Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The halls were great and imposing as Tommy‘s steps echo through them. He doesn‘t pay any mind to the devotees passing by, ignoring the constant ache in his bones. He has a destination in mind.

He wanders through the labyrinth of the monastery, till he stands before a wide wooden door decorated with bits of gold and two guards standing at either side of it, a stark contrast to the marmor and quarz the place is mostly made of.

He has been before such doors before, one that scream authority and superiority, but he still feels a little small when standing here. Its silly, really,  but right noe he doesn‘t care.

Tommy shakes it off and goes straight to it and opens it, ignoring the rule to knock and wait for entry. The guards would normally stop such unrespectful behavior but Tommy isn’t just anybody, they know not to interfere.

Inside was an office, shelves lining the pristine walls, a long red rug leading to the end of the room, where a large dark oak table overfilled with papers and waivers resides with three people at it.

The Higher Priest, sits there stiff and like an arrogant fucker in his armchair wearing the traditional white-gold trimmed robe and a stole, fitting for his position, similar to Tommys own clothing.

A man with no name and life, a subordinate to his job and country with all his being or, in Tommys opinion, a puppet on strings in power of this whole place. Meeting him here was expected since this is his workplace but the other, sadly familiar faces on the other side of the table were rather uncommon.

Fully armored with netherite and all kinds of weapons with the country’s seal on his chestplate ,is the most prickest of pricks, king prick, father of all pricks, if you will.

Dante, a tyrannic killer machine as cruel and sadistic as one can be, leaning casually and disinterested back in his chair, while playing with a dagger. He looks downgradingly back at Tommy as if he were nothing more than an annoying bug. Tommy doesn’t even spare him more than a glance, he‘s simply not worth it.

Instead he concentrates his gaze on the one who has Dante as his right hand. A man in a suit, with dark brown hair lining his face, big goat horns poking out of it with different kinds of jewelleries adorning them and a pomperous crown on his head.

Tommy sees the mans dark eyes look up at him with his fingers clasped, his expression calculated but with a smugness that never seems to fade no matter in what situation. Schlatt, the president or more like king of Manburg, once L’‘manburg their great country.

Ugh, Tommy knew he was here as soon as he saw that fucking royal carriage, that seems to simply scream „You are all below me, scum“ but he still hoped that he wouldn‘t see the mans visage today.

Although he was curious, to why he has been called, but the numbing haze covering his. mind quickly stopped it. His body is weighing him down and he’s not really in the mood for their bullshit.

If he is not here to do what Tommy wishes for,  which is not the case, since its way too early yet, when you listen to the medics, then he doesn’t want to see him. Simple, right?

Mentally sighing, Tommy looks behind the three, already asking for her help and guidance. These three may all be above him but behind them a large mosaik window is potraying the only one that Tommy gives his whole devotion to.

Prime, the godess of life, bringer of hope, victory and justice, and standing for wealth and health.

The one people pray for, when their down and lost, the one they seek guidance and help from, the one people thank after a big triumph and the one this whole monastery and many other churches, cathedrals and more have been built for, to honor her greatness.

Tommy is thankful for atleast one presence in this room, even though it’s not really there, to be welcoming and smiles up at her, imaging her warmly smiling back. Well then, coming back to the actual people in this room and whatever they want from him.

“I have business to attend to, so please make whatever you have called me for quick.“

Tommy says coldly, but polite. He may not like them, but they still have done a lot to get here and are doing their part. Tommy might not approve on how they do it, but they still deserve some of his respect, not all, but some.

Even though he can still see the Higher Priest bristle, still not satisfied with his choice of wording, not having used the correct greeting for his majesty in his presence. 

And its true, he has stuff to do. He has been taking on some small chores while being here, to keep himself busy. Mostly tending to the gardens and paperwork, but he still needs to get that done.

And it has been quite a long day for him like every other here so he would really like to just collapse on his bed. He still walks in the rest of the room, the door having already closed behind him.

Schlatt is the first to speak up “Good day to you too, Theseus. It has been quite a while, hasn’t it? And I’m afraid you will have to make up some time so why don‘t you take a seat?“

The words leave his mouth honeyed and fluid, like the words have bern rehearsed and practiced multiple times. He held himself with authority only a royal could bring up, while pointing to an untaken chair at his side.

Great, teaparty with some stuck-up dudes, yippie!

Tommy scoffs silenty but takes it either way, his legs happy to rest.“I hope your stay here has been pleasant. You have been provideded with all your needs and have been given medical attention to at all times?”

It wasn‘t a statement, but a question and they all knew it. And by the the way the Higher Priest tensed and Dante‘s dagger glinted a bit brighter as he held it up at that remark, definitly not a threat, the answer should better be yes.

Well, dear priest, no need to worry, you did not disappoint.

