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Techno loved fire.
He loved the warmth of it. He loved the powerful aura that it gave off. He loved the color of it, the bright orange, yellow, and red flames. He loved the smell of it. The smell of the wood getting consumed by the burning flames.
So it was no surprise that he was blamed as the arsonist. Blamed for setting a fire. The fire that burned two-thirds of the Roman Empire to the ground.
Had he? No one would know. Rumors said he had. But had he? Nobody knew. Besides, it is ancient history now.
Techno loved music.
He loved the sounds it made. He loved how it could make one sad. Make one happy. He loved the notes he could play on instruments. He loved his fiddle most of all. He loved how he could make one feel sad with the songs he played. He liked how he could make someone happy with the songs they made.
So it was no surprise that he was accused of playing his fiddle while his empire burned to the ground.
But had he played the fiddle? Perhaps he had. Perhaps he didn’t. No one would know. It's all ancient history now.
But why tell this story at its ending?
Perhaps because it is the end. It was the end of many lives. But the end of Techno’s reign in Rome was still to come.
Perhaps there is a reason we start at the end. It is because saying someone did one thing without seeing the full backstory is better than starting at the beginning and knowing.
But maybe we should start at the beginning.
Not at the beginning with the tyrant Emperor, Techno. No, rather, let's start at the beginning with a simple person.
A man named Phil. It sounds simple and unimportant enough. Right?
And so he was. He was only 15 when he adopted two sons. He was only 15 when the young, 17-year-old Techno became the new emperor.
Phil is 15 now and was only 25 when the fire started.
Phil had two sons. He had adopted them both from an unloving mother. Which wasn’t too uncommon.
Tommy and Wilbur
Simple enough.
He was a simple man. With a simple life. With simple children.
Tommy was 6 when he was adopted. Wilbur was 8 years old. Tommy was 16 when the fire started. Wilbur was 18 years old.
It was simple. Along with Phil’s life.
Phil had a simple and boring life. But it didn’t matter. He had two sons, whom he loved with all his heart.
Phil made his money as a merchant. He sold many things at the merchant shops. The shops are by Circus Maximus, the Roman chariot-racing stadium.
He sold olive oil. He sold feathers from birds no one had seen before. He sold emerald jewelry.
His shop was the most unique of them all. He had many customers from all over the Empire.
And yet, his life was simple.
He woke up at sunrise and went home at noon. Like any other simple person.
Sure, maybe he looked a little different than others. But he was a simple man.
Perhaps he had a small tattoo on his shoulder with his favorite bird. But he wasn’t different from any other man.
He wasn’t an emperor. He wasn’t a god. He was… Phil.
When he was 15, he walked through the door of his home. Like he did every day at noon.
Tommy and Wilbur were likely out practicing fighting. Like they did every day.
It was a simple life. They would train on how to fight and come home.
His life was simple, his sons’ lives were simple.
He sat down at his simple wooden table and looked down at his simple walls.
He dug into his small bag, finding a package. Inside were beautiful green gemstones.
"Emeralds… Emeralds…"
He poured the emeralds into a wooden bowl, sorting through them. They were all polished, ready to be added to a bit of metal for earrings.
He grabbed a piece of metal to twist and turn into a small hook for an earring.
When he was done, they would be worth tens, if not hundreds, of denarii.
It was simple to create earrings. Everyone seemed to love them. Even if they were simple. Perhaps that was why the people loved them. They weren’t overly complex.
"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD"
The front door opened, and a very excited 6 and 8-year-old raced in. The door was shut behind them with a slam.
They then immediately grabbed his arms, jumping up and down in excitement.
"Dad! Dad! Dad!" They cheered excitedly.
They both had the biggest smiles he had ever seen. He smiled back.
"Hey, what's up?" He stood up in an attempt to shake the clingy children off him.
A half-failed attempt, but it was all lighthearted fun. He managed to get Wilbur to let go, but Tommy still clung on tight, jumping up and down with joy.
Wilbur started to do circles around the table with pure joy.
"Guess what IIIIIIIIIIIII did today?" Tommy grinned, drawing out the I. He didn’t wait for Phil to reply, "Wilbur gave me a piggyback ride and we chased people with our swords!"
Phil gave a half-sigh, half-laugh. "Toms, you dooooooooooooo know most people do not like to be chased around with swords, right?" He made sure to draw out do.
"Mhm mhm!" Tommy said, seeming to, in fact, not understand at all. Tommy jumped up and down excitedly. He then let go of Phil’s arm and started to chase Wilbur around the table.
