Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Uncle Techno?”

There’s a tug at Technoblade’s trousers, a small hand on the benchtop, followed by another, followed by a snout peeking over to see what’s happening.

“Yeah, spud?” Techno says, moving over to make room for Michael. He’s not quite tall enough yet to properly see over the bench, but that doesn’t stop him trying. There’s a stool somewhere, probably in another room, hand carved by Techno himself. 

“Why does dad never let me go to the Nether?”

That… is not the question Technoblade had been expecting. Michael’s not always the best at subtlety, but then again, he is only six.

“The Nether’s a very dangerous place,” Techno answers, reaching for the mortar and pestle, a crystalised ghast tear cradled in his palm.

“I knoooow,” Michael whines, still holding onto the bench and leaning backwards. “That’s what dad always says.”

“Yer dad’s right, then.” The tear is ground to a fine, glittering dust, and Techno taps the pestle against the mortar so as to not lose any.

“But I wanna go!”

“I’m sure you do.” Technoblade adjusts the temperature of the brewing stand, three bottles of awkward potion bubbling steadily. They fizz when he adds the tear.

“Then why can’t I?” Michael sure is stubborn. He gets that from his father, and, Techno supposes, his grandfather. Phil has never been one to give up easily, and neither is Tubbo.

“‘Cause it’s dangerous. Yer dad just wants to keep you safe, spud,” Technoblade explains, softening his voice and looking down at his tiny companion. 

“But I need to go,” Michael insists, grabbing Techno’s trousers again. “I need to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” With a look at the potions to make sure they’re not going to over boil, Techno crouches down to be level with Michael. 

“‘Cause that’s- ‘s where I’m from,” Michael says, suddenly a lot quieter, suddenly unable to meet Techno’s eyes. “I’m not stupid, I know dad isn’t my real dad. ‘M from the Nether, like you.”

“Yeah,” Techno says, also a lot quieter. For a six year old, Michael really does know a lot. “Yeah, like me.”

“An’- an’ I wanna go to the Nether. ‘Cause dad won’t let me go. ‘An I thought- I thought- I’m like you, so you- you might let me go?” Michael’s looking up at him now, one big brown eye shining beneath his lashes, and Techno has always, always been weak to cute things.

Michael especially.

But it’s not just Michael’s cuteness that’s persuaded Technoblade to agree. No, it's their similarities.

He and Michael are not from this realm, are not suited to it nor the things it bears. They should be amongst soft red rocks and bubbling lava pools, towering cyan and crimson fungi, shifting, sighing sands, and an endless heat. Instead, they’re surrounded by snow and ice, an endless, ever-changing sky, and deep blue oceans. 

Michael is from the Nether. So is Technoblade. There is a pull, a yearning, a sense of incompletion, of inadequacy out here. It’s only small, but it’s persistent.

Technoblade understands. He understands in a way Tubbo cannot, in a way Phil cannot, in a way that he reckons Ranboo could, but Ranboo isn’t here. He hasn’t been for years.

And so- “How’s this;” Techno begins, reaching out and putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder. He almost engulfs him entirely for how small he is. “I can talk to yer dad, an’ see if he’s okay with me takin’ you to the Nether. Just for a day or somethin’, don’t wanna make Tubbo worry. How’s that sound spud?”

Michael nods, and he only manages to keep his grin to himself for a moment, before it erupts across his face and he’s lurching forwards to hug Technoblade.

He catches him, just like always.

“Woah there, spud,” he chuckles, pulling over a chair from the dining table and setting the kid on it. “You wanna help make some potions?”

As it turns out, Tubbo took… some convincing. Several days worth of it, in fact. But Techno didn’t give up, presented Tubbo with the rational facts of why he should take Michael to the Nether, and why it would be safe, and eventually, Tubbo relented. 

Reluctantly.

Possibly just to get Techno out of his hair.

But he still relented, so Techno counts that as a win.

One of the agreed conditions is that Technoblade won’t take Michael through the commune’s Nether portal, nor any of the regularly used, central portals. It’s just too dangerous.

Techno actually agrees on that one, the Nether around any given settlement’s portal is absolutely trashed, an accident waiting to happen.

And thus, here they are.

Michael between Techno’s legs atop Carl, barely able to contain his excitement when they slow to a stop. 

“Are we here, are we here?” he asks, turning around where he sits to look up at Techno. “Can we go to the Nether now?”

“Almost, spud,” Techno says, peering around the woodland they’ve found themselves in. It’s still snowy, but that’s fine, it’ll only make the red of the netherrack stand out more.

A while ago, Techno had decided to map out and mark any significant places within a very large radius of the commune. He knows there’s a now intact portal around here somewhere, he just has to find it.

With a click of his tongue and a squeeze of his knees, he spurs Carl forwards, slowly, weaving between the trees.

“There! There!” Michael shouts, jumping up and down, pointing a little to the left. “That’s the portal, right? It’s all red!”

“Good spot,” Technoblade congratulates him, easing Carl around until they’re next to the obsidian structure. 

It’s nothing grand, but Michael is quick to be lifted down and scamper about, eye wide and grin wider. The portal’s not even lit yet, and Technoblade chuckles at the kid’s enthusiasm as he opens Carl’s saddlebags.

“Hey spud,” he calls, “C’mere, we gotta get you all ready.”

Michael rushes to his side, still slightly bouncing as he tries to stand still.

“Now, ‘s jus’ like I told you, we don’t need t’ do much, but we wanna be safe, yeah?” Technoblade pulls out a small bundle of shining gold, and Michael’s eye zeroes in on it immediately. Again, Technoblade chuckles.

“This is for you,” he says, and Michael looks up at him. “‘S not much, but it’s gonna keep you safe. We’ve got some gold leggin’s, an’ a chestplate too. Yer feet aren’t big enough for boots, an’ I thought a helmet would be overkill.”

Technoblade puts the gold down, and crouches next to it. “But first,” he says, reaching out to undo the clasp of Michael’s cloak. “We gotta take all yer layers off. The Nether’s very warm, you don’t need this, or yer scarf, or yer furs. You’ll get all cooked, an’ yer dad’s gonna be real mad if I bring home a cooked spud.”

It’s only slightly a hassle to get Michael stripped down and kitted back up, to securely strap him into the multiple pieces, but thankfully, they’re just the right size. Techno made them himself, even pressed every enchantment he could get his hands on into the plating. It’s nowhere near comparable to his own Netherite—it’s gold , after all—but it’ll keep Michael safe from the piglins, and it won’t hinder his movement too much.

“Can we go now?” Michael asks, once he’s armoured up, his spare clothing stuffed into Carl’s saddlebag, along with some of Techno’s. It is, after all, very warm in the Nether.

