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King Philza and one of his sons, Prince Technoblade, had left the kingdom. They had bestowed the arduous responsibilities to the ruler's son, who took authority over the land originally for a week. Then, it evolved into countless days of commanding.

Prince Wilbur had been alone for a prolonged period of time.

In the early winter of December, he had been tasked with monitoring the towns and citizens in the Antarctic Empire while his family travelled away to unknown places they refused to tell. They simply said he couldn't come with them, since someone needed to remain behind to control their grounds. They claimed it would only be a small amount of time, and that they would arrive back soon enough. After their return, they would explain why they set off abruptly. His questions would be answered soon, but he had to stay to protect their people and keep things functioning.

Thus, he did what was demanded.

He waited, sat on the throne with a diamond dotted golden crown on his head that he usually discarded on his shelf. He had a distaste for the way it smashed his brown curls and made the top of his head appear flat afterwards, and opted to leaving it off unless he was needed for meetings. Unfortunately, he had to keep it atop his head. He couldn't run a kingdom without it— it simply felt wrong. Besides, it would only last a week. He could manage ruling the place for seven days at 14 years old, and then he could remove the useless adornment from his head with no issues.

So he patiently sat on his father's much larger thrown compared to him and his brother's, carved out of netherite and diamonds gracefully placed as decoration. He conversed with the people who entered the palace, and he supervised the lands with a cheery tone. He faltered in a few requests from the people, but ultimately did a copious job at governing. His choices were proven satisfactory, and he rested well for the first seven days. He barely remembered the feeling of dread that seeped down his body when his only two family members rode their horses down the snowy pavement, galloping away from the castle. He was exhausted by the paperwork he signed and the weight of meetings meant for his father, but persisted through it. His father needed him to succeed, and he wouldn't crash because he was tired.

Then, a note came in on the ninth morning.

Wilbur had became paranoid about the delayed arrival of his family on the eighth day. He frantically asked guards multiple times if there was someone at the entrance, but was constantly met with the repeating words of, "No, there has been no one." Those words ingrained in his mind due to how many times he had been told them. He barely listened or interacted in his meetings the entire day, and he earned no ounce of rest.

He was beyond frantic. He believed he was going hysterical once the sun arose from the horizon. The guards who routinely woke him up for the day were horrified to see him already seated at his placement in the throne room, restlessly waiting for the doors to burst open to reveal his two loved ones.

At noon, he received a crumpled letter from one of the guards.

All meetings were cancelled for the rest of the day, and he demanded to be left alone until further notice. He locked himself away inside his master bedroom, claiming he had some thinking to do.

That night, the guards who patrolled the palace passed by his room. All they could hear were violent screams and horrid cries filled with fury.

They marched down the same hallway numerous amounts of times in the deadly hours of morning, and they could still hear pitiful sobs.

The subjects of the Antarctic Empire were no fools. They caught onto the absence of their emperor, and their regular day would consist of only the brunet sitting on the gigantic throne not meant for him quite yet. There were no signs of the other two hanging on the self portrait in the main corridor, and the question were unanswered by authorities. The eyebags underneath their beloved Prince Wilbur's eyes grew after the tenth day, and everyone could see how drained of emotions he was. His face remained solemn for majority of his meetings and time outside the palace, completely voided of the previous determination flowing inside him.

On the fifteenth day, he announced that his family would not be returning soon from their trip. Instead, their date of arrival was currently unknown, but it would be an extensive time before they entered through the walls of their kingdom. They had supposedly seen a mysterious threat heading for their land, and had to stay far away to prevent the dangers from occurring.

The tears and mournful prays of the people spread across the cities, and they hoped for the return of the two rulers. They cried out and pleaded with the entities out there that they would come back safely, and there would be no harm swarming their homes. At a town square, a magnificent parade was thrown, displaying their gratitude for everything King Philza and Prince Technoblade had done for them. Even guards from the castle arrived at the party, and there were fireworks shooting in the air with sadden smiles.

Prince Wilbur remained cooped up in his lonesome room, looking out and watching the event happen in front of his very eyes.

With tears in his eyes, he read the short, scribbled and smudged letter once more.

My dear son,

I am sorry to inform you that me and your brother will not be returning in a week like I hoped we would.

Your brother has become worse. I cannot travel with him like this. The voices in his head are gaining power and he is having trouble containing them like usual. He has even lashed out to me, almost stabbing me in the process.

