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Nighttime was the worst for most people, but Techno tended to enjoy it. Night was when the monsters came out. Zombies, skeletons, and creepers roamed free in the moonlight, and a skilled fighter could easily obtain useful materials from felling those foes.
On any other night, Techno would be out there fighting the mobs. He’d dart through the night with blade in hand and collect as much as he could. But recently, his nights had been anything but normal. He’d been spending his nights in the light.
Torches flickered across the surrounding hills. They deterred mobs from approaching, as the Undead feared light. He preferred darkness not only for hunting but also for privacy. This nook was out of sight from the surface, tucked between two hillsides and against a sheer cliff. He hoped the torchlight would be mistaken as lava light by passing travelers.
The torches were necessary, though. The first line of defense. They, alone, had proved to be inadequate, so he added fences. Dark pillars ringing the sandy cove; an extra layer of protection.
Even that hadn’t proved enough. Just two nights ago, he had lost three of the precious eggs tucked in the sand. Three out of eight.
So now he was here. In the light, in the night, resting on the fence. His blade the final, and unfailing, line of defense.
There came a soft clunk and a disgruntled click from below him. Techno spared the sound a glance, finding exactly what was expected. A small turtle butting its head against a large stone, attempting to eat it.
“You are so stupid,” he chuckled. “That rock must taste real good.”
The turtle, of course, did not reply. The voices, on the other hand, perked up at the words. Several rushed to defend the idiot turtle’s choice of cuisine. Several others took to insulting him for being mean. At least a few were on his side, though.
“He may be stupid but he was the first to hatch,” he muttered. Volume didn’t matter to the voices, so long as his words were spoken. At least his thoughts were safe from them, “Maybe he needs a name.”
A flurry of names rushed through his mind, and he frowned. One stood out from the rest; was repeated more than the others.
“I’m not naming him Carl. The horse is named Carl. Be more original.”
He tried to focus on the hills, scanning them again for signs of the living and dead alike. The voices continued their chatter.
“Toby,” he idly picked out a name that wasn’t horrible. “It’s boring, but Toby Turtle is the best you all can come up with.”
The voices had a mixed reaction to that. Some happy with the name, others angry, and others taking offense to his insult. Techno could only chuckle and leave them to it.
Techno scooped Toby off the ground, resting his sword against the fence beside him. Absently, he pulled some dried kelp from his bag, allowing the turtle to munch on the food while the hybrid continued watching the hills.
It was calming, in a way he couldn’t quite describe. The night’s chill was brushed off by his cloak. The only sounds were the crackle of torches, the soft clicking of the turtle eggs in the sand, and the constant murmur of Chat in the back of his mind. He eased against the fence, tucking Toby carefully in one arm, shifting the kelp to the same palm so the turtle could continue to eat. He allowed himself a long breath.
His free hand found the hilt of his sword. Just in case.
“There you are.”
Techno spun to the voice, sword at the ready, Toby pulled under the protection of his cloak. It took a heartbeat too long to find the source of the sound, and the voices cried for blood before they realized who had spoken.
“Phil?” Techno lowered his blade, letting out a relieved sigh, “It’s just Phil, Chat. It’s fine.”
The man in question was several paces away, hands raised in surrender. Techno nodded for the blond to approach, setting his sword aside once more and turning to return Toby to the pen.
Neither of them mentioned that Techno shouldn’t have been caught off guard.
“How are they?” Phil asked as he reached the pen. He had always been good with animals, and the way he glanced over the eggs was trained, measured.
“One hatched. Named ‘im Toby,” Techno turned back to the hills, sword loosely back in hand.
“I’m guessing Chat chose that name?”
Techno chuckled, “Yeah, I told them it was lame, but they wanted to name him Carl.”
“Isn’t your horse named Carl?”
“Yeah.”
Phil laughed, joining Techno against the fence.
The two fell into a rhythm, scanning the hills in opposite directions, never watching the same spot at once. Chat was happy to see Phil, as they always were. They called greetings to the man. Some of the voices flared at the insult to Toby’s name, but they settled back into sync with the others soon enough. A pleasant murmur at the back of his mind.
It was quiet for a long while. Peaceful.
“Say, mate, when was the last time you slept?”
Techno stiffened, forcing himself to continue watching the hills. “I don’t have time to sleep, Phil,” he scoffed. The hills were still barren, no movement from any direction.
“Techno…”
“I don’t have time for sleep,” Techno repeated, “They need me to protect them, Phil. I… I won’t lose any more.”
The voices rumbled agreement at the words. Techno tried to block them out.
He was entirely too aware of Phil’s eyes on him as he stood, pacing away from the fence. His grasp on his sword was too tight, he knew. The voices mutter that Phil’s right. He needs sleep. It’s been days.
He stops listening.
He busied himself with scanning the torchlit hills once more, the flames flickering like stars in the dark.
He heard the footsteps, the shifting of fabric, the sheen of metal on metal... but something in his mind was slow. His turn was a little too sluggish, his sword a bit too heavy for his hand. And by the time he turned, Philza had already swept his legs from under him. He landed hard on his back in the sand, sword knocked aside by a netherite blade that easily found his throat.
Techno groaned. He didn’t bother pushing the blade away, instead choosing to glare daggers up at the other man.
“You need to protect them, huh?” Phil chuckled. He shook his head, removed the sword, reached to help Techno stand, “You and I both know you’re in no shape to be fighting right now.”
The voices of Chat scream concern. Their voices pounded on his skull, and Techno had no choice but to close his eyes, take Phil’s hand, and be hauled limply to his feet. He groaned as he regained his balance, grimacing at the pounding worry bombarding him. Somehow, that was worse than when they made fun of him. When they cared.
“Shut up, Chat,” he mumbled, “Let me focus.”
Phil, thankfully, stayed quiet as the hybrid swayed on his feet, muttering to the voices in his head that may or may not have been real. The blond stood firm, as the other leaned on him, and said nothing about how pathetic the sight in front of him must have been. An undefeated warrior one soft breeze from toppling over. There was no aggression in Phil’s grasp, though. No hidden intent to worry about, no death to fear. Phil was steady, Phil was strong, Phil was safe.
Damn, it had been nice to close his eyes for a minute. Techno peeled them open.
“Techno, mate,” Phil’s voice was barely audible over the mumbling of Chat, “You need to sleep.”
“But-” Techno started.
“Don’t worry about the eggs,” Phil cut him off with a firm hand to his shoulder, “You can sleep here if it’ll make you feel better. I can keep an eye on all of you out here.”
Techno’s gaze settled on the four eggs nestled in the sand of the pen. Too exposed, too vulnerable, not safe. His words failed him as he turned to Phil.
Phil knew.
Techno let his exhaustion catch up to him, and Phil helped him settle down against the cliff face at the back of the cove. The blond pulled an extra cloak from somewhere, because of course he’d come prepared. The extra bit of warmth was wordlessly accepted.
“Rest well, Techno,” Phil offered as he began to drift, “It’ll be alright.”
As he let go, relaxing into the warm cloak and the soft murmurs of Chat, Technoblade knew.
It would be alright.