“Almost, almost. I gotta give you this, first,” Technoblade says, reaching over and grabbing the very small hilt of a very small sword.

Again, Michael’s eye widens and catches on the gently shimmering diamond. 

“Don’t tell yer dad about this, spud,” Technoblade says, once more crouching down to be level with the kid. “This is yer very own sword. An actual sword, not the wooden ones I usually give you. It’s very, very sharp, an’ it’ll really, really hurt if you cut yerself, alright?”

Michael nods, drawing his hand back from where he was about to grab the blade.

“I know you know how to use it, but it’s just for emergencies, alright? Don’t go swingin’ it around at nothin’, only use it when you need it. I’m trustin’ you, spud.”

Michael nods solemnly when Technoblade sheaths the blade at his side. Techno really is trusting him with this, but he thinks he’s right to. Michael is a very smart kid, and he’s been trained by the best.

The best being Techno, of course.

And Phil, though Phil’s not always the best at explaining the details.

“Alright, now we can go,” Techno says, grabbing a bag of his own, and fishing the flint and steel from his pocket. 

It barely takes a spark in the right direction for the portal to light with a rush of air around them, warping reality and glowing softly purple between the black rock that makes it up.

“We’ll go through together,” Techno says, taking Michael’s hand in his. “Whenever you’re ready, spud.”

Stepping through a portal is never a fun experience. It’s lurching and dizzying, the whooshing only gets louder, and the purple glow only brighter. Thankfully, it never takes more than a few seconds.

Michael stumbles when his feet hit solid ground again, and Techno is pulled after him, out onto the familiar red plains of the Nether wastes. Perfect. He probably would have turned straight around if it were anywhere else, and found a new portal to go through.

“You okay there, spud?” he asks Michael, because he’s very quiet. Hopefully he’s not going to throw up, because Techno knows how excited he’s been for this trip. He would hate to have to cut it so short.

When Michael doesn’t answer, Techno moves closer. 

Michael is not about to be sick.

No, his one eye is blown even wider than it had been seeing the portal, and his mouth is open. His gaze is darting about, trying to take it all in at once, and Techno smiles.

“Yeah, pretty impressive, isn’t it?” he says, kneeling beside him and looking out across the netherrack and lava.

There’s quartz chunks glittering in the walls, gold nuggets half buried in the floor, lava flowing quickly from the ceiling, casting everything in a warm orange light. 

It’s home.

And Michael probably doesn’t remember the last time he was here.

“Now, spud,” Technoblade says, because there is more to be done before they can leave and explore a little. “Since you left the Nether when you were really little, an’ neither of yer dads are from here, I’m guessin’ you don’t know much about this place, huh?”

Michael shakes his head. “‘S why I wanted to come,” he says. “An’ ‘cause- ‘cause I just wanted to.”

“Well then, you’re in luck, ‘cause I know a lot about the Nether.” Techno starts pulling a few things out of his bag, polished gold nuggets, lumps of coal, a couple of dark nether bricks. Michael watches as he arranges them on the ground, beside the portal.

He makes a triangle with the bricks, puts half of the coal in the middle with a handful of netherrack dust from the ground around them, and gestures for Michael to kneel next to him.

“In the Nether, we have the four Cornerstone Gods,” he begins explaining, reaching again for his flint and steel. “They’re the four important ones. The Blaze Empress, the Blood God, the Wither, and Aurum. 

“The Blaze Empress is the goddess of… how do I put this, she’s the goddess of fire an’ warmth, she’s why people can live in the Nether. The Blood God is the god of, well, blood, but also protection, an’ life. He’s my favourite. The Wither is another tricky one, he’s the god of death here in the Nether, but that’s not a bad thing. They’re… god of what we don’t know, an’ help us all stay safe. Aurum is the god of plenty, they make sure there’s lots of food and resources for everyone.” Condensing the Cornerstone Gods to something simple enough for a six year old to understand is difficult, but Techno thinks he’s managed pretty well.

Michael listens intently, and holds his hands out dutifully when Techno passes him a couple of the gold nuggets.

“Right now, I’m makin’ a little shrine. We want the gods to protect us in the Nether, so we gotta ask them.”

“How do we ask them?” Michael asks, practically whispering. At least he understands this procedure is one to be treated with respect.

“We make a fire, like this.” Techno strikes sparks into the coal, watching it catch and flame. “An’ then we put things in the fire.”

“What things?” Michael’s still holding the gold, and Techno takes some as well.

“Well, it depends on what god you wanna ask for help. The Blaze Empress, she likes blaze rods. Aurum likes food, the Blood God like blood, and the Wither likes coal. But all of them like gold, jus’ like you an’ me.”

“So do I put the gold in- in the fire?” Michael asks, opening his hands.

“Yeah you do. But one at a time, alright? After me.” Technoblade holds out his own gold nuggets, taking one and tossing it into the flames. Of course, it doesn’t instantly disappear—it’s only gold, it’s only fire—but that’s okay.

“Now I gotta ask a god what I want,” Techno says, glancing at Michael. He’s still paying close attention.

“Which god?” Michael asks.

“Well, we’re goin’ somewhere we don’t know, so we’re gonna be askin’ the Wither.” Technoblade clears his throat, drawing his attention back to the crackling fire. 

“Wither,” he begins, bowing his head. He sees Michael follow out of the corner of his eye.

“Wither, we ask humbly for your protection as we venture into what is unknown to us. We ask you help us navigate the dangers that await, and we ask you watch over us in this life, and the next. In return, we offer this gold, and this coal, burned in your name.”

There is silence after Technoblade finishes, until he turns to Michael. “Your turn.”

Michael copies what Techno did, throwing his gold into the fire and looking down at his lap.

“Mr- Mr Wither,” he begins, and Technoblade feels something swelling in his chest. Pride. “Um… Could you please…”

Michael looks up at Techno, and he nods, prompting him to keep going. There’s no one right way to ask for a god’s aid, and Michael is doing just fine.

“Can you help us stay safe? And- and also not dead. My dad would be really sad. Please and thank you.” 

As soon as he’s done, Michael beams up at Techno, and his smile has never been more infectious. Techno reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Michael giggles.

“Did I do good?” he asks, and as much as he’s still smiling, there is sincerity to his question. Michael knows how important gods are, and he’s only just learnt about the gods of his home.

“You did amazin’, spud, I’m so proud,” Techno assures him.

Again, Michael beams at him, hugging his side.

“Why do you still have some gold?” Michael asks, still tucked up against Techno.

“‘Cause I need to talk to another god. Y’know how I said the Blood God is my favourite?”

Michael nods, eye still locked on the gold nugget. He knows it’s not for him, though, so he doesn’t try to take it.

