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Dream didn’t knock, the door was unlocked.
“We’ll need the long potions if we can,” the voice was accompanied by the sound of bottles clinking as Dream approached, “Gonna need some of that minute strength if we got the stuff for it.”
“I’ve got invis and regen brewing right now.”
“Make ‘em splash?”
“On it.”
Dream cracked the door open slightly, peering at the two moving around the cabin. Techno and Phil had brewing stands pulled onto every surface, blaze rods hissing in the center of each. Techno brushed past Phil and scooped up some nether wart off a counter beside where the blond was working, Phil turned on heel and dropped something into a brewing stand on the other side of the small room, without prompting.
They moved in sync with one another, like a coordinated dance. Dream let himself admire them for a moment, their ease of motion captivating.
Phil scooped a few finished potions, stoppering them with thin corks and turning to place them carefully in a chest in the middle of the dance. Before he’d even fully turned, Techno had reset new bottles and dropped new nether wart into the chamber of the stand.
“Do we have strength splashes?”
“I’ve got some strength ones I can make splash, they’ll last longer.”
“That’ll do.”
Their dance continued, and Dream frowned. The masked man stepped into the room, closing the door slowly to avoid making sound. He leaned against the spruce and watched the other men work.
Something about the dance, the practiced rhythm the two moved with, reminded him of a battle. A spar between regular partners. This was something he’d seen in Technoblade, on the rare occasion when their strikes matched perfectly and their shields beat like drums. To see it so much clearer between his sparring partner and this nobody was… unnerving.
He’d heard tales, of course, of Philza Minecraft. Of the Antarctic Empire. Of the warlords who came to battle with as much magic as might and wings of shadow and swords stained with so much red it never washed away. He had yet to have a chance to see it for himself. It was captivating.
Phil hummed, passing something to Techno as he turned to retrieve another round of potions. Then, the man jumped nearly a foot in the air, eyes snapping to Dream.
“Oh fuck!” the blond exclaimed, “You scared the hell out of me.”
“What?” Techno didn’t turn, fiddling with something at his wrist.
“Turn around, Techno,” Phil chuckled, scooping up the brewed potions and snapping their lids into place.
The hybrid obliged, question half out of his lips before he cut himself off, “Oh, it’s Dream. I thought it was something stupid, like a zombie or something.”
Dream held back his reaction, standing, “Hello, Techno.”
“Hullo.”
“I figured we’d get this party started a bit earlier than we said in the invitations,” Dream smirked at the thought, “It’ll be a big day today. Got a moment to discuss strategy?”
Techno had turned to check the brewing stand at his feet, and didn’t so much as look over his shoulder as he grunted, “Go ahead.”
“Do you want to,” Dream hesitated, glancing at Philza who was busy with more potions. How many of these did they have to make, anyway? “Do you want to talk somewhere a little more private?”
“Hm?” Techno looked over his shoulder at Phil, “Nah, Phil’s one of us. We can talk here.”
“Oh,” Dream frowned. The hybrid went back to his brewing, fumbling with the thing on his forearm again. Phil never once paused his work. “Okay.”
He explained the plan, and the two never once stopped their strange dance. They interrupted several times, muttering about ingredients or potion types, and the pile of glass bottles in the center of the room steadily grew. He continued through their muttering exchanges, explaining the TNT droppers, the carefully crafted obsidian skywalk he’d constructed, how Technoblade would have to be the distraction, buy him time.
“The sooner we can leave, the less resistance there will be,” Dream offered, “So I was hoping we could-”
Technoblade snapped upright, tense. The action shocked Dream to attention, pushing off the wall he’d ended up leaning on again and scanning the room for sounds of danger. Philza, however, did not react at all.
“You want regen splashes?” Phil prompted in the silence.
“Uh,” Technoblade spun like water, as if the stiffness from just moments before were nothing, “Yeah. I need to go get the Withers from the vault. Be right back.”
Phil nodded, dropping another ingredient into a brewing stand. Technoblade brushed past Dream in a flurry of red cloak and pink hair.
“Do you want strength or swiftness prioritized?” Phil called as the hybrid rushed down the front stairs.
“We’ll need both,” Techno replied, “I don’t like, need a hundred of both, but we need both.”
And with that, the hybrid was gone, striding through the snow with sure steps.
Dream scoffed, leaning back against the wall again. First there were interruptions, now the anarchist walked out on him.
“Don’t mind him,” Phil hummed, corking another set of bottles, “He’s just very concerned about the battle today. We haven’t had much time to prepare properly.”
“It seems like you’ve done this before,” Dream kept his tone soft, curious. Just an offhand comment and nothing more. He wasn’t jealous of their ease around one another, he wasn’t being reminded of… no. “The Empire, perhaps?”
Phil glanced at him as the bond reset more bottles, fetching a fresh round of ingredients. “There wasn’t as much brewing in the Empire, but yes. You could say that. When you fight alongside someone for long enough, you know?”
Dream gave the man a huff of confirmation and fell silent.
There was a time when he would have known. A time when he and George would coordinate before a fight, when he and Sap would sort out their gear before an expedition, when he had spoken cheerily and worn his mask less. He did understand. Somewhat.
It had been a long time since he had seen it.