That is why we must stay away for a while longer. I must find a cure for him, and I will not risk putting anyone else in danger.

I do not know when we will return, but I trust you to keep the empire going. You are a brilliant, young man, and I am so sorry for bringing this upon.

I will send you letters and keep you updated on our venture. Be safe, my son.

Your Father, Philza Minecraft.

He burned the letter that night, wrath building in his body as he yelled at the walls, asking for someone to help him. He begged for someone to heal him, and for anyone to show him that they truly loved and cared for him.

No one came to assist him. He laid in his bed, not bothering to tuck himself in the covers, and became detached from the world around him. The sounds of wishes and hope from the outside world were muffled, and he merely watched his grandfather clock tick the entirety of the night. He soon ran out of tears, and was left with worsened eyebags and overbearing sorrow.

Somehow, he awoke the next morning by himself. He sat in the king's throne once more, as if life hadn't burdened him with a cruel reality. An eerie smile was plastered onto his face, and he greeted each of his guards with utmost respect. His eyes were perked, despite the eyebags beneath them. He dismissed any questions about his well-being, claiming he was perfectly fine and his family's absenteeism didn't effect him at all. He proved his statements correct by leading the empire with pride and perseverance, continuing on as if he hadn't been given the role of the ruler. He rarely wavered amongst his subjects, and the entire area stayed afloat.

Six months passed, and he received a letter from his father weekly. He somberly wrote back occasionally, but they were short and not filled with emotion.

Nine months passed, and the entire empire celebrated his birthday. Flowers and wrapped gifts were left outside the palace, and he goes through each of them cautiously (but with a smile on his face) inside his room. There were presents made from children mainly, but some created by adults who had cherished his ruling. A frown forms on his face when he realizes his father and brother didn't send him anything, not even a flimsy letter.

Two days later, a letter comes in from Phil. He doesn't mention Wilbur's birthday once. The letters formed into biweekly.

Over a year went by, and the communication is now monthly. There were rarely any chats about what the two are doing, but instead there were questions about how the kingdom was doing. Both sides scarcely answer to any inquiry the other had. At this time, the teen decided to outgrow his hair and let it fall.

Two years passed since Prince Wilbur lead the Antarctic Empire. He turned 16, and he had just led the land out of an incoming war by bargaining with the other side with riches. He believed he wouldn't be able to fight without his father, and so he faced the humiliation of losing thousands of emeralds and diamonds without a fight. The letters turned sporadic, and there were infrequent announcements of the two as the teen directs the subjects of the kingdom.

Three years go by, and there is only one letter sent. He became 17 years old, and a fear strikes him as time goes by without a paper awaiting outside the doors.

Four years arrived, and it was September once again. He would soon be 18 and legally an adult, meaning his fate would be sealed.

No letter had been sent that year.

King Philza Minecraft and Prince Technoblade Minecraft were presumed dead on September 13th.

Wilbur Minecraft was legally crowned king of the Antarctic Empire the next day, on his birthday. His father's abandoned, netherite and steel crown with emeralds embellished onto it was placed atop his head, establishing his new position. His long curly hair twirls in between the crown, but it seems to fit perfectly, as if it was meant to be.

He was an abandoned man inside an overly large castle, carrying the weight of hundreds of human beings outside his "home." He donned freshly sewed clothing, consisting of blues shades and white. A lengthy, heavy cape draped on his shoulders, falling down his entire body and dragged on the floor. He was covered in golden jewelry on his ears, neck, wrists, and waist. From a distance, he seemed unrecognizable from the prince he used to be. He matured over the years, and his height and demeanor was petrifying. Despite being friendly, he was an enigma. He was similar to his deceased father.

He despised it when someone compared them together. He refused to be like his neglectful parental figure, and would become infuriated if he acted like him in someway.

Time passes like a flash of light, and soon, he had been ruling the land for five years. He had been labeled King Wilbur Minecraft for an entire year, but he never healed from being stranded by the two that he loved dearly.

He had been alone for five horrid and agonizing years. He only had the extensive and isolated corridors and deathly silence to keep himself company. The palace taunted him endlessly, and every night would be a cold, harsh reflection to his reality.

Then, one day, he no longer strode in the halls alone.