“Well, I… I do a lot of things for him. It’s rude if I don’t ask him for his help too.” The Blood God is Techno’s patron god, Techno is his child. Or, was. Metaphorically. It’s been a while since he’s been in the Nether long enough to offer anything more than a passing sacrifice, but Techno still prays as often as he can, even if he knows his god has no influence in the overworld. “I won’t be a minute, alright spud?”

Techno casts the remaining gold onto the fire, and reaches for the small knife he always keeps at his hip. It cuts through the flesh of his palm cleanly, and Techno holds his hand over the fire. His blood sizzles as it hits the hot coals.

“Blood God,” he says, bowing his head again. “As my patron god, I ask only what you can spare. Help me protect Michael, should the need arise, and help me strengthen the bonds that tie us—and others—together. Help me protect my community. I am forever your child, and I offer this gold, and my own blood.”

“Is your hand okay?” Michael hisses once he’s done, and Technoblade chuckles.

“It will be. Just a scratch, don’t you worry.” He’s quick to bandage it, and it really is just a scratch. Enough to draw blood, but not so deep it’s going to be an issue.

“Now, one last thing before we go explorin’. We’ve asked the Wither to help us, so we gotta give ‘em somethin’ so they can find us, right? There’s a lotta piglins in the Nether, the Wither needs to know which ones we are,” Technoblade explains, pulling out one last piece of coal, small and slightly crumbling, staining his fingers. 

“So what we do, is we draw a sigil,” Techno continues, taking Michael’s right hand gently in his own. “It’s a special symbol that we draw in coal—because the Wither likes coal—that means we want protection an’ help from the god.”

Michael’s wrist is small, but Technoblade is well practised in drawing various sigils. The Wither’s is simple, a U, and a line through the middle, almost like a trident.

“Now, d’you wanna do me?” he offers, holding both the coal and his own wrist out to Michael. “Jus’ like I did you, spud, you got this.”

Michael nods solemnly, his tongue sticking out as he concentrates, copying the symbol on his own wrist onto Technoblade’s. It’s only a little bit wobbly, but it’s definitely recogniseable. 

It’s perfect.

Chapter Text

Most of the Nether is uninhabited. And for good reason, too. It’s a barren wasteland, caverns and cliffs of brittle red rock, barely anything breaking up the view. To build a home in a place like this is near impossible, Technoblade knows well. He’d tried, when he was a child, but it hadn’t worked.

Still, Michael is as exuberant as ever. 

True to his word, he's keeping his sword sheathed at his side as he runs about, asking Technoblade question after question at a mile a minute.

What's this called, why's that shiny, can he touch the shiny thing, why doesn't the fire go out, can he touch the fire? Techno answers as best he could, trying to keep up with the boy while still keeping an eye out for any potential dangers.

He’d steered them away from a soulsand valley a while ago, recognising the chill that seeped through the air and picking up on the whispers of a thousand passed before they even got a glimpse of the shifting brown sands or the cold burning blue flame. 

Soulsand valleys are dangerous, and while Technoblade trusts himself completely—trusts himself to keep Michael safe, too—he doesn’t want to risk it. It’s all too easy to succumb to the otherworldly chill, and besides, empty skeletons never appreciate others in their general vicinity. 

There are ghasts moaning overhead, too, but Techno is yet to see a wispy white tentacle break through the fog, so he pays them little attention.

“Hey, Michael,” Technoblade says, beckoning the kid over from where he’d been poking at a patch of mushrooms. Perfectly edible ones, but Michael has decided he doesn’t like them raw. “Look, over there.”

Techno points, and Michael follows his finger, over the plateau they’re on, to a small peninsula sticking out into one of the great lakes of lava. It’s forested, trees with purple trunks and thick red foliage, crimson covering the netherrack, grasses and vines and more mushrooms.

But the forest isn’t the only thing Technoblade is pointing out. 

There’s a bridge built across a chasm in the ground. Ropes of thickly woven vines, reddish planks, a lantern hanging still at each end. Wind isn’t really a thing in the Nether.

There’s a bridge, and that bridge leads to a path. Nothing much, just a meandering little thing, worn into the ground through constant use. It too has lanterns hanging from posts every now and then. 

There’s a bridge, there’s a path, and there are- there are houses. Again, they’re nothing spectacular, built from the same reddish wood as the bridge and the trees surrounding them, thatched roofs and windows with shutters. A communal farm, a communal fire, a communal set of shrines. Technoblade can’t quite see from this far to tell who the village’s patron deity was, but it wouldn’t matter. There are no feuds between worshippers, at least, none pertaining to whom it is that one worships.

“Can we go over?” Michael whispers, as if there was anyone close enough to hear them.

There are people in the village, yes, piglins milling about and tending to their duties, dressed plainly in rusted reds and muted purples and bright cyans—easy dyes to obtain, far easier than yellow or even green—but they are across the bridge, and haven’t spotted the odd looking pair just yet.

Technoblade considers for a moment. He hadn’t actually been planning on taking Michael to the village, but he seems so eager. He doesn’t want him to get hurt—the Nether has a bit of a reputation for violence, one Technoblade adamantly believes is not an accurate portrayal of its actual peoples—but- but he can protect him. If worst comes to worst, Technoblade is able to get them out safely, and get them home. His community is first and foremost, and Michael is exactly that.

“If you want. Jus’ for a little, though, we’re just passin’ through,” Techno finally says, looking out across the bridge. 

“Yay!” Michael squeals, bounding off towards the village, taking the bridge at full speed, only to stop immediately when it sways somewhat violently beneath his feet. 

“Careful, spud,” Techno says, coming up beside him and taking his hand. “It’s gonna move when we walk across it, so we’ll go slowly, yeah?”

Michael nods, squeezing Technoblade’s hand very tightly. He takes the bridge at a more manageable speed this time, carefully stepping onto each plank individually. It takes a little longer than perhaps necessary, but Techno’s letting Michael lead the way. He wants him to feel safe, and if this is what it takes, then he’ll take as long as he needs to to cross a bridge.

By the time they reach the other side, Techno’s pretty sure they’ve been spotted. After all, it’s not exactly every day a large, battleworn warlord and a tiny, overworld dressed child come wandering through the nether.

They barely take five steps down the path before there’s people with them, a few of the younger piglin adults, barely coming up to Techno’s shoulders.

He supposes he is a brute, he can’t expect them to all be as tall as he is.

“Greetings, sounder!” the villagers call, reaching out their arms towards Techno.

He lets go of Michael’s hand for a moment, taking the piglin’s forearms in his own as they do his, and briefly touching their foreheads together. “Greetings, sounder,” he replies, taking Michael’s hand again when he feels him clutching at his trousers.

“Welcome to N’Duviko, it’s not often we get visitors,” the first piglin—the one Technoblade greeted—says. She has a baby in a sling across her front, the child even smaller than Michael, and sound asleep.

