Chapter Text
Nestled deep within The Ramblings to the east of the Palace lives the Mine-Craft family, which consists of Philza Mine, Kristin Craft, and all seven of their very small Mine-Crafts. The Mine-Crafts are a peculiar family, not only for their name, or for the fact that all nine of them have been crowded into the same little lop-sided apartment for the last dozen-or-so years, but also for their history. Kristin comes from a long line of Natural Magyk users, and their method of Witch-Craft has been around for hundreds of years. The Mine family, in contrast, has only been Magykal for exactly six generations. Phil and Kristin’s own children will be the seventh.
Philza Mine is the seventh child of a sixth child, who happened to be his father’s seventh son, and so on and so forth all the way back to Philza’s great-great-great grandfather, who was the first of a long line of seventh born children. There is Magyk in the number seven, and there is Magyk in the Mine-Craft family.
In particular, there is Magyk in Philza and Kristin’s youngest, newest child–a darling little boy, not quite four months old, by the name of Tomathy, or Tommy, as a nickname. Tommy–as you will be able to guess if you have been keeping up with the math–is the seventh child of a seventh child. Tommy is incredibly Magykal, and his parents are already incredibly proud. At only three-and-a-half months old, Tommy likely already has more innate magic in his little body than his older siblings ever will. Which is a fact Phil will never rub in, of course. He loves and is proud of all of his children equally, because he is an excessively doting father, if admittedly a little bit of a forgetful one.
Philza–Phil, if you know him well enough for the nickname, or Dadza, should you be one of the aforementioned seven Mine-Crafts–currently spends his evening hurrying through the first flakes of winter’s first real storm, rushing to get home before the snow begins to fall in full force.
He pulls the plush blue fabric of his Ordinary Wizard robes a little tighter around himself, shivering against the icy wind whistling through his hair and around the corners of crumbling brick buildings here at the edge of The Ramblings. It’s easy to see the line between the more spacious, ornate buildings that make up the inner circle of the Castle, and where The Ramblings begin, which are much more like a bunch of slightly crooked angles and walls all stacked up on top of one another and held together with glue, a Stay Standing charm, and a lot of held breath.
No buildings have fallen in all the years that Philza has lived here. Or at least, none that he remembers.
Safe conditions or otherwise, Phil maintains the hopes that someday he will move his family into a nicer home. He’d like to have more space for all of them, but first, money will need to be saved for all of the children’s education. Especially Magyk schooling for Tommy. The little boy will certainly need it.
It is then, lost in thought considering his youngest son’s future education, that Phil Senses something.
Something alive, but only barely. He stops still in his tracks. Snow falls faster around him and already covers the footprints that lead to where he stands, but he stands utterly still and silent. His own Magyk swirls inside of him, an uneasy sort of alarm that peeks and searches for what exactly is it that he’s just sensed.
Magyk aside, his own ears give him the next clue. A snuffle, a whimper, a small breath? He isn’t sure exactly what it is, but it’s enough for him to spring to movement again and search for the sound.
It’s underneath a bush beside the path. A bundle of cloth; Phil picks it up and, to his amazement, finds himself gazing into the solemn eyes of a tiny baby. Someone had wrapped him tightly in a heavy woolen blanket, but he’s very cold anyway, with his lips a dusky blue and snow dusted upon his eyelashes. Phil’s stomach lurches with worry at the touch, and already, his hands move with the practice of a man who has held more than half a dozen babies of his own. He cradles this one closer to his chest, tugging his outer robe around him and swaddling him even tighter.
“Hey, little man,” Phil coos. “What are you doing all alone out here, hm? Bit cold for a walk, isn’t it?”
The baby does not laugh at his joke, because he is a baby, but his eyelashes flutter at the sound of Phil’s voice and the motion of being picked up. Dark blue eyes gaze up at him with a strange depth to them. A shiver runs inexplicably down Phil’s spine, and he doesn’t believe it’s from the cold. Something about the baby’s eyes pins his Magyk still inside of him, and Phil has the uncomfortable feeling that whatever it is that this baby has seen in his short life, it’s something no baby should ever see.
Phil stands still in the street, looking back and forth over his shoulders in search of any explanation for who could’ve been so cruel as to leave an infant alone in this weather, but there’s no sign of anyone. With an ache in it, Phil’s heart sinks.
“Well, no matter,” he whispers to the baby, who is still looking up at him intently. “We’ll take you home and get you warmed up right away, how about that? You’ll like it, Kristin’ll have the fire roaring to keep the cold at bay, and all of the kids will love to take turns holding you. They already fight over who gets to hold Tommy–that’s my youngest, just about your age, I should think. Like twins, the two of you’ll be. I’ve got another set of twins too, actually. Boomer and Hannah–”
And then Phil is interrupted. The introduction of his family is cut into a surprised yelp when Phil’s Magyk abruptly flares, at the same moment a sudden brilliant flash of purple cuts into his vision.
