Chapter Text
The first son of Philza Minecraft hoped that by next nightfall he would once more be far from his brothers – it would mean their plan had worked, that Schlatt was dead and L’Manberg destroyed.
It had been so many years since he’d last seen his younger brothers he had lost count how many days had passed since he last looked them in the eye or heard their screaming laughter. He thought of them often in short capacities: when he met a traveller from a village Wilbur had once visited and written to him about; when the only dish served at a dodgy inn on the side of a deserted road was Tubbo’s favourite stew; that one time an unruly toddler with bouncing blonde curls ran past him, swinging a large tree branch wildly about that smacked him in the back of his knee causing him to buckle to the pavement and yell out Tommy’s name in frustration, before he realised his youngest sibling was several kingdoms away and had long since grown up – in a height sense. Tommy would, of course, still frequently swing any large sticks he came across with reckless abandon.
They were short bursts of nostalgia, of longing for home and its familiarities, but they always passed within seconds. He would infrequently receive updates from his brothers. Parchment pages bent and torn, written with smudged ink in messy handwriting and, in the case of his youngest siblings, usually littered with spelling mistakes. These pages would arrive in tight scrolls tied to the legs of equally inky crows. No matter how far the four of them spread out, their father’s crows could always find them; Techno had a theory that their distantly powerful mother might have some hand in it. Techno always read the letters at his earliest convenience and sometimes, if his current situation allowed, he would write back.
But it had been years since he’d seen any of them in person. He’d known Wilbur, Tubbo and Tommy had been convened together for the last few years, well informed about L’Manberg and the war they had fought for its independence. Though he could not agree with Wilbur’s political views, nor his desire to rule over others, he could not keep slivers of pride from lightening his eyes upon hearing of his brothers’ victory. He knew that much had changed in their time apart, that he and Wilbur were, by adulthood, no more than twins by name. Still, he felt no inclination to seek his family out in the Dream SMP if he was not needed. Playing uncle to Wilbur’s son or acting as a mediator every time Tommy found himself in trouble did not sound more appealing to Techno than the life of a wandering warrior.
When the letter arrived asking for help, however, he did not hesitate. Two days of nonstop travel by horse was luckily all it took for him to arrive at the crudely concealed mouth of a cave that lead to an abandoned mineshaft. From there, he descended into a vast cavern, branching off in an uncomprehendingly twisted collection of underground tunnels. It was there he was reunited with his brothers – the biological ones at least. Tubbo had made his way into Pogtopia later that evening, lunging at Techno with an even more enthusiastic hug than the one Tommy had given him at first sight. Wilbur was the only one not to hug him – it wasn’t how they were – instead offering a firm handshake and nod of his head, hoping these small gestures were enough to convey to Techno the deep respect he still held for his older brother.
Though his brothers had fought for freedom before, this revolution would be a different matter entirely. Techno was disturbed to find, the closer the day of the festival sped towards them the more anxious he became for each of his siblings. He hardly blinked – let alone slept – on nights Tubbo showed up hours later than their predetermined meeting time, finding it harder and harder to sneak away from Schlatt’s watchful eye. For the last week every day he’d woken Tommy up at the crack of dawn to teach him how to easily navigate through the areas of thick forest that sat between Pogtopia and L’Manberg, knowing Tommy’s most important role in tomorrow’s festival would be to run at the right time and unwilling to risk him getting lost or cornered by Schlatt’s men. Wilbur, meanwhile, continued to adamantly refuse any armour or weapons Techno offered to him, declaring them “unnecessary if all goes according to the plan”.
Techno wished he could have as much faith in “the plan” as he usually had in his own abilities – unfortunately both seemed to allude him in the early hours of the morning that would change the trajectory of his and his brothers’ lives forever. He sat in the entrance to Pogtopia, unfazed by the cold night as he sharpened his sword instead of sleeping. Although, like Tubbo, his role in the revolution largely relied on maintaining a convincing illusion of estrangement from his banished brothers, and a loyalty – or at the very least apathy – to Schlatt’s regime, he knew his presence would draw attention and could not hope to rely on stealth tomorrow, but it was for the best. The crowd, and hopefully Schlatt, would keep their eyes on him, leaving the unguarded shadows for Wilbur and Tommy to hide in. He would play along, keeping front and centre in the crowd, close to the action with one eye on the exit at all times, close enough to where Tubbo stood on his podium so that, should anything go wrong during his speech and he would need help escaping before Wilbur hit the destructive switch, Techno could easily make his way to the stage.
A crow flew too close to the ground, just past the mouth of the cave, and unsettled Techno’s untied hair enough to make him flinch – his own nerves disturbed him to no end. He watched the crow as it nearly camouflaged into the sky, hurriedly soaring into a high arc, only to then manically dive towards the east. It was on a jagged aerial path to L’Manberg and Techno only hoped it would keep whatever it saw today to itself.