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Philza startled awake, muffling the rest of his scream into his pillow and shaking horribly. As his voice gave out he went still, only shifting to hug his pillow.
Nightmares. What pointless, awful things. As if he could forget that day without repeated reminders of it.
He dug his fingers into his mattress, trying to steady his breathing. He just had to think of something different, take his mind off it.
He hoped he hadn’t disturbed his neighbours. That was the last thing he needed right now, people worrying over him.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Phil sat up, grimacing as he glanced back at his puffed out wings. He brushed down his feathers with a shaking hand, and then turned to stare at the open balcony at the opposite side of his room. He shuddered at the ice cold air that flew in from outside, pulling his wings closer.
In hindsight the open balcony hadn’t been the smartest addition for a house built in the tundra, but even now he couldn’t get himself to change it. That balcony was the closest thing to flying he would get now, at least without the help of a trident.
Though maybe it would be best to look for a way to close it off for the nights, if he didn’t want to fall into torpor unexpectedly. Cursing under his breath, Phil shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands.
He had to stop waking up like this.
He grabbed a hairband from his nightstand and tied his hair into a small ponytail, while his mind continuously replayed the nightmare he’d had.
If it could even be called that. Most of it was just bad memories.
His wings ached.
He counted numbers, listened to the sound of wind, anything to keep his thoughts away from the one thing his mind kept returning to. The one person that would never leave his thoughts, that haunted him even in the most literal sense.
Ghostbur was… Tough to deal with.
He cursed again. He wasn’t sure he could go back to sleep anymore.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d get up before the sun. He doubted it would be the last, either.
The familiar flapping of wings made him look up, just in time to see a crow fly through his open balcony. It landed atop the windowsill next to his bed, setting down a gold coin and looking at him curiously.
Phil let out a quiet laugh, reaching out to ruffle its feathers.
“Where did you come from so fast?” he asked softly. “I swear you guys are psychic, I only just woke up.”
The crow leaned against his hand, before cawing, “Dadza. Sad?”
Phil shook his head, whispering back, “No nightmares for you lot, huh…? I wouldn’t mind that.”
The crow hopped closer to him, reaching its beak forward and pecking at his sleeve. Phil held out his hand, letting the corvid climb on it. He then pulled his arm close and brought his other arm around the crow’s back, locking foreheads with its feathery skull.
“Coin help?” the crow cawed, concerned in its own strange way. Phil closed his eyes.
“I appreciate it, mate,” he mumbled in response. “But this isn’t exactly a material type problem.”
He refocused his attention on his breathing, going back to counting numbers.
Count up to ten. Count back down.
After taking a few shallow breaths, he managed to steady himself enough to look ahead. The corvid stared back at him, dark eyes reflecting his face. He allowed himself to laugh.
“Do I look that much like a mess, or are you just staring for the hell of it?” he joked, getting a stern caw in response.
“Dadza. Love you.”
He nearly giggled at the words, brushing his fingers through the crow’s feathers.
“Aw,” he murmured. “Thanks, mate.”
Phil moved his hand down, lowering the bird into his lap. It looked up at him with its head tilted to one side. He smiled.
“I think I’ll go for a walk,” he said. “Want to come along?”
The crow flapped its wings, flying up and landing on his shoulder.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He stood up from bed, grabbing himself a sweater on account of the cold air. He then climbed down the ladder to the ground floor, and turned to face the lower part of the house.
Across the room, hung up above the back door, was an old portrait of his son.
The sight of the photo made him stop still.
The click of a button. The booming sound of TNT. Rushing to shield Wilbur from the explosion. Feathers burning off his back. Ringing in his ears.
“Do it, Phil- Kill me!”
Wilbur screaming at him. A crowd of unfamiliar faces staring at them from below. The sudden weight of a sword as it was pushed into his hands. His son bleeding out by his feet. Overwhelming guilt.
He tore his eyes off the portrait, quickly turning to face his ender chest. It stood on the floor on the other side of the front door, set right next to the wall.
Phil walked to it, kneeling to the floor to open the chest. He picked up a small wooden box from within it, undecorated and ordinary. It was unimportant, just a cheap container bought from a wandering trader on a whim.
He set the box down on his lap, pushing the lid open. A dozen old letters were stashed inside, crumbled from how many times he’d read them. He took the first one on top, scanning the ink stained pages.