As Spring time flourished through the chilly lands, bringing forth sunlight that they lacked, a little boy was caught by guards when stealing from a vendor. He had been a known rascal wandering the streets for two years, and was usually scene stealing from small shops that sold fresh foods. He was a speedy criminal, causing a severe problem in the towns he robbed from. It was a comman topic amongst business folks, who would gossip about the child stealing another batch of bread from them.

When he was caught, the citizens demanded for him to be brought to the king, where he would judge his sentence. They wanted righteousness, and simply throwing the kid in jail didn't satisfy them. They were desperate to get rid of him for good, constantly furious over his crimes for two excruciating years. They banged on the office walls till guards obeyed, and agreed to take the scrawy boy up to the palace for the emperor to scrutinize him.

In the middle of scanning over paperwork, Wilbur was interrupted by the throne room doors being plunged open. The sounds of harsh tussling and childish screams caught his attention, and he glanced up from his hands with curiosity.

He was horrified and sickened to see a scraggly, barely holding flesh, and cuffed child thrown onto the blue carpet floor. The boy was screeching his head off, and he wiggled truculently to try and pry away from the guard currently holding him down by the shoulders. The bruises and cuts littering his entire body were concerning, but none of the people present in the room took notice. The four sentries were standing around the poor kid, keeping their eyes on him and making sure he couldn't escape no matter what. That didn't stop him from violently shouting and cursing out everyone around him.

"Quiet, you brat!" One of them yelled, and they raised their diamond sword at him to intimate. "You are in front of the king! Show some respect!"

The boy's month sealed shut, and he merely trembled as he glanced up towards the young man that would ultimately state his fate. He could be gone within an instant if commanded. It terrified him, so he quietly shook in fear as voices talked around him.

"Sir," another guard spoke, "By request of the town Logsted, we have brought this criminal to you. He has a record of 24 robberies and assault. The kingdom has demanded a sentence from you."

Wilbur froze, unable to comprehend what he had been told. This...child, who couldn't be more than ten years old, was brought to him, because his people demanded a death sentence? Yes, while there were no confirmations of them wishing for death, the implications were there. It didn't take a genius to figure out the citizens wanted the boy off the streets, and resorted to the king himself to do the deed. It was an occasional occurrence, but the criminals they sent up to him were normally deserving of a punishment. He rarely sentenced people death, since he found it cruel, but did so if the person was truly a danger.

But this?

This was a kid— a poor boy with ripped clothes and in a malnourished state.

He was insulted by the fact that apathetic subjects had sent him an unstable child to execute.

The lead guard continued to list off crimes and laws the child had broken over the past two years. Their voice was unwavering, and it was infuriating the king more as the list grew. It was as if they memorized the boy's life by memory, and still had the audacity to call him a brat. They were peaceful at first, but the tone used soon transformed into fury as more crimes spat out their mouth like a disease. The criminal on the ground, chained and defensively, merely accepted it with a shiver.

Wilbur abruptly raises a hand, halting the guard from speaking anymore. He sends an deadly glare from behind his long brown hair at a guard that attempted to speak out, and it immediately shuts them all up. They stand with their hands by their side, waiting for a request or for something to be said. The child stills as well, and his shoulders show his tension from the silence inside the room.

The king gently stands up by the push of his arm, and he takes two steps forward. He glances down at the group presented in front of him, expression empty. His hands intertwine together, and he waits for a moment. His eyes scan over the entire scene in front of him, and his eyebrows furrow. An anger is present, and everyone seems to freeze.

He begins to step down the two stairs and walks towards the cuffed blonde child, and he has to quickly raise both his hands to dismiss the guards attempting to hold him back. He glares at the people in armour, and no one protests his next few steps. His cape drags across the floor as he makes his way, and his boots clank loudly on the carpet in the echoey room. The crown above his head shimmers in the morning light coming from the windows behind him, and it displays his true authority among the entire community around him. It causes the entire space to pause their breathing, all too terrified to speak.

The boy squints his eyes shut, petrified from what was about to happen. He could hear the man get closer and closer, but he didn't have the strength within him to look. His teeth clench together anxiously once the footsteps stop, and he attempts to prepare himself for what was to come.

He doesn’t expect a hand to carefully brush through his matted and dirty blonde curls. He flinches instinctively, but nothing is said. The gesture doesn't back away, and he convinces himself it’s filled with pure care.  He finds himself leaning into the foreign touch he hasn’t experienced for a long time, and the urge to reach out more towards the warmth washes over him. Though, he can't move his hands, and he resorts to just letting the fingers scratch his scalp. It's a gentleness he was unfamiliar with, and he'll be damned if he didn't savor such an ancient form of affection.

