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There is an Elytrian chained up in Ranboo’s castle. Well, technically, the elytrian is not in the castle, but under it. Buried deep underground, on the lowest level of the dungeons. And technically it’s not Ranboo’s castle either, the castle belongs to their mother. The Queen of the end, direct descendant of the Ender Dragon, Chosen by the Void and all the other titles she insists on but that make Ranboo feel uncomfortable. Just like the thought of the Elytrian in their dungeon makes them uncomfortable.
The dungeons aren’t wet, like they’re described in the overworld books. No, nothing in the End is ever wet. Water is dangerous and rare. If they’re honest with themself, the idea that there could be enough water for it to run down the walls scares Ranboo. Not that that’s uncommon. A lot of things scare Ranboo.
They quietly make their way down the stairs and into the dungeons. Ranboo wishes they were old enough to teleport by now, but except for the occasional accidental space-jump, their pearl isn’t developed enough for real teleportation. And so they have to walk, no matter how much easier being able to teleport would make this.
The dungeons are empty. Of course they are empty, there are prisons in the End, more public and most importantly not directly under the castle. Ranboo’s mother told them that there was talk about destroying the dungeons completely, before the Elytrian was brought in. Ranboo still remembers that day. They were in their study, but they could still hear the shouts from both the guards and crowd. None from the Elytrian himself, though. No, the Elytrian had stayed perfectly quiet. It had fascinated them.
Ranboo enters the deepest part of the dungeon and approaches the cell in which the Elytrian is being held. They can feel the chill of the void seeping through the ground and not for the first time do they ask themself how the Elytrian can possible deal with this. Their steps are quiet, and yet the sound of each one almost seems to echo in the absolute silence handing over the corridor they’re walking down. Ranboo stops in front of the Elytrian’s cell and he’s already looking at them, pupils narrowed despite the lack of light in these parts of the dungeon. Only when he recognizes them do his pupils widen. His whole body slumps, the chains around his wings, his arms, his legs, rattling with the motion.
They don’t mention the bald spots in his wings. He smiles at them and Ranboo has been down here often enough not to flinch at the bruises covering his skin. There is blood behind his teeth, staining his mouth, running down his chin. They don’t mention that, either. Instead, they wave and try to smile back at him. Like always, he is the first to speak. Ranboo never really manages to break the silence between them, no matter how it sets their fur on edge and makes their skin prickle with discomfort.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up, mate.”
The Elytrian’s voice is raw and Ranboo doesn’t know if it’s from screaming or lack of water. They’ve heard that Overworldler need lots of water, way more than Enderians need. It must be weird, being so dependent on something like water. Then again, Enderians feed on the magic of the void, so maybe that’s similar? Is water magic? It would explain why it burns some and gives others life, Ranboo supposes. They shake their head slightly, flicking their ears.
“It’s been getting harder to sneak down here. That’s why I don’t have a book this time. Sorry.”
Ranboo tries to bring stuff down with them, whenever they can. More often than not it’s a book and they will read their favorite parts to the Elytrian, or ask him to help them translate some part. He’s fluent in more languages than Ranboo’s teacher. At least they think he is. They can’t really check. The Elytrian just shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. He’s always smiling at Ranboo. It was weird to get used to, at first. By now, though, the expression has become familiar.
“Don’t worry about it, just stay safe, okay kid?”
He takes a deep breathe and it rattles in his lungs worryingly. Ranboo frowns. Breathing isn’t supposed to sound like that. They don’t mention it, just like they don’t mention how the Elytrian winces when he shifts his weight. Instead they nod.
“Of course.”
The Elytrian nods back. Ranboo hesitates, then sits down. The ground is still cold, too close to the void to allow any kind of comfort, even for an Enderian like Ranboo. But it’s manageable, for a while. And then Ranboo talks. They talk about their studies, about their struggles with remembering etiquette but how their language skills have improved since they started talking to the Elytrian. The Elytrian stays quiet, which is okay. Ranboo knows that he sometimes stays quiet on bad days, but this feels different. It feels more like a quiet before the storm.
