, then no one but him needed to know that.
“I love you, Tommy.” He said gently, his voice quieter than a whisper. “I can’t lose you too. I think it’d kill me.”
With those words, Phil tucked his son into bed. He made his way around the house, turning off every light and extinguishing the fire, before he retired himself.
As the light of his home faded on the horizon, Technoblade felt the embers in his chest die.