When Phil was 20, Tommy was 11, and Wilbur was 13.
When Phil was 20, he felt older than he was. When Phil was 20, he came home at noon like he did every day.
When Phil was 20, Wilbur and Tommy were standing in a corner of the house. Tommy was crying. Wilbur was trying to comfort him.
"Toms? Wil?" He ran over to them, the distance only taking seconds. "What's wrong?"
Tommy pointed to the opposite corner, tears pouring down his face.
"W- wild animal," Tommy sniffed.
Phil looked over to Wilbur, who simply looked up at him sadly, then at Tommy with sympathy.
Phil grabbed a pan off the wall, a small decoration.
Phil walked over to the corner, a metal pan in hand. And in the corner was nothing bad.
It was a simple creature, it was a kitten. Not a beast.
It hissed, arching its back angrily.
Definitely wild however.
"SHOO! GET OUT!" Phil hollered, shooing it away with his metal pan. He opened the door for the creature, and it raced out.
When Phil was 24, he saw a poster nailed to his house’s door with the word "evicted" on it.
When Phil was 24, he stared at those words with tears forming in his eyes.
"Oh… Tommy, Wilbur, I’m so so sorry," he mumbled, though the two were nowhere to be seen. He grabbed the poster, ripping it clean from the nail.
Tears flooded down his cheeks, and a bitter pit of despair filled his chest. His love for his sons was replaced with cold anger toward the poster.
In his rage, he had ripped the poster into pieces. Then, the poster's confetti was thrown into the air. It went up. And it fell down like rain.
When Phil was 25, it rained. It had rained like it did the day before. It would have been nice a year ago.
Phil used to love the rain. The way it fell from the sky. The way the clouds grew gray when it was starting. The way the air smelled after the rain. He loved the rain.
And a year ago, perhaps, Tommy and Wilbur would run out and splash about in the muddy puddles the rain created. But that was a possibility a year ago.
Now, they were all hiding in the house of someone he didn’t fully trust. Phil knew, however, that it was better than death.
But to say that is quite ironic. The lady he stayed in the house with was Death herself.
Her name was Kristen; she was a simple lady with a simple life. A lady with brown eyes and long brown hair.
She was simple, but even so, she preferred the title "The Goddess of Death".
The woman had made jokes about being the "Goddess of Death", and so took the title. And yet, her name was quite ironic. She was there to protect him from death. The death of the Roman soldiers hunting Phil, wanted to give him.
She joked, saying only she would be the one to give him the relief of death, not some scum soldiers.
She hadn’t hurt Phil, Tommy, or Wilbur yet, so perhaps she wasn’t a terrible person.
And that was true.
She was truly kind-hearted. She would never hurt a soul, even if she said she would.
She was a baker of sorts. Made some of the best breads and cakes out there.
When Phil was 25, Tommy was 16, and Wilbur was 18.
And Techno? Techno was 27. But why bring this up? This wasn’t his story. This was Phil’s.
And so, when Phil was 25, the Death Goddess was 24.
Phil was at peace. Even if he spent a year running away from Roman soldiers and tax collectors, he was at peace.
The winter and spring seasons went by like a blur. It was spent helping Kristin bake and sell the delicious pastries she made.
Wilbur and Tommy spent most of their days learning how to read and write. A skill Kristin somehow knew, and slowly taught them in her free time.
Soon. Very soon, it was July. Now, there was nothing special about July. It was warm, sure, but it was no different than June.
Everything seemed to be going well. In the mornings, the three would help Kristin bake pastries. In the afternoons, Phil and Kristin would take turns selling pastries and teaching Tommy and Wilbur how to read and write.
Sometimes, though, not everything goes as planned.
It was the night of July 19th, 64 AD. It was a beautiful night; every star shone brightly. Wilbur and Tommy were in bed, most likely asleep. Phil and Kristen were still up, doing a few last minute things before they fell asleep.
"Phil, mind helping me with this?" Kristen asked, holding up the end of a small banner.
"Hm?" Phil looked up from the paper he was writing on. A small side hobby of his, writing stories. He saw Kristen holding up the banner and walked over. "Of course!"
"Pretty night, isn’t it?" Phil said with a contented sigh. He took hold of the other end of the banner. It was a simple one, quite small as well. A white background with black lettering showing what kinds of new pastries were sold.
"It truly is," Kristen replied. She took a nail and started to tack one end of the banner to the wall. "Every star seems to shine a little brighter tonight."
Phil hummed in reply, letting the sounds of the night fuel the conversation. Most times it was like this, for silence could speak a thousand words.