A tall figure now stands in front of him, a familiar teenager made up of gangly limbs, a flushed freckly face, and wildly untamed blonde hair.
“Dream,” Phil gasps, one hand pressed to his heart while his other still holds the baby close to him. “What on earth, don’t fucking Teleport in front of people like that, even if you are the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice–”
“Philza,” Dream interrupts, his voice sharp, and that’s when Phil notices the serious look on his face, and– blood? There’s a cut on his forehead, trickling down his eyebrow and across a young, freckled cheek. Phil’s eyes go wide.
“What–”
“Tell no one you found him,” Dream rushes out, grabbing Phil’s arms and backing him away from the main street. The teenaged Apprentice throws frantic glances back over his shoulders. Phil can only stare at him in shock. “Do you understand me? Tell no one. He’s your son, Kristin had twins. Swear that to me.”
Phil shifts the bundle in his arms. “This–”
“Fucking swear it, Mine-Craft!”
Phil is not particularly pleased to be cursed at by a teenager, but Dream’s hands are shaking and there is something terrified in his eyes, so all Phil manages is a nod. “I swear it. This is my son.”
“Good. Fuck. Good.” Dream steps back, and with a final shaky breath, he says, “It’s just ExtraOrdinary Wizard now, by the way.”
And with a second flash of purple mist, Dream is gone, and Phil is left alone in this alley with a very, very unusual baby in his arms.
As he makes the rest of his trek home, Phil’s mind swirls with a hundred questions. Whose baby is this? Why had Dream seemed so frantic? And why on earth was he the ExtraOrdinary Wizard now? His apprenticeship should’ve gone on for at least another three years before Phil would consider him anywhere near capable enough for the job.
Kids these days, Phil thinks, tiredly. They think they’re all a prodigy.
This is what he’s pondering as he reaches the building where his own family lives, up on the top floor. He starts climbing the rickety wooden staircase, when a sudden bang! startles him out of his thoughts.
Above him, his own home’s front door has just been thrown open, but rather than one of his children rushing out overeager to greet him, Phil looks up and is met with the sight of a very red-faced woman rushing down the stairs. Much like him, she has a bundle in her arms, but rather than the careful swaddle against Phil’s chest, she carries hers as if he is nothing but a parcel wrapped for the mail.
“Very sorry,” the woman says, with an out-of-breath voice that does not sound very sorry at all. Phil’s stomach flips all the same. “So sorry. He’s dead.”
And just like that, Phil’s heart freezes in his chest.
His Magyk feels frozen too. For a long moment, Phil cannot feel much of anything at all. It sounds far away, but he hears someone scream, and recognizes the sound of his wife’s voice. Dimly, he’s aware of the woman–the midwife, he recognizes her now–pushing past him and further down the stairs. Numbly, his own feet climb the last few steps and through the doorstep of his home.
Kristin stands just inside the doorway, her eyes full of tears, and Phil knows he should say something but his voice feels stuck along with everything else inside of him. No one’s explained a word, but somehow, he thinks it all makes some sort of sick, awful sense.
“He’s dead,” Kristin whispers. Around her, six pale-faced children stand in total silence, too scared to cry. “Oh, god. She took him. He–he– Tommy–”
There are no words for what Phil wants to say. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to find them. He feels numb, and frozen, and everything is all caught in a snowy storm in his chest much like the one raging outside the windows.
So wordlessly, Phil takes the bundle of fabric out from under his cloak, and he sets him in Kristin’s arms.
✧✧✧✧✧
The bundle settles down into their household over the next few days and is named Tubbo. The youngest of the others, Niki, is only two when Tubbo arrives, and she soon forgets entirely about her little brother Tommy. The older ones slowly forget too, but they love their new littlest brother and bring him home all kinds of treasures from their Magyk classes at school.
Kristin and Phil, of course, do not ever forget about Tommy. Something is missing from their big, loud, cramped and cosy family, even if their children stop being able to recognize it. But they love their little Tubbo, and soon, what Phil had sworn to Dream feels perfectly true. Tubbo is their son, and he always has been.
The truth of what had happened that night is something that remains shrouded in mystery for all of the Mine-Crafts, at least at first. Phil receives a message via Rat - the bipedal, speaking rats which carry messages all throughout the Castle, of course - that he’s been given an unexpected month off of work, a message signed by the new ExtraOrdinary Wizard himself. Phil sends back a thank-you for the time off, and he is grateful for it.
Kristin is grateful for it as well. Caring for seven children is no easy feat, so having their father home to send out with the little ones when she needs a break from just so much noise is a welcome relief.
Right now, for example, Kristin is home with only Tubbo. Phil has taken the rest of the children out on an excursion, and they won’t be home til dinner, which means Kristin has the free time to catch up on a few chores, read a few more chapters of the novel she’s borrowed from the neighbor, and catch up with her good friend Puffy.