Techno took a while to return covered in snow, hauling a new small bag and sporting frost-covered pants. He dropped the small pouch beside the fireplace, and dug around in an ender chest.
“Do you think I need turtle?” the hybrid huffed, “I’m runnin’ out of room here.”
“You should be fine,” Phil absently waved a hand, “You shouldn’t need them if we’re bringing the Withers.”
“It’s just,” Techno sighed, “Yeah, you’re right. No matter how busted they are, I don’t have the space for turtle right now. I’ll keep 'em in the ender chest just in case, though.”
Phil hummed at that, seeming pleased.
The pleasant hum hurt to hear, and Dream barely suppressed a wince with a sigh, “We should be going soon.”
“Don’t rush me, Dream,” Techno grumbled, snapping the ender chest closed and turning to the stockpile of potions in the center of the room. “You tell me we’re going earlier than planned and then wonder why I’m not ready to go.”
“Alright, you’re fine,” Dream shook his head, popping the door open to let a cool breeze blow in. It was unnaturally warm in the cabin, though the others didn’t seem to mind. The arctic breeze was refreshing on the beads of sweat that had begun to crawl down his neck. “Take your time.”
Techno and Phil spoke in hushed tones, muttering about potion types. Techno fiddled with his forearm once more, hiding whatever he held with his cape. Philza moved subtly to help hide whatever it was. Dream watched them out of the corner of his eye, frowning behind his mask. They had secrets, of course they did, and they clearly thought themselves stealthy about keeping them.
Oh well, for now he could ignore that in favor of finally, finally destroying L’manburg. If that meant working around a few variables, well… he’d worked around variables in the past. It would be fine.
And maybe, once this was all over, if he could finally break Tommy’s spirit… maybe things could go back to how it was. They could move along, build a new community house in the far lands, untouched by Tommy or Wilbur or Eret or any of the other rebellious members of the server. The team could get back together and maybe relax for the first time in what felt like years.
For now, though, he had a job to do.
“Alright, I think we’re good,” Techno announced.
Dream turned to see the others adjusting the last of their netherite gear. Philza held the bag Techno had retrieved from the vault at his hip, a belt of potions beside it, and sword on his hip. Technoblade carried no visible potions, but his custom armor could have held any number of things. The crown-like helm matched the trident in his hand, tall and dangerous.
They certainly looked the part.
“Are you sure you want to come?” Techno asked, voice surprisingly soft as he spoke to Philza.
“I’m sure, Techno. I wouldn’t miss this, those kids need to be taught a lesson, and now’s as good a time as any,” the blond’s smirk was a different sort of dangerous, one Dream couldn’t quite place.
“You know the plan, right?” Techno continued, “When the fireworks-”
“When you shoot ‘em in the air, I know,” Phil chuckled, “I got it, mate. Let’s get going.”
Techno looked like he wanted to say something else, but held himself back. He nodded, turning to Dream. “We’re all set, let’s go blow some stuff up.”
Dream laughs, like they probably expect him to. They make their way to the nether portal from the cabin, Techno pausing to lock the doors tight. Dream chatters with the others about the plan, about the potions, about the supposed army of dogs the others had prepared.
He ignores the pang in his chest, the soft ache that lay there. He pushed down the wish that it was another couple of people he was talking to instead of these ones. He tried his best to ignore the ease with which the other two walked. Neither of them get in the way of the others’ weapons or escapes, keeping Dream in their vision at all times. He definitely did not think about his old team, or the fact that he’d likely be facing at least one of them on the battlefield today. Because he wouldn’t be fighting. Technoblade would. He would be in the sky, raining destruction upon his foes and finally following through on his promise to leave the land a crater.
The plan worked wonderfully. The hound army was far larger than he expected, feral and hungry. They fell quickly, but gave him enough time to prime most of the skywalk. The fireworks went off, exploding in black and red, and the ominous tone of the Withers took over the land below him.
Dream continued working, setting the TNT and fiddling with the redstone to duplicate it. He ignored the dark laughter from the communicator, refused to read the messages when Sapnap died, blocked out the fight mere dozens of blocks below him.
(Why did that message hurt so much, even though he knew the other would respawn safely? Why did it feel so empty up here, working alone? No bickering, no second or third set of hands tinkering… it was off. Why?)
He rained destruction upon L’manburg.
Even long after the combatants gave up, after Tommy and Tubbo confronted him with singed shirts and tears of anger in their eyes, after Technoblade and Philza finished off the last few Withers for their stars, Dream continued his work. Explosions bored into the ground below, digging massive trenches into the land. When he was done, nothing but a few floating lanterns remained, drifting on uneven airflows.
Technoblade and Philza laughed, soaring through the rain to inspect the damage they’d done. Techno himself complimented the destruction, trident raised in salute to Dream. And, after a while, they left.
The neighbors of L’manburg drifted away as well, beginning to rebuild the land close enough to have been caught in the Wither blasts. The L’manburg citizens splintered apart, each going a different way. Fundy and Niki and Quackity and Eret scattered in the wind. Tommy and Tubbo and Ghostbur leave along the Prime Path clutching wounds and soaked coats and nothing else.
Dream sat on the skywalk, running a hand along the runes that held the large platforms airborne, and held back the loneliness at the back of his throat.
Today, he won.
So why did it taste so bitter?