With one last nail, the banner hung neatly on the wall. The two stepped back to admire their work.
"Looks quite even to me," Phil hummed, nodding and putting his hands on his hips in approval.
"Time to rest up for the day ahead of us," Kristen smiled, placing the extra nails and hammer on a nearby table. "I have a new recipe I tried today for a pastry that I’m excited to sell tomorrow."
Oh, but little did the two know, there wasn’t a tomorrow.
A loud banging on Phil's door woke him. He must have slept in again.
The bright sunshine shone through the window. Phil walked over to his door, opening it. He noticed it was a little harder to breathe.
"Sorry, I must have—" He froze when he saw the pure terror and panic that were in his 16-year-old son's face. He couldn’t move and couldn’t speak.
When he finally spoke, it barely came out as a whisper. "Toms?"
"Phil—the house is on fire," Tommy sniffled, tears forming in his eyes.
Phil ignored the panic that rose within his chest and attempted to comfort his son. "Hey, hey, it's alright," Phil said, drawing him into a hug.
"No no. Phil, you don’t understand," Tommy sobbed, yet he hugged him back.
Phil never seemed to understand. He never seemed to understand why people wanted the nearly useless things he sold. He didn’t understand why Wilbur and Tommy came home crying all those years ago. He didn’t understand why Kristen saved him. And of course, now he doesn't understand.
Tommy struggled under his hug, and Phil let go. He then ran downstairs, leaving Phil alone in the doorway to his room.
Phil was confused. He walked over to his window to open the curtains, and let the sunlight in. He opened his curtains to be greeted with the world burning down in front of him. His eyes widened in shock. He took a step back in horror.
The sunlight that lit up the room wasn’t sunlight. It was fire. The "sunlight" was fire.
And he was stuck in his house.
He raced down the hall, to look for his family.
"TOMMY! WILBUR! KRISTEN!" He cried out, looking through the few rooms.
No one. Not even a reply.
Then, a small sob came from the bakery section of the house. To say Phil ran over would be an understatement.
In a corner of the bakery section were the 3 of them. All were safe and sound, minus the fact that the world around them was on fire. Phil stopped at the sight of them, a few paces away.
Tommy was hugging Wilbur, sobbing into his shirt. Kristen was giving the two a hug, saying something possibly comforting.
When Kristen saw him, she smiled weakly and beckoned him over, opening her arms wide.
Phil stumbled over and fell into her arms. He hugged her tightly.
"I’m so so confused," he muttered, realizing his cheeks were wet. When had he started to cry?
"I know. I am as well, but at least we are all together for one last time," she said gently.
Tommy sniffed, speaking quietly. "I met a kid the other day. His name was Tubbo. You would have liked him; he was really nice."
It wasn’t the happy ending Phil wanted. Tommy should have bonded with the kid and become the best of friends. Perhaps not here, but at another time, another day, they would have. Instead, they were dying here.
"He was teaching me how to dance," Tommy sighed weakly as he snuggled into Wilbur’s chest further. The thick black smoke was slowly filling the house, affecting their lungs.
It would only take a few moments for the smoke to destroy their breathing. A few minutes until they would die here. At least Phil wasn’t alone.
"Well, that's unfortunate," Kristen coughed suddenly, a small frown on her face.
"What’s that?" Phil asked, his eyes starting to water from the smoke.
"Never *cough* got to *cough* sell the new *cough* pasties," Kristen replied with a small smile between coughs.
Phil felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Wilbur. He looked down at Tommy, who was crying. Tommy looked like he was in a peaceful dream. Phil knew he wasn’t. He knew he had just lost his son.
Wilbur was the next to pass from the smoke inhalation. And while Wilbur passed next, it took a little longer for the next two to pass.
Phil hugged Kristen weakly and whispered, "You know, I love you. I loved you all."
"I know, I know." She whispered and closed her eyes, falling into the deep sleep that Wilbur and Tommy had. She was the third to pass.
Phil was the last to close his eyes. To fall into the forever sleep his family did.
And so the "Goddess of Death" never took Phil's life. Instead, it was the fire. The fire, which two-thirds of the Roman empire fell victim to.
Perhaps not too far away, on a tower, Techno played the fiddle over the burning city. Maybe a sad song. Maybe it was a happy, joyful one. But then again, no one would know.
This story was about the tyrant, Techno. However, it was told from the perspective of the merchant, Phil.
And so, Kristen never sold her pastries.
Tubbo never met Phil.
Phil never finished his stories.
Wilbur and Tommy never fully learned how to write and read.
And Techno, the Tyrant, would never meet the 4.