“My name is Kēal’v’eron, this is Ahfald’dh’kro, and the littlest one,” the second piglin introduces. They have gold beads woven into their hair, seemingly hand-forged. It’s a mark of significance, and for a moment, Technoblade is self conscious. He usually only puts his in for special occasions.

“Please, just call me Ahfald.”

“Kēal’v’eron, Ahfald, littlest one,” Technoblade greets, nodding his head at each in turn. “My name is Technoblade, and this is Michael.”

“Hello.” For as excited as he was, Michael is hiding under Techno’s cloak, peering out around his leg. Techno doesn’t make him come out any further, just squeezes his hand gently where it’s still in his grasp.

“They’re, uh, overworld names,” Techno clarifies as both Kēal’v’eron and Ahfald give him strange looks.

“You two are from the overworld?” Ahfald asks, cocking her head. “But you’re…”

“Piglins, yeah. Both- both born here, but we… moved out, you could say.”

Ahfald didn’t seem entirely satisfied with Techno’s answer, but she didn’t say anything more on the matter, thankfully.

“Come, come,” Kēal’v’eron beckons them, moving already towards the village. Ahfald follows, but Technoblade stays still for a moment. 

“You sure you wanna do this, spud?” he asks Michael quietly. “We can leave if you wanna.”

He’s half expecting Michael to take him up on his offer, to ask if they can turn around and go somewhere else. Michael… hasn’t exactly had the best experiences in life when it comes to meeting new people, and Technoblade understands that. He’s not going to pretend Michael is a perfectly normal kid, he’s got far too much trauma for that.

But Michael doesn’t take him up on his offer. He nods his head, and for a moment, Techno isn’t quite sure what he means.

“I’m sure,” he says though, and pulls out from under Techno’s cloak by himself, gently tugging him along.

They’re only a couple of steps behind the two piglins by the time they reach the village centre. Others have gathered, mothers and children, elders, workers who’ve stopped their work to see the newcomers in bright colours and with strange names.

“N’Duviko,” Kēal’v’eron calls, standing at the foot of the brazier that burns bright in the centre of the circle. “This is Technoblade and Michael, of the Overworld! We welcome them into our sounder for as long as they may wish to stay!”

The people cheer, and man, they really must never get visitors here. The noise seems to scare Michael a little, since he ducks behind Techno’s leg again, but he’s quickly coaxed out by a group of piglin kids around his age who creep closer when they think Techno’s not looking.

With a nod, Techno lets Micahel go off and enjoy himself. He deserves some playmates his own age.

Now with a better view of the shrine, Techno studies it for a moment. All four Cornerstone Gods are represented, of course, but it is one who’s raised above the others.

“Aurum?” he asks quietly.

“For prosperity,” Ahfald says, stepping up beside him. “N’Duviko is very far from any major city, or even town. We make all we have, and trade only when we must.”

“As is the way of the Nether,” Techno agrees, still looking towards the shrine.

“There’s a Wither bastion not far from here,” Ahfald says, gesturing back the way Technoblade and Michael came. “They offer help where they can, but their community is very different from ours.”

“You seem to be managing just fine,” Technoblade says, looking away from the shrine and out at the village. It’s not large, but it’s thriving. Nothing has fallen into any sort of state of disrepair, and there are many crops Technoblade can see tucked away behind the houses. Even what seems to be a hoglin pen, though whether or not it has anything in it is another question.

“You needn’t be worried,” Ahfald says. Techno’s not sure what gave it away, but Ahfald isn’t speaking without basis. “Your son will not come to any harm here.”

“Oh, he’s- he’s not my son,” Techno is quick to correct. “I’m his- his uncle. His dad isn’t… that familiar with the Nether, so I’m showin’ him round for the meantime.”

“A piglin unfamiliar with the Nether?” Ahfald asks, disbelieving. And for good reason.

“Uh- no, not so much. Michael’s- he’s adopted. His dad’s actually a- a goat. Hybrid. It’s an Overworld thing.”

“There seem to be many ‘Overworld things’,” Ahfald points out, but again, she doesn’t press the matter.

“I hope they don’t offend you,” Tehcnoblade says, even though he’s pretty sure they don’t. 

“Not offend, just… sadden, perhaps, is the word. You and he are of the Nether, yet how you speak, it is somewhere unfamiliar to you two. This is your home, and yet the child must know so very little. You, at least, know of the gods.”

“It saddens me too,” Technoblade admits. “I might be of the overworld now, but I grew up here. In a Wither bastion, probably like the one you mentioned before. Didn’t- didn’t exactly agree with the lifestyle, though, an’ you know how well they take to that sort of idea.”

“I understand the necessity to worship the Wither,” Ahfald says, voice hushed. “I truly do, but such communities…”

“I agree,” Technoblade replies, matching her tone. “It’s why I defected, why I claimed the Blood God as my patron.”

“You are his Champion?” Ahfald asks, and Technoblade knows why. Surely someone as big as he is, as experienced as he is, as devoted as he is, would be Champion. But-

“Nah. Never- never had a community to elect me. Not officially.” Technoblade shrugs. It’s not a big deal to him, not anymore. He’s found his community, and he doesn’t intend on leaving it any time soon. Even if he wanted to, Phil is one hell of a stubborn old bird, he doubts he’d be able to get rid of him if he tried.

“An’ I  know the Overworld may not be the Nether,” Techno continues, eyes finding Michael in the crowd. “But Michael has a father and a family who do truly love him. He has a community.”

“And you?”

“I found my family too.”

Kēal’v’eron insists on showing Techno around the village, taking him to each piece of farmland, each building, each structure constructed with nothing but care and consideration for the harsh environment they live in. 

Techno was right, he did see a hoglin pen, and while there are only three of the beats in there—two parents and a child, he assumes—it’s still a rather impressive feat. Hoglins aren’t exactly kind creatures, and it is all too easy to end up on the wrong side of their tusks. Techno congratulates Kēal’v’eron, because he knows the struggle to obtain hoglins is worth it. They are an invaluable food source in the Nether.

By the time he returns to the village centre, he finds Michael again. He’s not with his new friends now, but sitting close against Ahfald’s side as she shows him her baby. Techno just watches.

“It’s so small,” he hears Michael say, and Ahfald chuckles.

“She’s so small,” Ahfald corrects gently. “That’s why we call her ‘littlest one’, because she’s the smallest.”

“Why don’t you call her a name?” Michael asks, reaching out and gently touching the baby.

“Because she doesn’t have one yet, little farrow.” Now there’s a term Technoblade hasn’t heard in a while. He almost thought he’d forgotten it.

“What’s a- a farrow?”

“You’re a farrow, small one,” Ahfald says, tapping Michael’s snout with her finger and making him snuffle in surprise. 

