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Philza Minecraft awoke early in the morning, just as he always did. He rose from his bed, got himself cleaned up, got dressed and made himself breakfast. The house was quiet, but it was peaceful. He was alone, but not lonely. The letters he received weekly from his son managed to keep that small hole from growing larger. It had been several months since Wilbur had left to do his own thing and be fully independent, and Phil was very supportive of it, always encouraging his son to achieve any dreams he had.
Once he was ready for his day, Phil would start by going out to the fields and making sure his farms were still operating as they should be. He’d check on the cows, the bees, and collect all the ingredients that had been harvested. He’d then pack up some things and grab his stash of emeralds before heading to the nearby village to trade with them. That would be finished by late afternoon, and then he’d go on a short trip around the area, flying by past and current building projects, checking what materials he still needed to complete them. By the time the sun was setting he’d grab anything that was in his mailbox and set it on the table to read while he ate dinner.
Meal preparation was simple, and the food he made always tasted the best, especially knowing it was cooked from ingredients that he had grown himself. He sat down with a glass of water, his meal, and then went through the day’s mail. The daily newspaper, thank you letters from the nearby villages, solicitor bullshit, and finally what he waited his whole week for: an update letter from Wilbur. He would carefully open it, making sure to not ruin the envelope, before pulling at the letter inside and reading it to himself with a smile.
Dear Phil,
You remember that caravan I told you about last time? The one Tommy and I turned into a drug van? Well, we decided we wanted to declare independence from the Greater Dream SMP. A war is likely upon us, but we have many friends here that are going to support us. And we’re going to do our best! I promise we'll be as safe as we can. I’ll update you as the plans for independence progress.
Oh! Tubbo is here as well!
On another note, do you remember the lovely gal named Sally I told you about? Even if we don’t have a place to officially be wed, we treat each other just like a married couple. I hope you can meet her someday. She is the sweetest, most beautiful woman I have ever met. She is the light of my life.
I have one more surprise to tell you before I finish writing this letter!
At the bottom of the letter was a crude drawing of a baby rattle toy. Phil raised an eyebrow at this before looking at his son’s signature. “Much love to the future grandpa (in case you didn’t realise from my little sketch) and glowing regards, Wilbur Soot.” Phil’s eyes widened and he dropped the spoon that was halfway to his mouth back into his stew. He wasn’t sure if he had read that correctly.
“Wait, Will is a father?!”
-
A full two weeks had passed, and Phil had begun to grow worried after not receiving any letters from Wilbur. He did rationalise it as best he could since Will had mentioned a potential war in his last letter. With a tired sigh, he swooped down to land on the path that led to his house. Trying to brush away his worries, he had been working later and later on his latest build which wasn’t doing wonders to his health. As per his routine, he opened the mailbox, grabbed what was inside, set it on the table and made his evening meal.
He sat down and began to go through the stash of mostly junk mail. His eyes landed on a black wax seal with a familiar family insignia on it and his stomach dropped. Oh no, he thought, images of his son and his friends lying dead on the ground flashing through his mind. He abandoned looking at the rest of the papers in favour of opening this one as soon as possible. He visibly let out a large sigh of relief when he saw his son's familiar handwriting in the letter.
Dear Phil,
I’m sorry for not being able to write to you for a while. A lot has happened in the past few weeks and I couldn’t find time to write often. The war happened. It didn’t go well. One of our trusted members, Eret, betrayed us in favour of consolidating their power as the king of the Greater Dream SMP. We suffered heavy losses, and all of us sustained major injuries. We have been recovering well, and most of us are back on our feet once again.
We had lost the initial fight, however, Tommy challenged Dream to a duel. This resulted in Tommy being seriously injured once again and us losing the war. To my surprise, Tommy gave up his most prized discs in order for us to gain our complete independence. I cannot express in words to him what that meant to me. Tommy’s a great kid, and I hope he grows up to do even greater things than he is now.
You must have been shocked and worried upon seeing the colour of the wax seal. I… I regret to inform you that Sally has passed away. She got sick after our son Fundy was born, and no potions, nothing that you had taught me, could cure her. I am wracked with pain thinking about her, dad. I loved her so much and yet she left me so soon… I sometimes catch myself looking at Fundy as the cause of her death, but quickly slap myself for thinking such sad thoughts. Fundy is her legacy now, and I hope I can raise him well.
I really wished you could have met her… Hopefully you can meet your grandson soon. Times have been hard, but we have to push forward. I miss you a lot, dad. Glowing regards,
Wilbur Soot
Phil’s heart couldn’t help but ache at the emotion he could feel through his son’s words. He had lost someone so important to him so early. He finished his meal, cleaned up, and returned to his study to write a letter in response to his son. Perhaps some of his emotions and thoughts could reach him despite the distance between them. A thought suddenly occurred to him: why doesn’t he just go and visit Will? He’s having such a tough time, and they both miss each other a lot, so surely a visit would do both of them some good. He also really wanted to see the nation his son was so proud of.
Another week passed, and Phil was on the move. He made sure to tell Wilbur the next location he should send his letter to, so they could keep up correspondence. He was going to visit his son and nothing Wilbur said would stop him. He checked in at the humble inn, asking if there was any mail for him. The innkeeper nodded and came back with a letter sealed with a vermillion red, and his family insignia. Phil quickly thanked him, paid for a room, and dashed to read the letter.