Wilbur had always written with such confidence. His handwriting was sharp and unwavering, showcasing a kind of certainty in his own words. Phil had trusted that writing.
He brushed his fingers over the edge of the paper, swallowing with difficulty.
What had he missed?
Letters upon letters, updating him on everything his son had been doing on his journey. Letters that had become shorter and less frequent, event details falling between the cracks.
The last few he’d received were stained with so much ink they were at parts impossible to read, words crossed out with such heavy pressure that it had nearly torn holes in the paper. The smell of cigarettes and gunpowder lingered in the parchment.
Phil should’ve made the journey earlier. He should’ve realised something wasn’t right.
He quickly pressed the paper back in the box, afraid of tearing it in his unsteady hands. He closed the lid and shut his eyes, letting out a small sigh.
He had never been one for material possessions. Such things were easily lost to time, and he’d been given more than enough time to learn there were more important things to focus on.
If he found the strength, maybe he would spend an afternoon rewriting Wilbur’s letters on new paper, so they wouldn’t be as worn and fragile.
If he found the strength to look at them that long.
The crow cawed on his shoulder, asking if he was okay. Phil didn’t answer.
His wings were tattered. The sword he’d been holding was now abandoned on the ground. What had he done?
Wilbur lay lifeless in his arms.
Why was his body still there? He was supposed to respawn.
With trembling fingers he grasped the hem of his son’s shirt, lifting it up to check his lifecount.
No. No, no, no-
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
Three heart symbols were set on Wilbur’s stomach, all of them broken and colourless.
Phil couldn’t breathe.
He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known Wilbur was on his last life.
Piercing pain cut through his spiralling thoughts, forcing him out of it. His eyes flew open and he turned, seeing the crow with its beak clenched down on one of his feathers. When their eyes met the crow released his wing, dulling the pain again.
“Dadza,” it cawed, hopping closer to him. “Okay now?”
Phil blinked repeatedly, and was confused to find his vision blurring. He brought a hand up to his face.
Oh. He’d started crying.
“Sorry,” he croaked, wiping stray tears off his face. He wasn’t really sure who he was directing the apology at. His gaze drifted, momentarily locking onto the singular red heart symbol that was on his right wrist.
And in that one moment clouded by emotion, he wished for the ability to pass that one chance he’d been given to his son, to give him another shot at life.
The moment passed and he regretted the thought, knowing it would not fix anything. Phil turned back to face the box in his lap. He put it back in the ender chest with a sigh, and nodded once.
“...Yeah. I’m fine,” he answered heavily. “Let’s go for that walk.”
The crow hopped onto his lap, nudging him with its head.
“Hold on. I just need to grab something first.”
Phil leaned closer to the ender chest again, picking out a small emerald earring hung on a golden chain. With a weak smile he brought it to his ear, and clipped it on.
“Now?”
Phil laughed softly, extending his arm and allowing the crow to hop on. The corvid flew to his shoulder instead, cawing once.
“Let’s go,” Phil murmured, standing up to his feet.
“Oh. And by the way,” he continued, lightly tapping his finger against the crow’s head. “Don’t pull at my feathers again, alright? Especially the burnt ones.”
“Sorry.”
Phil huffed.
“It’s fine, mate,” he assured. “I know you were just trying to help.”
With that he walked to the front door, grabbing his jacket and hat from the coat rack.
“Move for a bit, okay?” he asked, waiting for the crow to fly off his shoulder so he could pull the jacket over his back. He flipped the bucket hat on his head and then extended his arm, letting the crow perch over his hand. Phil stepped into his winter boots, burrowing into his jacket.
He glanced once more at the old portrait across the room, before turning to the door and walking outside.
It was snowing.
He shut the door behind himself, slowly marching across the bridge that connected his and techno’s houses together. He walked down the stairs and into the snow-covered yard, crushing flakes beneath his boots.
“Where?” the corvid on his shoulder asked, tilting its head.
“Not far, mate. I don’t want to deal with the mobs at this hour,” Phil hummed. “Let’s keep to within the fence.”
“...Are we there yet?”
“Oh, you little shit-”
Phil stood by the edge of the yard, leaning against the fence surrounding their houses. The spruce forest stretched on as far as he could see on the other side, only light coming from enchanted glowing obsidian stones that grew from some of the tree trunks.
“Her work, right?” he asked the crow on his shoulder. It avoided his gaze, seemingly playing innocent. Phil smiled, leaning off from the fence and standing upright again.