“Yes, they are taking great care of me. The staff has adjusted to my wants perfectly.“

The atmosphere immediatly got lighter and the Higher Priest gave a brief thankful nod to Tommy.

And it‘s true, this monastery with a special kind of clinic built in, or whatever this is, has been treating him great and Tommy has gotten entertainted.

His room was simple but always clean and after some time has even gotten quite homely. During the beginning of his time here, where he was entirely bedridden, he has always been fed and taken care of.

Even though he was very much treated like glass, fragile and easily breakable. Always looking at him with pity in their eyes, as if he were pathetic and weak.

The medics often talked with him, told him what was going on in the world and brought him things such as books to keep himself busy if he didn‘t sleep. Which he did. A lot.

And after getting well enough to walk again, yep, his condition was that bad, he would play with the kids, the little novices, and explore the place.

This also was the perfect time to concentrate all his being on his dudies for prime as best as he could. He has neglected her for long enough and since he already was at such a religious place, he could make up for that.

He still missed his work, terribly so, which is why he did everything in his power to distract himself from his boredom. And really, he has become desperate. 

The meds he haf to take gave him such a feeling of apathy. Gosh, he hated it. It made him climb the walls. He normally always bused with energy but then there was only emptibess left.

At first he tried, to hide them somewhere to avoid taking them. But of course they find out and then always watched Tommy take them every single time. Prime, he‘s miserable.

Which is also why the kids here were a blessing send from prime and he grew quite attached to them, to be honest. They were downright adorable, the little novices.

He liked telling them stories and loved the many pranks they pulled on the devotees. Even though they didn’t love them back. Meh, their problem.

Schlatt looks, still suspicious, back at him for a bit, searching his face for something. Damn, the guy knew him well. Scaringly so. Was he really that much of a liar? Even when it comes to himself? yep

The king, seemingly satisfied, continues “I heard you have been recovering at a suprising speed. You have handled what happend at the incident quite well, right?“

Tommy immediatly stiffens. The incident… He doesn‘t want to think of it. He never wants to remember what happend that terrible day. If he could, he would erase that event from the timeline entirely.

He can feel the dozens of bandages on his skin and the constant ache in his bones and hurt in muscles, that has grown to become the new norm. Even after all this time, it still hurt, he still had to be careful.

But Tommys body will recover fully, the doctors and healers have made sure of that due to their great abilities. It was more due to a wonder even though they had to fix him up first.

In less than a year or so, all thats left will be a lot of scars and a few dull aches at times. Oh, but his mind? His mind never will. But Tommy isn‘t going down that rabbithole, nope, no traumadumping today, good sir.

Instead he aims to answer the king, even though its not entirely honest.

“Indeed, the injuries have been healing better than planed. The doctors have already pointed out that I have made great progress in the last two months, since… that happend. It has gotten quite manageable, really!“ not really but they don’t need to know that.

The Higher Priest leans back in his chair, looking at Tommy stoicly but still nervous. It’s probably not every day for him, that you meet the guy that has your life in their hands. Tommy snorts, he had that luxury. 

Meanwhile Dante has seemed to deem playing with the dagger more important, than this conversation. But Tommy isn‘t fooled by his disinterest, he‘s listening, he‘s always listening.

Schlatt in turn has all his concentration on him, seemingly content with his answer and honestly?

Tommy’s already getting sick of whatever pointless chitchat they‘re having. And he doesn’t care, if he’s whining. After all, he has every right to. The world has fucked him over enough.

But before Tommy can say anything, Schlatt beats him to it “Well, that‘s fantastic! Then you can come back to the palace, right?”

…

Is Tommy dreaming?

Suddenly he’s hyperaware. The first time in so long again. Of course, Tommy has thought about it being a possibility, hoped for that to be the reason why he was suddenly called, but the doctors said it was still way too early to come back.

But he wants to, oh, how he aches to. Its okay here but he misses being at the palace, having a purpose, something to do, just… being needed. Being looked at at with awe and not pity.Anything but that.

But, why already? He was supposed to get a way longer break. Why the hurry? Now that he thinks of it, why does the king come out here himself? Can’t he just sent someone?

Before Tommy could say anything The Higher Priest cuts in “With all due respect, your majesty, Theseus isn‘t nearly ready to be back at 100%. He still has a long way to go on his way to recovery. He needs to be watched over and there could still come up some complications and then he needs special-care such as medicin. If he overworks himself now-“

Before the devotee could continue his rant, his majesty interrupts him, head whipping around “Are you saying that I don’t know how to care for my people?”

The atmosphere tensed almost instantly, the words spoken being sharp and curt, every bit of faked politeness discarded. The priests eyes widen, immediatly trying to backtrack, realising his mistake.

“No, I would never question his majesty like-“

“Yet you did. Tell me, have I ever let my people suffer?”