Puffy, Captain of the Palace Guard, is not particularly good with children. This is not to say she dislikes them; quite the opposite, in fact. She loves visiting the Mine-Crafts and spending time with the little ones, and she frequently offers to babysit should Mr. Mine and Mrs. Craft need an evening to themselves.
“Really, Kris,” Puffy says, cooing over Tubbo, “You should let me watch them this weekend. You and Phil use the last of his vacation to do something nice, just the two of you.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Kristin says, trying to find an excuse more polite than the truth, which is that she thinks if she accepts, she might come home to find her house burned to the ground.
“When’s the last time you and Phil had an overnight trip to yourselves?”
Kristin cannot remember. “I just don’t think it’s the right time, Puffy. What with Tubbo being ill recently–”
Puffy blows a raspberry kiss into Tubbo’s tummy. Her hair falls around the cradle as she does, layers of fluffy white curls thick as wool covering it like a blanket. The baby lets out a squawk of indignation. “Poor little Tubbo. Say, I thought his name was something else. Is that a nickname?”
“Yes,” Kristin says. “It’s short for Tuberculosis.”
Luckily, the captain doesn’t seem too put off by the discrepancy between names in the weeks since she’s visited. “Ah, yes. That’s right. Well, next time, then. I suppose I’d be rather busy this weekend anyway, what with everything going on at the Palace.”
This makes Kristin pause. She tries not to seem too curious as she asks, “Oh, really? What’s been going on at the Palace?”
“You haven’t heard?” Captain Puffy takes her attention away from Tubbo, who seems perfectly happy to be left alone and begins slobbering over his own hand. Puffy’s voice lowers, as if she’s telling a secret. “A terrible thing. The Queen is dead.”
Kristin’s hands go still, and then she carefully lowers them so as not to accidentally poke herself with the sewing needle. “No. The Queen?”
“The Queen,” Puffy repeats solemnly. “Everything’s being kept so quiet, Kristin, I’m a bit afraid to step foot outside the Palace some days. Well, I’m a bit afraid to step foot inside it as well. Everything’s all in uproar, so busy–”
“Who killed the Queen?” Kristin interrupts. Nervously, she tucks Tubbo’s blanket around him a little more snugly.
“Isn’t that just the thing?” Puffy’s voice lowers once more. “They’ve been claiming it was a rogue assassin, even said they’d caught the bastard who killed her and the poor little prince–”
“Not the prince too,” Kristin says mournfully, even as at the same moment, a peculiar feeling takes root in her stomach.
“And the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. All three at once.”
So that’s why Dream’s taken over so suddenly, Kristin thinks. She’ll have to tell Philza when he gets home.
“And I think, there’s no way just any rogue assassin would be able to get past my guards and take out the entire royal family and the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, all in one go. I’m sure there’s more to the story than it.” Puffy sighs. “If only I’d been there. I had the day off, you know. Foolish and I went camping for his birthday. He’s twenty now, you know.”
“How lovely,” Kristin says. Normally, she would love to hear about Puffy’s nephew, but right now, she feels like she might be a little sick. Her breath feels shallow and her head swims, lightheaded with a horrible sense of knowing. “Puffy, if it wasn’t an assassin, who do you think killed them?”
The Captain goes quiet for a moment, and then she leans forward. “Well, here’s the thing. Dream’s been keeping awful quiet lately, stays away from the rest of us. But I overheard him talking to Sam in the courtyard the other day, and here’s what he said–he said there’s a new Monarch.”
Kristin gapes. “Who?”
“Eret,” Puffy says.
“What? But isn’t he just a councilman?”
“Exactly,” Puffy says. “But you know, there’s all these new guards at the Palace, and I certainly didn’t give them their jobs. I’ve got half a mind to believe this was all planned by Eret herself. Perhaps she’s even working with Dream, and together they planned the murders and instated Eret as Monarch. A right coup.”
“That’s horrible,” Kristin says, utterly horrified at the news. She wishes she’d taken Tubbo into the other room, because she doesn’t like to think about such a young baby overhearing any of this.
But she looks down at him now, and gazing into those dark blue eyes, she’s struck with the exact same feeling that Philza had felt those weeks ago hurrying home through a snowstorm. This is the look of a child who has already seen something so very, very terrible.
“Puffy,” Kristin says, carefully, “Are you sure the little prince is dead? It’s just so awful, I can’t imagine anyone would kill a baby.”
“It is terrible,” Puffy agrees sadly. “I wish I would’ve been there to protect him. As it is–Well, I don’t know, Kristin. If he is still alive, he’s surely being kept in some dungeon as a prisoner, and I don’t believe that’s any better. The poor little thing.”
“Yes,” Kristin says faintly. “The poor thing.”
She is still looking at Tubbo. And all the while, the little prince looks right back.