“But- but dad always calls me um… he calls me a kid, and uncle Techno calls me a spud.”

“Do they now?” Ahfald asks, very patient with Michael’s easily distractible nature. 

“Is the- the little one-est a farrow too?”

“Yes, I suppose she is,” Ahfald says, shifting the blankets over her baby. “But usually we call the tiny ones ‘lets. She’s a ‘let, but she’ll be a farrow when she’s grown like you.”

“And a kid and a spud?”

“And a kid and a spud,” Ahfald agrees, chuckling.

“I think she should have a name,” Michael says, and it’s now that Technoblade moves closer, not interrupting the conversation, but coming close enough Michael can see him.

“So do we, but we haven’t found one yet,” Ahfald says, and Technoblade knows there’s a little more to it than that. There are rituals to be performed, gods to be called upon, celebrations to be had. A name is more than just a collection of letters in the Nether, it tells of birthright and blessing, and it carries a weight far more than anything else.

Technoblade has not used his in far, far too long.

The first part of a Netherling’s name—Kēal, Ahfald—is familial, is personal. Sounds are passed from family to family, combined and pulled apart again and reorganised in different ways. One of Kēal’v’eron’s parents must have ‘kē’, and the other ‘al’, or some close variations.

The middle is birthright. Is condition, is nothing but physicality. A runt, a brute, a sow, or even—gods forbid—a passer. A babe born to never grow older in this existence.

And then the third, the final, has godly ties. They can differ between communities, but the gods are an integral part of every Netherling’s life. They honour those gods that have answered the family’s call, and any gods the family wishes to maintain a connection with.

Tekan’o’badeh is a name that has not been spoken in tides. 

“I think you should call her… Benson,” Michael suggests, and even Technoblade laughs with Ahfald.

“Spud, Benson’s the name of yer chicken,” he points out, and Michael whips around with an indignant frown.

“Benson is a cool name! I think it’s a cool name,” he protests, and Ahfald reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Benson is a cool name, so we’ll consider it, yeah?” she says, with a wink up at Techno. “Now, the tides are low, you two should probably be off,” she says, deftly changing the conversation topic. “Travel is best now, as much as we would love to have you stay, I understand you have your own communities to get back to.”

“Do we have to?” Michael whines, flopping against Technoblade. He hefts him up easily, balancing him on his hip.

“Yer dad said only a day, an’ we gotta walk all the way back.”

“I don’t wanna, I wanna stay here with- with little Benson, and her mum, and all my new friends!” Michael tugs at Techno’s shirt as he speaks, trying to get his point across. N’Duviko is a lovely little village, Techno has to agree, but he has to keep true to his promise to Tubbo. Michael is to return home safely by sundown. Or, close to. It’s a little hard to keep track of overworld time in the Nether, given there is no sky nor any functional clocks.

“The tide,” Techno asks Ahfald, “Is it rising or falling?”

“Falling, soon to rise. We bed at highest and wake after full cycle.” Technoblade knows that already, but he appreciates her clarification. 

“Thank you.” If it’s soon to rise, then it’s about time they turn around. It’ll take just as long to get back home as it did to get here, and Technoblade doesn’t want to waste a second of it.

Michael, though, has other ideas it seems. 

“I wanna stayyy,” he whines, drawn out and pitiful. “Why can’t we stay?”

Technoblade sighs, hefting him up in his grip. “How’s this sound, spud?” he asks. “We can come back again later. I know the way, and maybe we could even bring yer dad with us?”

“When later?” Michael asks, smushing his face into Techno’s side.

“Next week,” Technoblade says, and he really, really hopes he can keep true on that promise. “I’ll talk to yer dad again, an’ we’ll see. But we gotta go now, sorry spud.”

“Before you do,” Ahfald says, beckoning them over to a storehouse. Kēal’v’eron joins them when they see where they’re headed, as do several other piglins of varying ages.

“From us to you,” Ahfald says, opening the doors. “We offer you food, resources for your journey. May your hoard be grand.”

It’s a typical farewell from a follower of Aurum, especially with piglins pressing dried meats and bottled potions into Technoblade’s hands. 

“And may our sounders be one,” Technoblade replies, accepting the gifts. He has nothing to offer in return, but he doesn’t think that matters right now. The people of N’Duviko don’t expect anything from him.

“We’ll see you again, little farrow,” Ahfald assures as they walk back to the bridge, ruffling Michael’s hair again. “And you too, Technoblade.”

“Tekan’o’badeh,” Technoblade says. “Call me Tekan.”

Chapter Text

They’re half way home when Michael spots it. This time it’s him tugging at Techno’s hand and pointing excitedly across the Nether wastes.

“Uncle Techno!” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Look! Look!”

The structure he’s pointing at with such exuberance is big and black, half set into a wall of netherrack, engulfed by the red rock. Even from here, Techno knows it’s swarming with piglins, and he knows that many of them will be brutes.

And all of them will be armed. 

Bastions are an integral part of Nether life, the big blackstone structures scattered about just as frequently as smaller towns and villages. Each bastion is devoted entirely to one of the Cornerstone Gods, and all those who reside in the bastion follow suit. 

An Aurum bastion is little more than a massive farm, producing food and resources tide cycle after tide cycle, each inhabitant devoting themselves to the prosperity of their home. A Blaze Empress Bastion is a well oiled machine, known for their large scale endeavours to improve their communities. A Blood God Bastion devotes themselves to each other, to building up generations after generations. And a Wither bastion? 

They fight.

They protect the balance between the known and the unknown, and an individual person’s life is insignificant in such an endeavour. As Ahfald had confided in Technoblade, Wither bastions are integral to Nether life. Without them, danger would hound the heels of settlements far too small to be able to protect themselves. Like any other deity’s bastions, Wither bastions provide a vital aspect of survival. 

Resources, organisation, strength, and thanks to the Wither, protection.

But Technoblade knows what Wither bastions were like on the inside.

Comfort is not a priority. Family is not a priority. Individualism is not a priority. To devote oneself to the Wither is to accept that you will pass earlier than most, and if you don’t? Then that’s nothing short of a miracle, and an instant path to Champion.

Wither bastions are necessary, but they are brutal.

Technoblade doesn’t feel any great desire to return to one.

Michael, however, is still tugging at his hand.

“Spud, hey,” Techno says, snapping back to the present moment. “D’you know what that is?” He probably doesn’t, probably doesn’t understand the… potential danger inside.

“Yeah,” Michael says, though, as if Techno’s stupid. “‘Course I do! ‘S a bastion,” he continues proudly.

“Oh,” Techno says, blinking. Did Michael… no, he couldn’t’ve. He’d been too small to run away when he was found, he hadn’t come from one. “How’d you know that?”