"All of you. Get out of my sight."

There's a variety of reactions, but they're mainly out of shock. Most gasp out of fear, and one choked on their saliva. A guard in front of him nervously chuckle, but immediately becomes quiet once the king's face doesn't falter into a humorous one.

"B-but sir—"

"I said leave. All of you. Get the fuck out of here and leave the child with me."

Everyone remains frozen, utterly appalled by his demands.

"Do not make me repeat myself."

The shuffles of netherite armour sound in the air, and soon, everyone but the child and emperor stay.

Wilbur cautiously kneels down, and he still pets the boy's filthy hair. Both his hands trail down to the other's rosy pale cheeks, and he almost flinches back at the icy temperature his skin was. It wasn't natural for such cold, sooty skin, and he was determined to change it.

"What's your name, child?"

He shivers at the voice, but answers after a moment of silence. "...T-Tommy."

"Just Tommy?"

"...Can't remember my last, 'm s'rry."

He shakes his head and retorts, "Don't apologize, Tommy. Let's get you warmed up, okay?"

Tommy stares at him with widened eyes, frightened and puzzled. "W-what? But—but you're supposed to-"

"I refuse to have a child in my care and not give them pure decency."

The boy has no words, but doesn't attempt to utter out a rebuttal. He quickly nods, uncertainty still swarming his expression, but now slightly calmed. "...Okay."

That night, a so-called criminal and hellion rests in the castle, slumbering peacefully in the largest bed he had ever seen.

Two weeks later, Tommy Minecraft was officially adopted into the royal family. He becomes a prince at eight— almost nine— years old, and is given an oversized golden crown covered in vivid jewels that falls in front of his eyes. He absolutely adores it, and is seen holding it majority of the time.

(No one tells him the crown used to belong to Wilbur, when he was a prince. It’s simply an endearing secret fact.)

Once the announcement is spoken, the people are outraged by the decision. They cried out and screamed, disagreeing with the conclusion and utterly upset. Some attempted to break into the palace for months, wanting to assassinate the new prince. They were repeatedly caught, and Wilbur didn’t hesitate to execute or send them to prison for eternity. He was adamant about the boy keeping his position, and commanded for the kingdom to show them both absolute respect or they would be punished.

Tommy was astonished by his new placement. At first, he was completely against the adoption and offer to be cherished in the castle. When he was told about the plans, he had only been in his pseudo brother’s care for a week. The commitment frightened him, and he locked himself away in his reserved room and tried to escape out the window in fear. Fortunately, the king found the small child running across the field of snow in front of the building, and quickly carried him back into the warm walls. It caused an argument to break out between the two, but was settled with a crying boy in the arms of the man who merely wished for him to be protected and loved.

The blonde relished his luxurious life with his new big brother (technically his adoptive father legally, but he favored the role of them being siblings.), and was grateful for everything given to him. He learned manners and how to be a proper person within the palace. Within a year, he was a changed boy who dismissed his past life. He still had the urges to steal or to go haywire, but his brother helped with his impulses. He accepted his fresh new start, and was a friendly addition to the place. After transforming himself to a refined person, most guards and business leaders inside the castle became fond of the brilliant (but still chaotic) light of joy.

While Wilbur had responsibilities to tend and ruling to do, he found cracks in his schedule to spend time with his brother. They would sneak out the back doors of the fortress, pass by thin black gates and frolicked in their stupendous icy garden. It was an attended area with glorious flowers and plants, filled with breathtaking beauty. There was an exquisite fountain in the middle of it all with a statue of Wilbur. It had originally been Phil, but was removed and changed into the current king. It had water spraying around him, and if close enough, anyone could become dampened by the sprinkling water.

They usually lingered there to breath in the fresh air, ignoring their duties for an hours. They had other spots, such as the roof, or traveling into town for a while underneath disguises they had made by themselves. While Tommy was the prince, the brunet still wished for him to have a regular life outside royalty. So, they occasionally went down towards local towns undetected, and the boy made friends. He mainly hung out with two kids in the park, where they would play and sometimes do dangerous stunts.

The king and prince created a sanctuary amongst themselves, forming a true found family. They were forever appreciative for finding each other in the mist of loneliness and sorrow.

Two years later, they're disrupted.

