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He stared up at the sky, it was such a clear blue, with only a few soft white clouds to be seen. The air was still humming from the aftermath of a long, drawn-out battle. There was no winner for these types of battles, only death. Still though, the sky was beautiful, the sun felt warm against his skin, ever present against him.
Up high, crows and vultures began to circle, searching for a good meal before the night began and the light of the sun went away.
He might have attempted to shoot them down any other day, stopped them from disturbing the deep eternal slumber of those around him, but he felt too comfortable where he was nestled in the soft soil. His bones were heavy, and his eyes threatened to close from how tired he suddenly felt. The air around him was thick and almost suffocating, forcing his thrumming heart to slow down and his blood to flow languidly through his veins.
He turned his head, his bright pink hair fanning out around him, almost like a halo, which was laughable. Does someone like him deserve to even be compared to the likeness of an angel? Something so pure and clean?
He was met with the dead broken eyes of an old man. This was a person who had observed the world, learned how to operate in the world and ultimately was given the last gift of the world. Now he too, would be given the sweet looming gift of death.
He didn't mind, he knew that one day, he too would open the gift. Today just happened to be that day. Despite being prepared with this knowledge, he felt warm wet tears fall gently down his cheeks and face. They streamed down, salt meeting the soil and earth below him.
He remembered all the achievements he had earned in his short young life. Could he even call them that? He recalled the days where he only worked with the earth and sowed more and more gifts until eventually the soil became overused and tired. It could no longer bear the strength to provide for life anymore. He took the light of life away there too.
He remembered days where his hands, face, clothes, and even hair would be caked in blood, he couldn't even recognize himself then. Unable to find his face, his eyes, anything he could call himself. Now he had gone full circle, however, instead of being covered in the blood of others, he was instead soaked in his own.
He must be delirious now, how could someone like him even be crying right now? What gave him the right? He began to feel fear rise in the way his fingers began to turn cold and be incapable of feeling the apparent ever-present warmth of the sun. To feel panic, it etched its way into his veins and lit his body on fire. He looked at the untouchable sun once more, it was still way too bright, he had hoped someday to able to touch it, look at it. Unattainable for all except him. He reached his hand toward the sun, almost as if he could catch it and cradle it against his chest.
He turned his head left and was met with soft white daisies. How they managed to be untouched in the midst of battle, he didn’t know. He smiled then, lost memories of a young blonde boy braiding them into his hair surging back when he was on the brink of death.
He lifted a hand, the action requiring more effort than he thought, and his bones creaked the way they would have had he reached old age. In the end, he gave up. He settled back where he had laid himself to rest.
He was well and truly alone now, anyone who was struggling to breathe would surely have given up now. If he had to name only one regret that stood out amongst the rest, it would be to never have had a warm helping hand available. To never have been that warm hand. A wretched sob wracked his body then, he would never understand the feeling of love and life that so many have had the pleasure of earning and having. He will die alone. Without friends, without family, without lovers, without happiness, without warmth.
He could feel it now. His heartbeat thumping slowly in his fingers, he weakly grasped his sword in one hand, at least he could die with his weapon in hand. Maybe he will join his ancestors in a fight that had been there since the beginning of time. Perhaps he will have one final shot at glory in the afterlife. Make things right. In another life, perhaps . . . if he gets the chance.
He looked at the sky one final last time, memorized it because he knew this would be the last time he would ever see it again. He let loose a soft cold sigh and stilled against the earth. His body relaxed and slackened, preparing itself for a long deep rest.
It was almost impossible to miss the pink hair that stood out amongst the dark drying blood and grey tarnished armor. As a former angel of death, Philza Minecraft would be forever attracted to it, like a moth to a burning fire. He looked at the bodies around him. The whole field had a rotting stench of blood and decaying bones. Wherever he stepped, his foot sunk to the ground, becoming engulfed in blood and flesh. He could feel his stomach turn and took out a white handkerchief and pressed it to his nose.
He walked to the fallen body of a former warrior and champion of all. He stopped in front of him. Philza could tell that he had cried, there were streaks on his face where the tears had fallen, washing away dirt and grime.
He observed his eyes, what was once fierce and bright was now a dimmed and dulled down gray. Philza felt his heart wrench, he kneeled beside the fallen champion and laid his hand gently over his still open eyes. He closed them and, without a second thought, sat down beside him.
This is what he was summoned by, the sorrow and regret of a lonely boy who had never felt the camaraderie after a battle, a loving gentle hand to braid his hair, no one to teach him how to love and give instead of take. And that's when he realized that he wished he was there for this boy who had no chance to grow into a full man, was never destined to make it farther than boyhood. Philza wept for him then, he did not know him and did not know all his misdeeds, but he knew enough to know when all the boy needed was love and care. His tears fell into the pink hair, and he began to search for a name of any sort and realized that he had none. He was not given a name.
Philza decided that he would give him one, he was way too late, but at least he wouldn't be buried without a name.
He decided on one immediately. It was a bit sudden, but he figured he should include an element of who he was in it. He liked it; it would suit him well. He held the boy close and whispered to him.
"May we meet in another life, Technoblade."