“I sawed one when dad ‘n boo, um… when they carried me from the big house to the little one.”

From what Michael’s saying, Techno figures he means the remains of the bastion near the portal to the Arctic Commune. The ‘big house’ is probably the mansion, and the little one the cottage Tubbo had built in the enchanted woods near Techno and Phil’s. 

So Michael knows what a bastion is, but has never seen one in more than utter ruin. No wonder he’s curious.

“Michael, hey,” Techno says, taking his nephew’s hands in his own and squeezing gently. “I know yer interested, spud, I know you wanna go over there.”

Michael nods eagerly, grinning.

“But we can’t.”

His face falls, and he looks down at the ground, trying to pull from Techno’s grip. He doesn’t let go.

“Bastions like that one are dangerous, spud, I don’t want you t’ get hurt,” Techno explains. “Ahfald an’ the rest of N’Duvico, they’re different. People in there, they’re not gonna be as… nice.”

“But the other one’s fine,” Michael mumbles. “‘S not bad .”

“Spud, I know,” Techno tries to assure. “The bastion you’ve seen, that one’s different. No one lives there, but there’s lots of people here. You could get really hurt, Michael, so we need to stay away.”

“But you gave me a sword,” Michael insists.

“I know. But yer only six, Michael. You gotta listen to me, spud, it’s too dangerous for you.”

If Michael gets so much as even slightly hurt, Techno will never forgive himself. He suspects Tubbo will forgive him even less. 

“Fine,” Michael eventually says, pulling free from Techno’s grasp and hunching in on himself. 

“Chin up, spud,” Techno says, hating to disappoint his nephew. “You can help feed the dogs when we get back, maybe even give ‘em a few treats, yeah?” he offers, knowing Michael likes the Hound Army.

For a pack of war-trained wolves, they can be surprisingly soft with the kid.

Michael just grumbles his response, and Techno figures that’s the best he’s going to get. 

So he sets off, he gestures for Michael to follow, looks back to make sure he is, and the further from the bastion they get, the better. He’ll take Michael when he’s older, he has every intention to. But Michael is not older, he’s six, and a Wither bastion is probably not the best place to start.

It’s not until Techno turns to ask Micahel if he’d like to feed the dogs before or after seeing his dad that Techno realises Michael isn’t there.

Michael isn’t there.

Technoblade has never been one for cursing. No, Phil has that covered well and truly. Technoblade has never been one for swearing, but sometimes, there simply isn’t a better word in the heat of the moment.

“Fuck.”

Unfortunately, there’s no question as to where Michael’s run off to. He may as well have left bright green footprints against the red rock for the speed Techno turns on his heel and runs towards the bastion.

There’s a hundred and one worst-case-scenarios running through his head already, each one worse than the next, each one ending with him returning home to tell Tubbo that another one of his family had died, and Techno hadn’t been able to get there in time.

Technoblade isn’t going to let that happen. There’s enough blood on his hands, he can’t add a child’s to the crimson river of it.

He’d hoped to catch Michael before he could get to the bastion, but given that Techno can’t see the kid anywhere, he’s not going to be that lucky. Hopefully Michael is small enough not to draw attention to himself, but Techno knows he doesn’t have that choice. The moment he gets close enough to the walls, everyone inside the bastion will know he’s there.

So he composes himself, he slows to a walk and tries to slow his racing heart, he draws himself up to his full height and Technoblade walks into the Wither bastion with his head held high.

The Wither bastion is very different to N’Duvico.

It’s nowhere near as warm, as lively, as colourful. The walls are dark and so are the clothes of the inhabitants, all blacks and greys and deep purples. There’s no homely hustle and bustle, only the strict, regimented rhythm of patrols, of Wither children hurrying from one place to another to do one thing or another. 

No one is idle, there is always work to be done and training to occupy spare time, and rituals that must be respected. Wither bastions are dangerous, because in a single word, everyone within them becomes a step in the dance of life and death. 

That dance, that song, it sings loud in Techno’s bones. It always has, ever since he was old enough to comprehend it. Even under the Blood God, Technoblade cannot deny his first instincts, to dance the line between the known and the unknown, heedless of what the consequences may bring.

Now is one of those times. 

The song is ever-present in a Wither bastion, weaving from person to person. It’s there in the steady sound of hooves on blackstone, it's there in the careful flow of blade to arm, it’s there in the way every single eye is on Technoblade as he marches confidently through the halls to the heart of the bastion.

He cannot let his fear show.

It only occurs to Techno that he- he doesn’t have any reason for being here in the Wither bastion apart from trying to find Michael. And he knows he doesn’t want to tell the brutes that Michael’s here somewhere too, because as much as he knows the Wither’s children aren’t inherently violent or inherently set out to harm, Michael is a kid with a lot of trauma, and what the Wither’s children will deem okay, could well only end up damaging Michael more.

Techno will… come up with an excuse when it comes to it. He’s pretty decent at stalling if he needs to be.

And he does need to be, because the maze of corridors and stairways and thick bounding walls have suddenly given way, because he’s standing at the edge of a great courtyard, a floor of lava and stone platforms, Wither children training and learning and honing their skills, while a group of brutes and other decorated piglins congregate in the centre. They are this bastion’s champions, Technoblade can tell from the intricate weapons they carry and the gold threaded into their hair. 

Again, Techno feels really self conscious. He is on par with these people before him, and yet he has strayed far enough from his culture that he will not be recognised as such.

It’s his own fault, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

“Sounder,” one of the brutes calls, and it’s nowhere near as warm as Ahfald and Kyal’v’eron’s greeting. It’s a warning.

“Sounder,” Technoblade replies, making his way out across the lava to stand before this bastion’s Champions. 

“What brings you to the heart of the Wither’s bastion?” another champion asks, a young woman, barely half the height of her peers. A runt, but her braids positively drip with gold, and her speech is anything but contested.

“My name is Technoblade, I am of the overworld,” Techno begins, even though he’s not exactly answering her question. “I’m just travellin’, happened to pass by, thought I’d pop in, y’know?”

The champions look at him strangely, and more than one hand goes to rest on the pommels of their weapons. Technoblade does the same, leaning casually on the Axe of Peace at his side. 

“My family was big on the Wither too, haven’t been somewhere like here in a while,” he continues, trying to fill the silence.

There’s a flicker of movement in the shadows behind the champions, across the lava lake and between the arches that look out onto the courtyard. A flash of gold and bright blue, far too small to be one of the Wither’s children.

It’s Michael, and no one but Techno has noticed him. Thank the gods.

“You’re a child of the Wither?” the runt champion asks again, sceptical. Techno doesn’t exactly blend in with the rest of the bastion, and he’s not exactly wearing any of the Wither’s colours.