Eventually, Ranboo falls silent. It’s a more comfortable silence this time. Well, as comfortable as any silence down here can be, with the Elytrian’s rattling breaths as the only sound surrounding them. Ranboo twists their fingers together, skin buzzing with the awareness that the Elytrian is watching them. They look up when he sighs and the feeling of being watched disappears. His eyes are closed, now. When he opens them again, his face is set in an expression Ranboo hasn’t seen in a long time. The Elytrian looks deadly serious now.
“I’m not going to live long, mate.”
Ranboo leans forward and opens their mouth to interrupt, but the Elytrian shakes his head. They close their mouth again, biting their tongue. Right, they should let him finish explaining what he means.
“The Queen has finally realized that she won’t get any information out of me, so she will no doubt move on to my execution. A public one. A spectacle, an example for anyone else who might choose to disrespect her.”
Ranboo blinks, but doesn’t otherwise move. They know, of course, that the Elytrian is a traitor. There is no other reason as to why he would be locked up here. But they don’t know what, exactly, he did. And hearing him talk about his execution like this makes them wonder if he expected this. They eyes linger on the blood staining his skin and clothes and they know the answer. The Elytrian doesn’t let their silence bother him, instead pushing on, his words quiet and stumbling, as if he’s trying to get them out of the way as fast as possible.
“Before that happens, I need you to find someone, okay? There should be a trader from the Overworld arriving soon. Nihachu is the name she goes by. I need you to find her and give her a message from me.”
The Elytrian must see something on Ranboo’s face, because he’s smiling again. So softly, as if he wasn’t planning for his execution. Ranboo feels sick.
“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to break me out of here. I know that’s not something you can do. But, I need you to find Nihachu and I need you to tell her that you have a message for Technoblade. I need you to tell her that Philza sends you and to tell Technoblade that I’m sorry. I need you to tell him that I have the maps in my library. Please, can you do that for me?”
Ranboo takes a deep breath. Right. Right. Find a trader and tell her that Philza’s maps are in the library and that he’s sorry. A message for Technoblade. They can do that, they can absolutely do that. They nod at the Elytrian.
“I will find her, I promise.”
The Elytrian smiles even brighter at that. Ranboo leaves soon after. Only once they have almost reached their own room again do they realize that the Elytrian told them his name. Philza. They wish they could visit him one more time. Just one more time, so that they might share their own name with him as well. They shake their head. No, they need to find Nihachu. There is no time for them to return to the dungeons. And it’s too dangerous to risk it anyway. They remember the Elytrian’s, Philza’s, smile. They need to deliver a message.
-----
Philza is woken up by the guards opening the door to his cell. Were they Overworldlers, or even Netherborn, he’s sure that their steps would have alerted him long before the rattling of keys did. But they’re Enderian and while that too wouldn’t have been too much of a problem normally, Philza is tired. His whole body hurts, the blood in his mouth clouding both his sense of taste as well as smell. His skin itches, his wings aching with even the smallest movement, the bald spots rubbing against the chain and sending burning agony down his back.
Still, he manages to raise his head and smile at the guards. It’s not a nice smile, nothing like the smile he had given the Princeling mere hours before. No, this is more a baring of teeth, a sign of defiance. He will not bow before these people, even though it will cost him his life.
The guards don’t say anything, but two of them step forward and unlock the chain keeping him connected to the ground. They then grab him by the arms and haul him onto his feet. Philza tries to ignore the shaking in his knees, but his joints ache from the chill of the void and the hard stone floor. For all that being close to the void means being close to Her, Her touch has never been kind to any living soul, no matter how much She might try. Then again, it’s only a matter of time before he meets Her once more. His wings ache and yet Philza is glad for their constant weight. He can always feel them, always feel the promise they represent.
