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wilbur prays to the sky gods in the van, muttering as he taps off a message into his comm. he prays for a new start, for a place to feel at peace finally. he prays for a legacy, to build something here that might outlive him. wilbur prays in the ashes, in the quiet after a bomb, in the scramble to his feet. he prays in a rush that everyone lived, that this is not the end, that they can rebuild. he prays for this legacy, for this to not be the end of all they have worked for. wilbur prays to the sky gods in the light of a lantern as he pours over the scraps of paper with measurements of gunpowder. he prays for victory, for his home to be returned safely, for vengeance on all those who stood in his way. he prays for his legacy, for it to stay intact for a second longer. wilbur prays in a dim room, his father standing over him sobbing, blood pouring out of his stomach. he prays that whatever comes next they will be kind to him, he prays this was not his greatest mistake, he prays that they will remember him as good. he prays for a legacy that is not one only of pain, he prays this is not what he amounts to. wilbur prays to the sky gods in a train, spitting their forbidden names back at them in the mocking neon lights of the station. he prays that they fall from grace, prays that they are forgotten, prays that they will feel every ounce of pain they have inflicted upon him. he prays for legacies that amount to every bit of good they have done him - not an ounce. wilbur prays in the dawn he had forgotten about, prays through the tears streaming and laughter falling. he prays to thank them, for reconciliation, for this second chance, for every curse he had screamed he gives a thousand thanks. he prays for legacy, for this to not eat at his soul as the rest have. wilbur prays to the sky gods in a new van, one that doesn't yet have the scent of burnt netherwart that had permeated the air. he prays for their support, prays for business, prays for trust. he prays for his legacy, a desperate claw back to what it once was.
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tommy prays to prime, in the bright light of the day at the top of a newly constructed building, shimmering with anticipation. he prays for victory and goodness, for wealth and prosperity, for his brothers in arms, for those who he hopes to join them. he prays for a country he is still learning to love, for it to live longer than he will ever know. tommy prays to the rhythm of dripping water, whispering a quiet thanks, a quiet hope, just under his breath in the gaps of time when his voice will not echo louder than anything else around the cavern. he prays for safety, for a return to the before. he prays for the smoke to clear and for a cough to stop rattling in his lungs. he prays for his country that has gone missing, for it to find itself back into their hearts. tommy prays, in the dead silence of the night, when his ears still ring in pain and the stars watch with worry. he prays for visitors, for a voice he has forgotten, for his brothers, though are they his brothers any longer. he prays for a country, for it to turn around some day and whisper that it missed him. tommy prays to prime, screaming through the smoke, choking on the air, kneeling in rubble. he prays for vengeance and retribution, for the lost to return, for anger and admission. he prays for a country that has taken its last breath, for her peaceful sleep. tommy prays in the heat of lava, sweat dripping down his spine, shivers running down his arms. he prays, his voice getting louder and louder over the voice he has feared, over the very voice he once prayed to. he prays for justice, for capture, for a moment of rest. he prays for a country that he thinks has become himself, prays that this won't be his last moment. tommy prays as he runs in the early morning, prays to the pounding of his heart, the pounding of his feet. he prays that he is wrong, that something has changed, that the land will be empty, that he can mourn in peace. he prays for a country, that she will not be risen from the dead by a memory.
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tubbo prays to knowledge in the back room of a jail house, watching his friend pace around the cell. he prays for the wisdom to chose, to reliance, to something that's building in the background. he prays for the people he doesn't knows exists yet, for their prosperity and longevity. tubbo prays for knowledge in a small box, shadows of men several seasons older cast over him, their voices echoing in the small space in which he is contained. he prays for his shaking fingers to send a message for help, prays for the glowing red eyes to mean mercy, for whatever to come to be quick. he prays for the people watching to remember this, prays that they won't see this as justice but as criminal. tubbo prays on a podium as his friend from long ago introduces him, prays as the crowd hushes in anticipation. he prays for the ability to lead, to remember the speech he scrawled moments ago, to be able to look into their eyes and promise them something. he prays for these people who he must lead, prays that they will trust him. tubbo prays to knowledge, his friend pacing yet again in the same cell as years ago. he prays for this to be right, prays that he will not make the mistakes of his predecessors, prays that this is justice. he prays for the people he might hurt, prays that they will not blame him. tubbo prays in the snow, in the crisp air that bites his cheeks and makes him remember that he is human. he prays to know that they are all safe, all of them, for the ability to keep them safe, to keep himself safe. he prays for people he has hated and loved all at once, prays that they will find mercy. tubbo prays for knowledge in the darkness of obsidian, prays with the point of a sword in his stomach. he prays to know what comes next, prays that they will all know he loved them, prays that he has done enough in this world. he prays for the people he will leave behind, prays that they remember him well. tubbo prays for knowledge at the edge of a cliff, prays to the tune of a soft song. he prays that the words are right, prays that he knows the truth, prays that whoever it is who called his name across the pit is how he remembered him. he prays for the people who remain, that they will not be brought back into the tangled mess of their past.