“Nah, more the Blood God myself, but I grew up somewhere like this.” He can’t see Michael anymore, but that doesn’t stop him looking. He needs to give him enough time to get out, because surely Michael must realise how dangerous it is for him to be here now.

“In a Wither bastion?” Techno’s asked, and he’s drawn back to the champions in front of him.

“Yeah, back in the day. Didn’t really love it though, so I left. Just thought it would be nice to come back to somewhere like home, it’s been a while.” Techno’s stalling now, he’s not really sure what to say or when, only that he needs to keep the attention of the champions, and of the rest of the piglins in the courtyard. It seems to be working.

“If you’re from a bastion like ours,” the young woman begins, “you must understand our duty. We protect the Nether from the unknown, and we fight for the safety and honour of our people and god.”

“Yeah, I know. Passing is an honour and all that, to die protecting your people is an achievement many don’t get the opportunity of.”

“And you understand that you are unknown to us,” she continues, eyeing Technoblade with a gaze of bone-chilling soulfire. He has no doubt that this young woman will be able to kill him easily, if she so desires.

“I understand, but I promise, I’m not here to harm anyone. I just… wanted to say hi.” And to rescue Michael, but that’s not information these champions need to know. They don’t need to know about the little golden streak who’s now on the second floor and not heading for the exit. He’s just as reckless as his dad, Techno really can’t blame him.

“And yet you have not let go of your weapon since entering,” the champion says, and Techno silently applauds her. She’s got a sharp eye, though not quite sharp enough, thankfully.

“Touché, but neither have half your fellow champions. I might be unknown to you, but you’re all unknown to me, too. Forgive me for wantin’ to protect myself.”

The runt considers for a moment or two, before nodding. “Fair point, Technoblade. You are familiar with our ways, you herald from a community not unlike ours. We will stand down.”

At her word, every hand drops from various blades and bows and other assorted weaponry, and Techno follows suit.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. Sorry to intrude, but I was just curious. I appreciate your fastidiousness, though, means you’re takin’ good care of yer community. I’m sure the folks at N’Duvico appreciate it.”

“N’Duvico?” the runt champion says, fixing Technoblade with another look, but this one’s not as cold. It’s still just a piercing, but Techno doesn’t feel like he’s being stabbed slowly with an icicle. 

“Yeah, you know them I take it? Ahfald was mentioning you guys give them some help sometimes.”

“Ahfald?” The woman asks again, and the other champions exchange smug looks. Techno thinks he’s missing something. Actually he’s pretty sure he’s missing something. “How is she? How is the littlest one?”

“Oh, uh, they’re good. Littlest one still doesn’t have a name, but she’s still small. Ahfald was very kind, she and Kyal’v’eron sent u- me away with a lot of supplies.”

The woman smiles, and it’s the first break in her utterly terrifying presentation that Technoblade’s seen.

“If you pass that way again, tell Ahfald that Zehan sends her regards, to her and the littlest one.”

“Tell her she sends more than just her regards,” one of the other champions snickers, and Zehan—presumably that’s her name—brandishes a knife in their direction.

“Our Zehan has a bit of a… soft spot for Ahfald’dh’kro,” another champion explains in a mock whisper, and Zehan goes bright red.

“That’s Zehan’a’dehon, to you,” she insists. “We will let you be on your way, Technoblade, and remember, no battle fought alone.”

“Thank you. May our sounders be one,” Technoblade replies, eyes scanning for Michael again. He can’t see him, which means he’s going to have to go looking. 

“Actually, do you mind if I… look around a bit?” he asks. “Just interested, I promise I won’t touch anything.”

“We trust you,” Zehan says, and Techno breaths an internal sigh of relief. He knows that if the answer was no, and he got caught sneaking around, the punishment would be… rather high. He’d like to make it out of this bastion in one piece and preferably alive, thanks. Oh, and with Michael, he’s kind of the reason he’s here in the first place.

“Thanks for that, I won’t let you down,” Techno promises, and if he were the type of person to believe in that sort of stuff, he’d be crossing his fingers behind his back right now.

He’s not, so he doesn’t. The sentiment still stands, though, in that he’s mildly going to betray that trust. If all goes well, no one should realise a thing.

He just hopes it all goes well.

It does, to begin with. Techno is able to walk the bastion freely, and, most importantly, alone. The halls are just as cramped as he remembers, if not moreso. He’s bigger than he was as a farrow and a shoat, and the halls have remained the same. They’re a maze, but Techno takes his time, looking for any flashes of gold in the corners or concealed away in any nooks and crannies.

Michael’s very good at hiding, Technoblade’s discovered, and very good at staying silent. If he doesn’t want to be found, he probably won’t be. It’s a blessing right now, but also a curse. No one’s going to find him, but Techno rather wants to.

“Michael,” he whispers, making sure there’s no one in earshot to hear him. “Spud, c’mon, I know yer here somewhere.”

There’s no answer, so Techno continues. Deeper into the bowels of the bastion, the thick protective wall littered with twisting stairs and hallways. It’s achingly familiar, but harshly unforgiving. He doesn’t know this bastion, but he knew one, once. A very long time ago.

“Spud,” he tries again, peering round a fork in the path that leads to a seemingly dead end. “Where are you? Yer dad’s gonna be livid.” If he finds out, which Techno has absolutely no intention of ever letting happen, actually. Tubbo may not know the intricacies of bastions, but he knows they’re dangerous. Most do, and those who don’t often deeply regret that lack of knowledge.

“Michael, it’s me, you can come out,” Technoblade says, trying not to lose hope. He would know if Michael had been captured, word would spread like lavafall, and he’d be bound to overhear something. And Michael isn’t stupid enough to fall off the edge of the walls, or into the lava. He’ll be fine, it’s just a matter of finding him.

“Uncle Techno?” a small voice says, and Techno breathes a sigh of relief so big that his armour scrapes against itself when his shoulders drop.

“Yeah, spud, it’s me,” he says, still not entirely sure where Michael is, only that he’s close enough to hear and possibly see him. “We’re safe, you can come on out, yeah?”

There’s a shuffle, a scrape of stone against polished stone, and Michael appears as if from nowhere. Techno isn’t sure if he wants to know how he does that, but he’s glad he’s done it.

“C’mere,” he says instead, gruffly, and pulls Michael close for a hug. It’s not easy to shake Technoblade, but Michael’s managed to do just that. 

“Everyone has swords,” Michael whispers, curling into Technoblade, clutching at his clothing between the plates of his armour. Techno has to fight back the urge to say ‘I told you so’. Michael is only six.

“Yeah, they do. You been safe?” he asks, pulling back to check Michael over. He seems fine, but he could be hiding something.

“They can’t see me,” Michael says, a hint of pride in his tone. Rightfully so, he’s surviving a Wither bastion better than most adults ever could.