The two royalties were lounging in their respective seats, one made of netherite with a blue pillow and the other carved of gold with a blue cushion as well. They were chattering aimlessly about certain tasks they both had to take care of, and papers were strew along their shared silver coffee table between them. The elder wrote on a piece of cream colored paper with a feather leaking black inked. He spoke to the other about a recent project they had begun in the right side of the empire, where they were developing a secret weaponry for future usage. The boy listened in disinterest while kicking his feet and fiddling with a fidget toy, which helped him keep focus.

It was a domestic scene between the two of them. It was a serious topic they were discussing, but it was peaceful without guards inside the room or anyone barging in without a warning. After an hour or so, it turns noon, and they decide to rest inside the room. Outside it was snowing harshly, and even though it was late winter, the sleet still fell and was too cold to bare. They opted to staying warm inside their throne room to avoid freezing. They sat cozily on the carpet in front of their chairs, and they leisurely relaxed on the floor.

Tommy sat behind the brunet and undid the messy braid he had on. The hair strands had grown out increasingly, and now fell towards his upper waist. His hands brushed through the hair, and gently, he separated it into three parts. He began to reconstruct the hairstyle with steady fingers, twisting the locks and trailing downwards. Wilbur sighed in content as he slackened his shoulders, enjoying the feeling of his hair being messed with. He loved his hair being combed through, and when his brother did his hairdo, it made him feel at ease. He continued to read over a letter a man in town had sent him, but he found it hard to focus when drowsiness caught up to him.

The blonde hummed quietly to himself as he neared the end of the braid, and he barely realized the man in front of him started to lean backwards tiredly. It made the twisting and looping difficult, but he didn’t mind at all. He knew the king was normally stressed and barely slept at night, and he didn’t have to heart to complain. If messing with his bouncy but tangly hair helped with resting, he didn’t mind nor comment on it. He let the older man sway to side to side in exhaustion, attempting to remain awake but failing miserably.

The tranquility swarming around them is shattered when the doors are swiftly open, bursting with a loud bang. They both jolt at the sound, and their heads whip up to look at the cause.

“…Son.” An oh so familiar voice speaks out.

There stood the supposed deceased king, dressed in his signature green but now filthy cloak, and had his wings expanded outwards. His hair falls down to his torso, similar to the brunet’s, and appeared to be different but comparable to his past self. He hadn’t aged, but he seemed more bolder. Scars littered his face, and large bruises were formed underneath his graying blue eyes. He folded his wings together as he stepped forward, examining the sight in front of him.

Next to him was a much taller man, but not recognizable. He had long hair, like the other, but it was a bright silky pink decorated in flowers. His attire was medieval, with a button up, corset, fancy dressed pants, polished boots, and a long fluffy red coat on his back. He had golden jewelry on his neck, wrists, and piglin ears, but his glimmering diamond sword took away all of the shine. He looked extremely intimidating, and with the way he simply stood, he appeared to be able to put up a fight. The scars on his forearms and face implied the dangers inside him. He could send shivers down anyone’s back by lamely staring at them, glare or not.

“Wilbur,” the blonde-haired man called out, “You’ve grown, mate.”

Wilbur stared at them with widened eyes, frozen. His breath hitched, and he was left speechless. He tried moving his lips, but nothing came out. His eyes burned with tears, and he felt himself stand up slowly from the floor. He felt his body boil, and the blood inside him flew. His hands formed into fists, and he attempted to open his mouth again to let out his voice that felt trapped for so long. He sealed them shut when a hand tugged his cape, making him look down.

“Wil,” Tommy whispered out, “Who are they?”

“I—“

“Wilbur,” the strange piglin interrupted, and his voice terrified the two at the thrones. “Why is there a child with you?”

Immediately, he realized.

That was Technoblade, the second prince— his younger brother, the one he grew up with for years until they disappeared out of thin air. He looked nothing like before, with his brown hair now replaced with pink and eyes a blood red. While he knew piglin hybrids developed and changed near their teenage years, he hadn’t expected such a difference. He thought of longer tusks and an increase of height, but now the 18 year old could outmatch him in both strength and length.

“…Technoblade,” he muttered out.

“That’s me. You didn’t answer my question.”

He ignores the attempt to get a reply, and instead crouches down to the boy by his side. He grips onto his shoulders and squeezes them in a reassuring manner, trying to calm down the clearly panicking child.

