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Let me tell you a story.
A story of greatness, a story of gods.
Well, it’s more of a legend now. Passed on from generations to generations, watered down by time, twisted by many. Some will tell you one version, others will tell you another.
But today, dear reader, is where I tell you the real story.
Today, I will tell you the story of the royal family of the Antarctic Empire.
Get comfortable, little one. You’re in for a ride.
It all starts with a man named Philza.
A young man blessed with the power of flight and cursed with wanderlust stands at the top of a frozen mountain in the middle of the arctic. To the eyes of men, he is but a simple wanderer; To the universe, he is a child born of greatness, blessed by the universe with the power of creation. To his enemies, an angel of death.
His fingers are blue and stiff, his wings covered in snow, and yet he smiles. And the universe smiles back, and tell him to create.
So, he does. He creates a home, a city filled with people alike and different. He raises crops from the frozen ground, creates fresh water pools that will never freeze, always safe to drink. He builds an empire with his own two hands with the promise to protect, the promise to bless those that live within its walls. In return, the people declare him king.
Forever a kind king, he is. With soft smiles and gentle palms, he carries his people to prosperity. He defeats those who threaten his peace with cold eyes, turns nations to ash with fire in his bones.
His people thrive, and therefore he thrives.
But, ruling an Empire all on his own can be lonely.
He watches families in the market; Parents with babbling toddlers and giggling children, who laugh and smile even if they tire. He is envious of their connections. Forced to outlive everyone he meets, to watch generations live and die and pass on their legacies, his heart aches for a family.
"Please," he whispers one night, heart struck with grief, eyes glued to the stars.
The universe answer in whispers, cradling him in their palms. "Do not cry," they say, "Be patient, little one. You will soon find the family you so desire."
The universe's words speak truth two summers later. Two boys, dressed in rags and filled with rough spirits; Two godlings yet to grow into their power. The God of Creation takes them under his wing, and promises them the world.
Heir to the throne, Technoblade. With powerful ruby eyes and piercing tusks of a piglin, cursed with voices loud and quiet. His very body demands bloodshed, his voices lust for war; Blessed he is to be born the Blood God.
Alongside him, his twin; Tall and lanky, never seen without a guitar. Wilbur Soot, with the voice of a siren, bleeds songs that bend people to his will. A twisted grin, loose and loud like the crave for madness flowing in his veins; A true God of Madness and Music.
The last to come is a surprise. Three years after the twins, a young boy who speaks fire and thrives in chaos appears in the empire. Found in the center of a burning bakery, Tommy is welcomed into the family with open arms. Antlers protruding his head that reach to the sky, milky white eyes, an unnervingly sharp grin. Loud and unnerving, he creates chaos wherever he walks, charms people with a single word. A God of Chaos he was born, a God of Chaos he will die.
They live in peace. Together, the four gods bring prosperity to their people and the land they walk upon. Together, the God of Creation and the Blood God create the strongest army, filled with withered spirits, fueled by the desire to protect. The God of Madness and Music fills the people’s lives with the prettiest songs, the loudest laughter, drunk on spirit and madness. The God of Chaos fills the children with spite, dances with them in the smoke of a burnt down forest, screams at the sky with them.
The Antarctic Empire thrives.
Now, this is where everything starts to crumble. Where history turns to stories, stories turn to legends, legends get twisted and watered down.
Many say the Empire was broken down, torn to shreds by a nearby country. Others say the King went mad, killed everyone within the walls including his own three sons. Some say the Empire was nothing but a legend, a bedtime story made up by parents to tell to their children late at night.
I'll be the first to tell you, all of these legends are absolute horseshit.
Centuries go by. The four watch over the Empire as it grows and becomes something much bigger than before. It grows, grows, until it’s spilling over the edges into other countries, until other countries begin to feel threatened by its presence.
At dusk on November 16th, the Antarctic Empire was breached. Thousands of soldiers charged into the border, sent by neighboring countries with the intention to destroy.
On the dawn of November 17th, blood is the only thing left on the land that was the Antarctic Empire.
On the night of November 16th, the King tore apart his creation, and evacuated his people under the blanket of night. By morning, blood and gunpowder coated the streets, and the bodies of fallen soldiers were piled high in what was left of town square. In the end, the Blood God and his voices were satisfied, and maniac giggles mixed with a haunting tune echoed far past the crumbling walls of their used-to-be empire.
"I think we've done enough here, boys." The eldest God said to his sons, bringing them close with his wings. The three of them collapse into him with warm smiles and quiet laughter.
From afar, Philza knows the universe is smiling down upon them.
With their people safe and the weight of a throne no longer on their backs, the four gods disappear from the land they once stood upon, up into the cosmos where they belong.
The people of the Antarctic Empire do not forget them. They build shrines in their names, pass on their stories and pray to them nightly. They bless those they can, and punish those who deserve it.
It takes well over a few centuries before the last time their names are spoken. It takes a decade more for their shrines to disappear, overgrown with vines and foliage, collecting dust and becoming comfortable homes for wild animals.
The gods, seemingly done with their earthly tasks, go dormant.
The universe cradles them in their palms, and silently prepares for the next adventure.
This is where my storytelling ends, dear reader.
However, do not be mistaken. This is not the ending of their story. Far from it, in fact. This is only the beginning.
But alas, some stories must be kept for another day.
Until next time.