“I figured.”
Phil closed his eyes for a second, stretching his wings out and feeling snowflakes settle down on his feathers. They were like a white outline for his frame, highlighting his wings in the darkness.
The Angel of Death. That title never seemed more fitting. He had preferred having its association to Death herself rather than this, though.
The sound of approaching hoofsteps interrupted his thoughts, accompanied by the crow on his shoulder cawing.
“Techno! Techno!”
Phil turned around. Sure enough, there was his old friend, trudging his way through the snow in the warmest jacket he owned. Hanging from his left ear was an emerald earring matching the one Phil wore on his right.
“Hi, mate,” Phil greeted. “Come join me watch the stars?”
Techno snorted dismissively, but came to stand by his side anyway. He spared a glance at the lone crow on Phil’s shoulder, before meeting his friend’s gaze with a raised eyebrow.
“You’re out here again,” he said, snout wrinkling with the words.
“I just needed some fresh air,” Phil replied, lifting his gaze to the sky again. The piglin scanned him with knowing eyes, letting out a huff.
“Same as last time?”
Phil shrugged his shoulders, letting his smile grow tired.
It was answer enough.
They let silence stretch on between them. It was second-nature for the two, to just be in each other’s presence without words. It was easy.
Phil shook out his feathers, letting particles of snow scatter to the ground. Techno shifted beside him, likely already uncomfortable in the weather.
”It’s cold out here,” Techno said, proving his suspicions. “We should go back indoors.”
Phil heard the unspoken concern in his tone.
I’m worried about you.
”I know,” Phil replied, glancing back at his friend. The piglin tried not to show it, but Phil could see the subtle shivering in his shoulders and how tightly his claws were clutched to the fur of his jacket. Being Nether-born, the arctic weather could be tough on him.
“Go ahead without me,” Phil assured. “I’ll stay here for a bit.”
I’ll be fine.
A cloven hoof clapped down on his free shoulder. Golden eyes met dark blue, one worried and the other unwavering.
“I’ll go get the fireplace set up. Come to my cabin when you’re done watching the stars,” Techno told him, before pulling his hoof away and shifting towards the direction of the cabins.
“Okay,” Phil whispered. Techno nodded, and walked back to the cabins across the yard.
And so Phil was left to his thoughts again, safe for the crow still perched on his shoulder.
He brought his gaze back to the starred sky. The cool air calmed his racing thoughts, and he focused on the slight wind against his feathers.
He really did enjoy the tundra, always had since the long gone days of the Antarctic Empire.
Phil missed it sometimes. Well, not the empire itself, maybe. But the time before he had family to lose was in some ways simpler. Easier to process. Phil closed his eyes again, listening to the silence. If he imagined hard enough, it was like he was back there again.
This far north was always quiet. There was a stillness in the air, a strange peace that came in the form of the spruce forests. The trees would follow him wherever he went, telling him that she was always with him, too.
The snow drifted down slowly as he stood there, forgetting the world for just a moment.
Eventually the wind began to pick up, alerting him to the present. Phil opened his eyes, glancing at the trees surrounding the fenced area. They were swaying in the weather.
The crow on his shoulder perked up, nudging its beak against his cheek.
“Go,” it cawed. “Techno.”
”You think we’ve seen enough of the sky today?” Phil asked rhetorically, getting another caw in response.
”Alright,” Phil huffed. ”Let’s go join Techno.”
He walked back to the wooden stairs leading up to the bridge, entering the cabin opposite of his own.
Techno was sitting on a rocking chair next to the fireplace, an open book in his hooves. He glanced up at the sound of the door, and then returned his gaze down to the book.
”See?” Techno muttered at the air, not greeting him. ”I told you he’d be coming. Stop yelling about it.”
Phil stepped into the house, pausing on closing the door.
“Hi, mate,” he greeted. ”Mind if I bring this guy with me?” He pointed at the crow still perched over his shoulder. “It doesn’t seem ready to leave just yet.”
“Techno!” the crow cawed, as if agreeing.
Techno shrugged. “Sure. Just make sure it doesn’t leave feathers everywhere.” He paused, eyeing Phil and his tattered wings. “That goes for you, too.”
Phil smiled, finally closing the door. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He left his jacket by the doorway, hanging up his hat along with it. He then noticed the empty boat in front of the fireplace, and raised an eyebrow.
“Where’s Edward?” he asked, turning to his friend. Techno didn’t look up from his book, but his ear twitched.