“Good, that’s great spud. Now, I’m not very happy you ran off here, but we’ll save that for later, okay? We need t’ get you outta here, an’ back somewhere safe.”

Michael nods, this time not contesting Techno’s advice that they leave the bastion be.

“Yer gonna have to find the way out yerself, though, spud. They don’t know that yer in here, and we wanna keep it that way. Whatever you’ve been doin’ so far, you need to keep doin’. Get out as fast as you can, an’ I’ll be right behind you, spud.” It’s not much of a plan, but Techno’s not sure he’d be able to come up with anything better than simply trusting Michael not to be seen. 

And Michael nods sincerely, lets go of Techno’s sleeve, considers for a moment, and hugs him again. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, and Technoblade ruffles his hair. He doesn’t quite have it in him to be mad right now. Michael’s had his fun, he’s realised why Techno told him no and he’s learnt his lesson, and he’s safe. That’s enough at the moment.

“I forgive you, spud. Now c’mon, lets get outta here.” Techno says, before Michael scampers off back the way he came and disappears into seemingly thin air.

It’s when Technoblade’s up the top of the bastion that things start to go a little south. He’s circled the courtyard several times by now so as not to look suspicious, pretending to admire the banner tapestries and the construction of the bastion, keeping an eye on what’s going on around him. The champions have mostly dispersed, but Zehan remains, as do a couple of others. Their eyes occasionally flick up to him, until another piglin comes rushing in.

They’re not a champion, but they still have plenty of gold in their hair. Techno can’t hear from this far away, but they and Zehan exchange a few words, and all the champions look at each other with grim, concerned gazes.

Zehan’s eyes meet Techno’s and her icelike fire is back, and Techno gets the feeling it’s no longer a warning. He especially gets that feeling when Zehan marches away from the other champions and starts climbing the stairs. 

He’s not sure why he’s subject to Zehan’s wrath right now, but he’s not going to try to run. That would be a very big mistake, and he doesn’t really want to find out what would happen if he tried.

Instead, Techno stays where he is, and waits for her to catch up with him. 

“Technoblade!” she shouts across the pathway, and Techno tries not to wince at the harshness directed in his direction.

“Zehan,” he replies, still somewhat confused, his hand going once again to his axe.

“Zehan’a’dehon,” she corrects, and Technoblade apologises. 

They’re toe-to-toe now, but Zehan is barely half Techno’s height, so he has to look down to see her. It would be comical if it weren’t for the fact he’s fairly certain he’s in deep, deep trouble, that may end up with him getting kicked out of the bastion, or challenged to a fight. He doesn’t really want either of those outcomes, but he knows which he’d prefer.

“Apologies, Zehan’a’dehon. How may I help?” he asks, not really sure what else to say.

“One of our sounder has discovered that several of our chests have been disturbed,” Zehan says, and ah, right, no wonder she’s mad.

“That’s… not good. Was anything taken?” Techno asks. He already knows the answer.

“Yes, and all signs currently point towards you, Technoblade,” Zehan says, and it’s a wonder she’s remained as composed as she has. Piglins are proud, possessive creatures, at least within their communities they are. While the bastion won’t have any issue sharing between themselves, for a stranger to come in and take what they please is intolerable.

“I can promise you, Zehan—sorry, Zehan’a’dehon—I have taken nothing but your kindness,” Technoblade tries to assure, letting go of his axe and turning his palms up. “I haven’t touched your chests, I have plenty resource of my own. Your treasure is not what I seek.”

“Come with me,” Zehan says, spitting each word at Technoblade. “We’ll judge your claims ourselves, Technoblade.”

Unsurprisingly, Techno obliges, following Zehan down the stairs back to the centre of the courtyard. It seems almost every piglin in the bastion has assembled, peering out from between pillars and sitting on sils to watch what’s unfolding. It’s not every day a bastion gets a thief, and it’s not every day that thief gets caught.

Except Techno isn’t the thief, and they’re hopefully going to realise that pretty quickly.

“State your claim again,” Zehan says once they reach the other assembled champions.

“I swear to the four Cornerstone Gods,” Techno begins, once more baring his palms. “I have taken nothing from you or this bastion but your trust, and your kindness in letting me revisit my past.”

The champions eye him, and Technoblade isn’t very sure they believe him. 

“Here,” he says, handing his bag over. It’s not much, it’s not very big, but it’s about all he has on him by way of storage. “You can search through this. I only ask you leave the potions, you may take what you need and what’s yours, if you find anythin’.”

Zehan snatches the bag, and digs through it. Techno sees her pull out his flint and steel, a couple of potion bottles, and a few nuggets of gold. 

“You can have those. An offerin’ to the Wither, thanks for their protection while I’ve been travelling.”

Zehan snorts a little, and pockets the gold without a word. The potions and the flint and steel go back in the bag, which is roughly tossed in Techno’s general direction. He catches it against his chest, putting it back over his shoulder. 

“Apologies, Technoblade,” Zehan says, her voice a lot less… terrifying now. The rest of the champions relax, and the piglins assembled around the courtyard begin to disperse back to where they came from and what they’re supposed to be doing.

“Eh, ‘s fine. Can’t be too careful, I get it. Yer jus’ protectin’ yer people, no sweat.”

“Exactly. Thank you for understanding,” Zehan says, bowing her head briefly. “However, we must now ask you to leave. Having a stranger—and an overworlder at that—present at a time of stress like this isn’t going to help at all. I hope you’ve appreciated your time here, and perhaps we shall meet again in some existence.”

“Perhaps we shall. Good luck,” Technobalde says, and he’s led directly to the exit. No one follows him as he leaves, and barely anyone watches him. Good, he has a child to find. Again.

“Michael,” he calls, and this time, he shows up immediately.

“Uncle Techno!” he delights, beaming from ear to exposed skull. “Uncle Techno, look!” He grabs Techno’s hand, pulling him to an outcropping of netherrack. It conceals them from view of the bastion, which is good, because Technoblade knows his face is entirely betraying his shock at the small pile of treasure Michael’s showing off.

Golden ingots, a helmet, coiled chain, golden carrots, chunks of blackstone with shimmering veins, and even a black ingot of netherite. No wonder Zehan was agitated.

“Michael!” Techno scolds, but it’s mostly from shock. He doesn’t know how Michael got out, let alone how he got out unseen, let alone how he got out unseen with so much treasure .

“Spud…” he says, and Michael’s still bouncing up and down happily. “We gotta-”

They should return it. Techno knows they should. It’s the right thing to do.

But Michael looks so proud, so happy, and Technoblade?

Techno has always, always been weak to cute things.

“C’mon, spud, let's get you and yer treasure home safe. Can’t have yer dad worryin’ his horns off.”