Dear Phil,
My apologies but this will be a shorter letter. Tommy and I decided to hold an election to say that we had gained power through proper means, but it went south when a man named Quackity joined the election to run against us. We felt confident that we would win since we were far more well known, as well as Tommy went to great lengths to campaign for us. He gained an endorsement from Vikkstar and Schlatt, but the latter quickly turned against us.
Schlatt created his own party, and on results day, he had formed a coalition with Quackity, winning over us by 1% in the votes. He had immediately exiled Tommy and I from L’Manburg, and now we’re hiding in a ravine we found underground. Everything has gone wrong, and I hate to admit it but I’m a little scared. We need help to regain what we lost to that tyrant.
I know you have the address of where Technoblade lives. If you could send it to me as soon as possible, we might be able to take it all back. Glowing regards,
Wilbur Soot
Phil did not hesitate to reply to Wilbur with Techno’s current living address. He just prayed and hoped that it went well and that his son and his friends wouldn’t be hurt more than they already had been. He needed to hurry and get there, but he was still so far away. Sleeping out in the wilderness it would be then, not that he wasn’t used to it from his younger days.
It had been two weeks since Phil had heard anything from Will. He stopped in the town he had told Wilbur to address his next letter to, but despite being there for a few days, nothing had come in yet. His brain had jumped to the worst, worried about his son, his old friend. He was missing out on crucial information right now and it was beginning to slowly drive him crazy. A knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts.
“Philza? I have a letter addressed to you. I believe it’s the one you’ve been waiting for?” Phil flew out of his chair and thanked the innkeeper before sitting back down to read the letter. The seal was a formal red, so Phil couldn’t brace himself for whatever Wilbur had written in the letter.
Dear Phil,
I was forced to watch as my son tore down the very walls I built to keep him safe and burned our country's flag. Schlatt has Fundy and Tubbo under his thumb. It’s becoming harder every day to pick out who I can trust and who I cannot.
We sent the letter to Technoblade and he arrived much quicker than I thought he would. I suspect portal travel, since he is well versed with the Nether. It is good to have him on our side, I feel much more confident with him here.
Tubbo began working as a spy for us, and through him we’ve learned that there will be a festival soon. I strangely find myself growing excited for it, especially after talking with Dream.
I know it may seem weird to speak about my former enemy like this, but he’s against Schlatt, just like we are. He’s giving us the means to reclaim everything. I can’t spend too long writing. We must prepare. I can’t wait.
Wilbur Soot
The ending of the letter concerned Phil. He could tell from the slight shakiness to his letters, and his wording choice, that something was going on with Wilbur. He hadn’t even signed off with the usual “glowing regards.” He only wished he could make it on time to help him before it was too late. He did mention Nether travel, perhaps he should risk it if it means getting to his son sooner rather than later. No, as much as he wanted to, it’s too much of a risk, and he wouldn’t be able to receive any letters from Wilbur during that time.
-
Phil should’ve Nether travelled. He should have risked it, but there’s nothing he can do about it anymore. Phil was currently flying across the sky as fast as he could. Whispers from the neighbouring villages told of a war about to happen in a land near the Greater Dream SMP. Phil knew exactly where they were talking about. He hadn’t received any letters from Wilbur in two months, and he found himself wishing Wilbur hadn’t gone so far to set up his new life. He could feel it in his soul that something terrible was about to happen.
Buildings began to come into view and Phil knew he was getting close. Now he just had to locate where his son was. As he continued flying, he began to see moving figures on the ground. People. And a lot of them too. Flying a little lower to get a good look, he spotted a few recognisable faces. There was Techno, donned in full netherite armour, pointing a loaded crossbow at Tubbo, who was splayed on the ground. Tommy wasn’t far from him, seemingly in a shouting match with Techno. The entire situation reeked of a potential fight about to break out. The problem was that Phil couldn’t see Wilbur anywhere in the crowd. As he flew overhead, he noticed people looking up towards him and some of them were pointing, he had been spotted, but he didn’t have time to say hello.
Circling around what looked like a podium, he spotted a small opening in the side of the hill it was built on. Landing in front of it, he could see a faint amount of light emanating from the end of the tunnel, and a familiar voice echoing as he spoke to himself. Phil quietly walked down the hallway, crossing his arms, and folding his wings in. Something had gone wrong, and it looked like he might need to lecture a misbehaving child.
“What’re you doing?”
-
Phil’s fingers traced the multitude of buttons placed around the cavern walls. Dust and debris coated them and dirtied his clothes, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Tubbo had shown him to where Wilbur had spent most of his time before going insane, upon Phil’s request. There was a small dug out alcove where a few living things were placed, though it was a haphazard mess now. A crude wooden desk sat in the corner, littered with crumbled paper, and splashed with ink. Phil gently picked up the papers and tried to read the chicken scratch that was on them. The few words he could make out in the messy writing, far from how his son used to write, was the Dear Phil at the top of each letter. Even his own signature had become unreadable.
Phil picked up all the unsent letters, tucking them into one of his pockets carefully. The dull and quiet thud of liquid dripping onto the wooden desk was ignored by Phil as he made his way out of the cavern, wiping his face with his sleeve so no one could sense the emotions he was feeling. He had lived through centuries of others’ lives, now was not the time to get emotional over the death of his beloved child. That could wait until the thing that made his son go mad was destroyed.