“Tommy, I need you to go to your room, okay? I’ll come get you once I’m done here.” He knows the two behind him could hear his echoing voice, but he brushed it aside. His main concern was getting his little brother out of the room safely, without having to encounter the two.

“But— but Wilbur, who are they?”

“I can explain another time, I promise, please…”

“Wilbur, who-“

“Shut up, Phil.” He swiftly twists his head around to glare at the man walking towards them. One of his hands reaches out and sends a signal to halt, “Give me a moment.”

“…Phil? Wilbur, do not call me by my first name, young man.” The winged man scolded, upset by the usage of his real name.

“Tommy, I need you to go to your room.”

“Wilbur—“

“Now, Tommy.”

And so the boy scattered out, avoiding the two strangers attempting to grab him from escaping through the doors. His oversized cape was caught underneath the boot of the pink-haired man, but with the yell of Wilbur, he was able to flee out of the room. He slams his back against the wall and slides to the floor, sitting in the corridor.

There were screams from inside the throne room. He listened to the furious shouts of his brother, and could imagine the tears slipping down his cheeks. He had seen the man sob before while looking at pictures in his room, but never questioned it. Now, he could infer what was happening. He rarely paid attention to the news of the kingdom back when he was out on the streets, and the king normally kept the secrets of the castle to himself even when he moved in. Though, it merely takes a walk in a bustling town to hear the rumors and announcements.

The man with wings had called Wilbur son, and if that was the case, that means he was the former king of the empire. It didn’t make sense, and his brain was swarming with questions. The last king and prince were supposedly lost or dead, and if they were the two, why did they return now? Where were they?

Tommy knew his brother was a lonesome person, who had to run the kingdom at a young age. There was a small pit of rage in his heart at the thought of the brunet being abandoned as a teenager, forced to run with countless amounts of responsibilities. It made him scowl, and the fact that the blonde man told him to call him father only made his vexation worse. How could he expect his deserted son to call him his parent, after years of abandonment?

The screams continued to shout, and at some point, where was a slam of metal inside. His hands go to his ears, and he attempts to muffle out the screeches of rage. He was poor when dealing with emotions, and hearing his parental figure’s voice cry out made him frightened. He curled up and hugged his knees, waiting for the commotion to end finally.

“You left for years! I was a fucking teenager!”

”You don’t understand, Wilbur. We had to!”

“You could have taken me— You could have left someone else here!”

”We couldn’t. You’re too young to know right now—“

”I’m 21 fucking years old, Phil!”

“Wilbur, don’t talk to him like that.”

“Don’t, Technoblade. Don’t try and pretend you’re also not at fault.”

10 minutes pass, the arguing continues.

Half an hour passes, it hits a climax.

45 minutes, they all sound exhausted from tears.

An hour goes by.

The doors slightly open, and Tommy glances up.

Wilbur exits with his head laying low, and his crown is no longer present on his head. His eyes are hidden underneath his long bangs, shielding away the shame in his expression. A frown is ingrained in his lips, and he doesn’t attempt to wipe away the tears sliding down his cheeks. He closes the door behind him gently, and he walks towards the small prince.

“Tommy, I said to go to your room.”

“I couldn’t just leave you alone with them!” He immediately protests, but quickly lowers his voice once the other flinches at the volume. “I…Are they— are they the lost king and prince?”

He stays silent for a moment, debating on his next words.

“…Yes.”

“Oh.”

…

“We have to leave soon, Toms.”

For some reason, he doesn’t question it, because in the inside, he knows the reason. He knows it would be torture to be near the people he was hurt by most. To adjust back into the lives of the ones who abandoned him and left him to rule dozens of towns alone, and to age too early and wail into the empty dark nights with no comfort.

He knew, so he didn’t fight.

“Okay.”

In the middle of the afternoon, they are packed. While the former king and prince are pronounced back into their thrones and are thrown a celebration, Wilbur and Tommy escape through the window. They sneak by easily, since all guards are busy with the return of King Philza and Prince Technoblade, and safely get through the gates.

The two are never seen again in the Antarctic Empire.

•••

The door creaks, distracting him from his writing.

“Wilbur?”

“Hm?”

“What are you writing?”