“At Ranboo’s,” he answered. “Something about discussing endermen culture. I sort of zoned out halfway.”
“Ah,” Phil replied. “That’s good. Guess they’re getting along then.”
Techno nodded, flipping a page and continuing to read. Phil sat down on the sofa, pulling his wings to his sides so as not to crush them against the wall.
They were quiet for a bit, but every now and then Phil would humm alongside the crow on his shoulder. Techno was undisturbed by the noise, familiar with it.
“Sun Tzu?” Phil guessed, nodding his head at the book in Techno’s hands. The piglin huffed, readjusting his hold on the leather cover.
“Greek mythology, actually,” he answered. There was a moment of pause as Phil chuckled. Techno, for his part, wrinkled his snout.
“...The voices are loud tonight,” he said quietly, like whispering would keep them from hearing his words. Phil frowned, sensing the frustration in his friend.
“Ah,” Phil hummed. “Is it any help, at least?”
Techno shrugged again. “They like the violence,” he said, leaving it at that. Phil nodded in response.
They briefly returned to silence, listening to the snowfall outside beginning to shift into a more intense storm.
”They were the ones who made me look for you,” Techno said, being the one to interrupt the silence that time. ”Woke up to them chanting your name.”
”Don’t they do that anyway?” Phil questioned, just as the crow on his shoulder cawed.
“Techno!” it repeated, sounding almost proud of itself.
”I know these guys like calling for you,” he pointed out with a small laugh, though he was quick to quiet it down. “I know it’s not the same, though.”
His friend didn’t answer immediately, only lifting the book further over his face.
“...I suppose,” Techno admitted. “It’s the only thing they say sometimes.”
Phil’s smile warmed.
“Thanks, Techno,” he said earnestly. “For checking up on me, that is.”
Techno grunted out something in Piglish, but Phil couldn’t translate it through his mumbling. His closest guess was something akin to ‘you’re welcome’.
His attention was suddenly drawn away however, by the crow on his shoulder nudging him with its beak.
“Dadza. Going,” it cawed, gently biting down on his jacket sleeve before letting go.
“Oh. You ready to leave, mate?” Phil asked. The corvid nodded, jumping off his shoulder and onto the windowsill. Phil turned to face the window, unlocking the latch and pushing it open.
He winced at the rush of wind and snow that threw itself inside the house, but waved the crow goodbye as it flew out into the storm. He quickly closed the window again, sighing as he fell back into his seat.
“Crazy bunch, those guys,” he huffed. ”Don’t know what to do with them.”
“You’ll deal,” Techno said dryly, flipping through to another page. Phil laughed, the warmest he’d felt all night.
Techno flipped to another page, but soon winced and flipped back to the previous.
“Calm down,” he muttered. “I went back, alright? I want to sleep at some point, you know.”
“Need a better distraction, mate?” Phil asked. Techno tapped the book cover with his hooves.
“Maybe. I need to get to the end of this, though,” he answered. “They’re never going to shut up if I leave it halfway.”
There was a pause before he sighed loudly, massaging his forehead.
“Yes, you do get annoying,” he continued. “I need sleep, guys. It’s kind of essential. Come on.”
Phil remained quiet, deciding not to add to his friend’s frustration with any more extra noise. He instead waited patiently while Techno continued reading, flipping pages and occasionally muttering at the air.
With the crow gone, Phil found his thoughts wandering again. He stared at the storm going on outside, wondering how Ranboo was. He hoped the enderman’s new house was strong enough to hold in the weather.
No, he’d already looked it over himself, made perfectly sure the build was structurally sound. There was nothing to worry about.
Edward was there too. Worst case scenario, he could teleport them both out.
Phil pressed a hand against his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. He needed to stop overthinking it.
Thankfully it was then that Techno slammed his book shut.
“Alright,” the piglin huffed. “That’s enough for today. I’m practically spoiling you with this much content.”
He set the item down on the table, raising an eyebrow at Phil. Leave it to his friend to notice him spiralling, even when he didn’t speak a word.
Techno came to sit by his side, before lifting a cloven hoof towards his wings. Phil let him, closing his eyes as his friend brushed his claws over his tattered feathers.
“You haven’t been preening them,” Techno pointed out, ever observant of his behaviour.
“…I suppose not,” Phil admitted softly.
“You won’t be able to fly.”
“I already can’t, mate,” Phil murmured. “It’s alright.”