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eret prays to herobrine before he shakes hands with the enemy, in a cold basement out of site. she prays for peace, prays for strength, prays for power. he prays for goodness, prays for this to be the choice for the good of these people. eret prays in the tunnel before the control room, their hands shaking as they draw closer to the button, glasses slipping from sweat down their nose. she prays for the ability to continue, prays for mercy on their soul, prays for a quick death if it comes. they pray for goodness, that this will not taint his skin for years in the future. eret prays before the results are announced, whispering under their breath as he tries to add up the percentages in her head. she prays that this will not be the end, prays that he did not cause this with his betrayal, prays that throughout this they will persist, prays that his numbers are wrong. he prays for goodness, for it to live on in this nation even in the despair. eret prays to herobrine before she walks across the rattling wooden floors, peering at the makeshift hideout. they pray for safety in this moment, in their life. he prays for them to take him back, for trust, for the bitterness to not be so obvious in their voices. she prays for goodness, the basic one of forgiveness. eret prays before the bombs go off, wrapping her hands around a sword that feels so heavy in their hands. they pray for something to remain, pray that this will not be the end of everything that was built, prays for the thousandth time that this was not his fault. she prays for goodness, and that it will find its way into everything. eret prays to herobrine in the red room, watching as his friend is forced to his knees. they pray for hope, for resurrection, for the mercy of life. they pray that it will not hurt. he prays for goodness, that maybe someday it will win out.
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niki prays to nemesis by the stove in her kitchen, bathed in the smell of bread and honey, lit by the glowing fire. she prays for fortune upon this place, for it to be kind and kinder, for it to call all without home to it. she prays for warmth, for it to fill this home. niki prays over the grave of a fox, shivering in the rain, clutching baby’s breath in tight fists. she prays for a peaceful sleep, prays for protection over his soul, prays for her arrow to find its mark whenever she shoots. she prays for warmth to settle back into the body of an innocent animal. niki prays to nemesis in the shadow of a stage, the rush of blood drowning out everything else. she prays for the strength to bear what comes next, she prays for her voice to be heard, she prays for safety, for hope. she prays for the warmth to come back to this country. niki prays before she rushes into battle, tightening the straps of her armor. she prays for a watchful eye, for protection, for her armor not to fail her, for her hands not to shake. she prays for warmth to pierce the rain. niki prays to nemesis as she strikes a match, her voice trembling. she prays for virtue, for justice, for history put right, for this to make her happy. she prays for warmth, for this match to burn away the ice. niki prays in the room at the bottom of her city, kneeled at the foot of her bed. she prays for her hunger to fade, for anger to protect her from pain, for the memories to leave. she prays that warmth be gifted upon this new place. niki prays as the bombs drop, hand intertwined with half man half machine. she prays for vengeance, for death, for hurt, for hubris to fail. she prays for warmth, wrapped around the body of the boy who broke her. niki prays to nemesis as she scrawls the name on parchment, sealing it in wax. she prays for peace, for things set right, for an alignment of the universe, for the correction of her soul. she prays for the warmth settled in her heart to remain.
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jack prays to independence when his friends send him messages of war. he prays for their plans to work, for summons to come join them in a new nation, to see them again. he prays for a life with meaning and hope. jack prays as he builds the house that will become his new nation, a mantra that keeps his hands moving. he prays for respect, for loyalty, for meaning. he prays for a life beyond this dictatorship. jack prays for independence in the haze of wither smoke. he prays for freedom for these people once again, for them to feel no fear any longer. he prays for lives to be saved. jack prays in the dark of the afterlife, angry and desperate. he prays for another chance, a return to what he had left, a mercy from whoever trapped him. he prays for life, life and life and life. jack prays while holding the hand of a woman shaking with rage. he prays for indulgence in his wishes, prays for an alignment of the stars, prays that this might be unavoidable. he prays for a life free from hurt. jack prays at the top of his hotel, shaking from the news. he prays that they were wrong, that this boy did not die, he prays that the universe might not mock him this way. he prays for life to persist, if only so he can crush it again. jack prays to independence in a new land, far from the screams of the others. he prays to be left alone, to enjoy the peace of this land in serenity. he prays for a life after.
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and the sky gods laugh at wilbur and indulge in his desires. they gift him glory and power and leadership and responsibility. and they watch him crumble. and maybe they sober up when he screams curses at them, when he remembers who pointed him into every failure he ever made. and they piece him back together, try and gift him legacy. but they are still laughing.
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and prime listens to the calls of a small boy, the hopeful ones and the pained ones, in the times of need and of prosperity. and prime lays gifts upon the boy's shoulders - blessings of resistance and wealth, of humility and gusto. prime smiles upon the boy who prays, and grants his hopes of a country restored.
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and knowledge seeps into tubbo's bones, gifts him wisdom when he needs it, instinct in other moments. it gives him greatness, gives him safety, gives him the power for good and evil. it gives him hope, the hope of restoration. it grants him the knowledge of humanity, promises him people when all knowledge fails.
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and herobrine mourns at eret's pain, at every inch of blame they pour unto themselves. he gives relief, where he can, gifting clarity and kindness wherever he can, reminding her in any moment possible that not everything is their fault. he tries to point eret towards the goodness he has put within himself in every breath, takes all the mistakes and tries to morph them into gift.
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and nemesis pours fire and honey over niki’s being, anoints her with strength and mercy and warmth. she takes her enemies and strikes fear in their hearts, and she gives her every avenue to get revenge. nemesis looks at niki and sees herself, sees courage and spirit and will, and she pours out power upon her.
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and independence seeks out jack, folding itself into every corner of his soul. it pushes him to new frontiers of life, pushing him to go, go, go. it screams in every moment he feels trapped, gifts him life in every form it might.
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and the gods prosper, and the humans suffer and rejoice and sing, and life goes on.