Wilbur is sat in a chair, leaning against a dark wooden desk. He has a piece of paper in front of him, and he’s currently dipping a quill into a bottle of ink. He looks back at the teen, who is resting against the oak plank walls of their tiny cottage. He’s much taller than before, and almost reached the brunet’s height. Over the years, they had stuck by one another, and he had watched the boy grow from a young rascal to a 16 year old teen. It was a nice feeling to glance at him; a kid he gave a home to.

He’s dressed in sweats and a white t-shirt, obviously getting ready to sleep for the night. The candle in his hand lights up his exhausted face, but it doesn’t miss the shallow smile on his lips.

“Nothing important. Just a note to Niki to bring bread over the next time she comes.”

“Oh,” Tommy replies tiredly. He yawns into his palm, but a confused expression is on his face. “It’s a bit late for writing, innit?”

“It’s a bit late for you to be up, Toms,” Wilbur counters back, but he grins at the way the other huffs in annoyance. “You should get to bed.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” the teen waves his hand in dismissal, “I’m almost an adult ‘n shit. I can do what I want, Wilbuh.”

“You’re literally 16, you gremlin child. Get to bed, you have school tomorrow.”

Tommy rolls his eyes and groans, “Fineeee.” He twists his body around and begins to exit the door he had opened, but then turns back towards his brother. There’s a hint of worry in his furrowed eyebrows, and it makes the man’s heart melt. “Just— I don’t care if you do or not, because it’s not my concern and whatever, but at least get some rest. You look like a fuckin weirdo when you’re hunched like that.”

Wilbur smiles softly, “I will, Toms. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He nods in response as another yawn comes from his throat. “G’night, Wil.”

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

The door is left slightly cracked, and the candle from outside flicks underneath the wood. He watches as the light vanishes, and a door down the hall closes shut.

He sighs gently, and reverts back towards his desk. His hand grabs the quill that was left in the bottle of ink he was using prior, and he looks back at the paper in front of him with a few sentences already written on. Before he continues, he glances outside the opened window in front of him. His eyes gaze at the long spruce trees surrounding them, and the moon shines at him through the darkness of night. He lets the wind breeze brush against his face, and his much shorter curly hair flows from the impact of the air.

He exhales once more, relaxed, and returns to his writing.

Dear King Philza and Prince Technoblade,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been five years since I have seen you both, and I do wish you both good health.

I am unsure about what to say in this letter. I am questioning why I am writing it in the first place. I simply want you to know I am safe, and so is Tommy.

You never proper met Tommy. I doubt you ever will or want to, but he is my little brother. You only saw him when we were near the thrones. I have cared for him since he was eight, and I will continue to do so no matter what. It is my responsibility, and I will do a better job than you ever could, Phil.

We live in a cottage. It is safe and warm with many memories I will forever cherish. Tommy goes to school now, thankfully. It is a life he is accustomed to, and I am somewhat grateful for escaping the palace. I felt guilty for trapping him in such a stern environment.

I changed my name now, so your last name could remain in the kingdom. I am now Wilbur Soot. I am unsure if it is a good idea to tell you both, but I will.

This letter is quite messy and short, but I am not motivated to change it. I would have written about how furious I am about you both. I would be calling you both bastards and twats, but that is a waste of energy. We already exchanged our needed words the day you both returned and I left.

I am safe, and I am living peacefully. I have someone to care for now, and I am healing. Sometimes I wish I could heal what we have broken, but I do not believe I can do that without you both being here.

It is fine. Maybe it is better this way.

Yet, perhaps we will meet one day again.

Sincerely, Wilbur Soot

There’s tears on the letter, but he doesn’t mind it. He folds the note tidily, and he places it into a white envelope. He carefully shuts it with a print, and leaves it on the surface of the desk.

He wobbly stands up and holds up his own individual candle he had lit for the night. He exits the room, abandoning the letter to deliver once the sunrise came.

In the morning, the envelope was gone. All that remained was a black feather left by an open windowsill, which the man had sworn he closed that night.

•••

“Wilbur.”

He stands outside the door, hands folded neatly in front of him. He has a sorrowful smile on his face. Beside him is the lost prince, who seemed emotionless as always.

“…Phil.”

He glares at the older man, clearly displeased by his presence. Though, he can’t help the tears that brim in his eyes.

“Let’s talk, please.”

Despite the years of agony built inside of him, filled with grief and abandonment, he nods. He says nothing as he turns around, stepping back inside.

And they walk inside the wooden cottage, the future beginning to settle in.

They had left him behind, and yet, he was kind enough to welcome them back in.