His smile widens, even as the guards drag him up the stairs, his own legs too weak to carry him for long periods of time. He hopes that the Princeling has found Niki by now, that they could deliver his message to Technoblade. His warning. His promise. He may die here, but he will not drag his best friend down with him, no matter how much the other would protest that decision. He can’t allow Techno to charge in blindly just because Phil is in danger.
After spending so much time close to the void, the endstone of the upper dungeon levels almost feels warm under Philza’s feet. The light of the lanterns seems blinding, the shouts of the crowd outside the castle deafening. The guards keep pulling him along and Philza does his best to keep up with stumbling steps. Enderians are strong and Elytrians light, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be carried. Standing on his own feet, even while supported by the guards on both of his arms, is one last scrap of dignity that he plans on keeping.
The guards lead him onto the courtyard, where many many eyes are already awaiting him. Loud whispers rise out from the crowd once they catch sight of him, their eyes burning into his awareness, into his already bruised flesh. The guards lead him to the middle of the courtyard and force him onto his knees. Then they wait, one on each side, a hand on each shoulder holding him down. One behind him, weapon dangerously close to his wings. Philza was born with his wings, born an Elytrian. Then he lost them. He died. But She brought him back, gave his wings back. A promise that She will always be with him, that he will always be bound to Her. She is watching now too, he can feel it. Philza smiles.
The Ender Queen, the Princeling’s mother, steps forward. The guard lower their eyes. It is an insult to look the Queen in the face, punishable by death. But Philza has never been one for rules, and he is going to die anyway, so he keeps his face up, eyes staring directly at her. He can’t see her eyes through the veil the Queen wears, the only one allowed to hide her face away in a land full of people for which direct eye contact leads to pain.
Even without seeing her face, Philza can tell that the Queen is sneering at him. He doesn’t listen to her speech. It doesn’t matter what she says, in the long run. It doesn’t matter if the people that have gathered around believe her or not. Instead, Philza searches the crowd, trying to find a familiar figure. He doesn’t manage to make out the Princeling. Good. They shouldn’t have to watch this execution. The Queen turns back to Philza and he can feel her eyes boring into his own, even without seeing him.
“Any last words?”
She’s speaking Overworld Common, the disgust clear in her voice. From anyone else, it might be seen as a show of respect. Using the enemies language to honor them before their death. Philza knows better than that though. It’s just another insult. So he doesn’t answer, not verbally. Instead, he spits on the ground before her. There is blood in his saliva.
The Queen steps back with a hiss, then turns towards the guards surrounding Philza. Her commands are in Enderian High, but Philza speaks that language just as well as any language spoken in the Overworld, so her demand is clear. He is prepared when the guard heave him up once more and drag him off, though he doesn’t let his eyes wander from the Queen once. Not even when his arms and wings are chained to a wall. Not even when the executioner steps forward.
For a moment, there is silence. Then burning agony bursts out from Philza’s stomach. He screams, his throat already raw and feeling like it’s being ripped to shreds with every sound he makes gives out halfway through the sound, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Blood drips his clothes and Philza heaves for breath, blinking the tears out of his eyes. He doesn’t need to look down to know that there are three long gashes on his stomach, made by claws and slowly bleeding him to death. Or, based on how lightheaded he feels, not so slowly.
The world around him goes out of focus, the voices of the onlookers mixing together into droning background noise. It’s almost quiet, like this. He can feel the pull of the void. He can always feel it, in the End, but never quite like this. Now that he’s dying, it feels ever present. Like a cold hug, maybe. More comfortable than being thrown into ice water, but only barely. Pins and needles line his skin. His vision swims in streaks of light and dark, purple and yellow and red.
Then someone steps forward. The only clear thing he can see, outlines so sharp it feels like they’re cutting his brain. She is smiling at him, reaching out. Her hand hovers just over his cheek and he leans into Her touch. It’s cold as ice, biting his skin, but that’s okay. He’s dying, the feeling leaving his body just as the blood drips onto the ground.
“It’s okay, my Angel. I’m here.”
Cold, cold lips brush his forehead.
“Welcome home.”
Philza closes his eyes and lets Trixtin take him away.