Techno made a low cough noise that Phil recognised as irritation.
“It’s alright,” Phil repeated. Techno moved his hoof up and down his wing a second time, carding carefully through each feather like they were made of glass. Phil drew his wing away, feathers itching from the contact.
“They’ll never heal, Phil,” Techno grunted, curling his claws into a fist. Phil shook his head, laughing quietly.
“And they might never, regardless of what I do,” he argued. “…I’ll preen them later.”
”Turn around,” Techno huffed, expression firm when the crow met his gaze.
“Phil. Turn around,” Techno told him. “Let me do it.”
For a moment, Phil only stared at the golden gleam in his friend’s eyes. It would be easy to just say no. He knew, despite the piglin’s insistence, that Techno would respect his choice. But then again, this was Techno. It was either letting him do this, or letting him do everything else for him in compensation.
“There was a time, you know, when you didn’t try to take all my burdens for yourself,” Phil commented dryly. Techno made a gruff noise, but Phil could tell it was in worry.
“I don’t have many friends left, Phil,” the piglin grunted. “And you were less passive back then.”
“I’m far from passive,” Phil scoffed, almost letting out a laugh. The sound died in his throat.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Techno said, a silent apology carrying through in his tone.
I know you’re not helpless.
“I know,” Phil murmured. “It’s alright, mate.”
He then let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Just get it over with,” he murmured, turning to face the opposite way. He pulled off his sweater, sliding his wings out of the back and setting the garment aside.
“I won’t have you do this to yourself,” Techno scoffed. Phil didn’t respond, wordlessly stretching his left wing out so the piglin could work on preening it. Techno placed one hoof against it, holding it still while he used his other hoof to carefully start realigning pitch black feathers.
Phil closed his eyes, suppressing a flinch when the first one fell back into place. Techno noticed anyway, going still.
“Phil?”
Phil waved his hand, dismissing the concern.
“It’s alright,” he muttered. “Just… Been a while, that’s all.”
Techno resumed preening his wing, though the added caution in his movements was immediately noticeable.
The cabin was quiet. Phil’s thoughts were loud.
He hadn’t even considered preening his wings since the day he’d injured them. That thought had been second to everything else happening back then, from Wilbur’s death to rebuilding L’Manberg, from the appearance of Ghostbur to trying to get along with Fundy. From house arrest to the butcher army, from losing any faith he had in New L’Manberg to spawning withers to destroy it all.
But with every feather that was nudged back into place, the harder it was to not think about November.
What good had it done to shield Wilbur? What good had it done to protect his son from his own actions, only to kill him moments later?
His broken wings were a direct reminder of that day.
The Angel of Death, bound to the ground for killing. What a fitting punishment.
Techno had only gotten halfway through preening Phil’s wing, when he noticed the crow was shaking subtly. He let his gaze wander onto his friend's face, and found silent tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Phil.”
Phil brought a hand over his face, hiding his expression. Techno released his wing and brought a hoof to his friend’s shoulder instead, urging him to turn around.
“Look at me.”
“Why did he never tell me…?” Phil croaked, shifting just enough to meet his gaze.
There was no need for clarification. Phil only ever talked about one ‘he’.
Techno shifted his weight, wrinkling his snout but remaining silent. The room he left for Phil to continue didn’t need to be pointed out.
“I didn’t-“ The crow swallowed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know he was on his last life.”
Techno grimaced, lowering his hoof from Phil’s shoulder to the space between them on the sofa.
“…I didn’t know for a while either,” he admitted. “But I saw an arrow scar on the back of his neck once. Asked about it. That’s how he lost his second, he said.”
“And his first?” Phil asked quietly from beside him.
“I don’t know,” Techno answered. “I’m not… You know I’m not good at conversation, Phil.”
Phil leaned against the palm of his hand and whispered, “I don’t think anyone knows how to ask that.”
“Phil,” Techno muttered, gently tugging at his shoulder again. Phil turned to face him fully, eyes glossy and bright.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Techno said firmly.
“I killed him, Techno,” Phil uttered hollowly. “I should’ve- I-“
“Phil,” Techno stressed. “You didn’t know.”
Phil exhaled harshly, wings closing in around his frame. He pressed his hand over his mouth, choking on a broken sob.
Techno moved first, catching his friend into his arms as he broke down crying.
This far north it was always quiet. But that night, the silence was broken. That night, the Angel of Death grieved.