“Of course not-“

“Then why would you ever think that? Have I ever ignored any of your monachesteries wishes? I myself am a strong believer of prime, which is why I have always cared a lot for the health of my people. Yet you seem, to not believe that?”

“No, I’m sorry, it’s just-“

Okaaaay, this is escalating real quick. And god, why is the king so irretated? The devotee is wandering on thin ice and he knows it. Tommy notices the way Dantes straightening and Schlatts accusation get a dangerous tone in.

Meanwhile the Higher Priest doesn’t, you know, seem so higher anymore. Rather seconds away from having a break-down. In the worst case scenario they are going to have an exercusion for insult to majesty at hand. 

“What the Higher Priest was meaning to say was, that he just worries for my safety. He is a healer with his whole heart and soul and he just feels obligated to ensure, that I won‘t endanger myself.” Tommy cuts in, trying to defuse the situation. “He didn’t mean to disrespect, believe me.”

Silence falls over the room as the kings gaze still lingers with Dante as his shadow ready to bounce at command on the devotee, who is currently nodding so hard to Tommys statement, that you would think his head might fly off.

Hold up, can a head fly off?

“Well, what do you think, Theseus? Ready to come back? The palace awaits you!” Schlatt, finally seemingly letting the poor man off the hook, says after a while, being overly cheerly again.

What a mood but Tommy doesn‘t think twice to answer. “Yes! Yes, of course!“

He replies immediatly, trying to throw a question in, but doesn’t get far because he gets interupted by Schlatt, who has already gotten up with Dante at his side.

„Great, with that settled, lets get going.” They both abruptly turn around to leave, Tommy giving a short hastic good bye to the slightly freaked-out and shivering priest before following.

After exiting the room, the royal lifeguard immediatly joins them. They are also here? Devotees and staff quickly scramble to the side to make way, bowing and muttering praises to his majesty.

The king ignores them all, making a beeline for the courtyard, where the carriage stands.

But Tommy can’t just leave already, he doesn’t have his things and is entirely unprepared for a journey, and wondering why they are in such a hurry.

“Excuse me, but I am not prepared to leave yet. I still need to pack up and I’d like to say good bye to everyone properly.” Tommy points out, looking confused at the king.

“I already gave the command to pack your things for the journey earlier, so do not worry. And you do not have the time for touching good byes. We have important matters to attend to.”

Ah, so it didn’t actually matter if he said no to coming back to the palace, he already told them, that he would anyway, good to know.

And as they walk out in the light to a beautifully decorated yard, he can already see the carriage, packed and prepared, everyone of the escort ready to depart.

Damn, even the dozens of horses the lifeguard are gonna use as transport, seem to be ready to storm away on high speed.

Well, now that he can actually think, he wants answers. What is happening? Can’t they slow down for a sec? You know, he is still injured. Wasn’t there a big talk about his health being important. He better gets to travel in the carriage.

“Your majesty, I have been wondering, why the urgency for all this? It just seems kinda hurried.”

Questions Tommy, even throwing Schlatts title in, to get some answers, as they walk until they are standing before the carriage, a servant having already opened the door. Thank god, he‘s travelling in there.

“Not only did you came here yourself, but you took your entire lifeguard with you! And I truly don’t believe that you shortend my cure-time or whatever this is, just because you missed me.”

Dante, Schlatt and Tommy both enter, meeting a cushioned out white bank on either side of the door, where Tommy takes a seat on the right side and the other two opposite of him.

The curtains are drawn close and he can hear muffled commands and people getting on their horses. “Something is wrong and I have the right to know what.”

Its silent in the carriage, the kings expression unreadable, with eyes that are planning, as soon as the door closed. No facade having to hold up for the public eye, Tommys already all too familiar with this.

Something about the saying never meet your heroes is very true. Painly so. And for the first time today, Dante speaks up.

“We are at war, Theseus.” Tommys breath gets caught in his throat as Dante looks him dead in the eyes.

“Essempi and the Antarctic Empire have declared war on eachother and us.”

A beat of silence, before the king speaks up again, voice not revealing any bit of his intents. “Tough times stand before us, followed by bloodshed and betrayals.”

Schlatt looks at him again, his eyes seemingly boring into his soul, while Tommy is still processing what exactly this means. “We need you, Theseus. We need our royal mage back. At 100%.”

Chapter Text

The weight of Schlatt's words hangs heavy in the air, pressing on Tommy like a hundred-ton stone. His mind reels as he tries to comprehend the implications: war, betrayals, bloodshed. The words echo in his head, but he can't seem to form a clear picture of what he's being dragged back into.

The monastery was in a quiet and isolated corner of the kingdom, an oasis of peace. Barely any rumors or news reached here, the next village a good ride away. Still, Tommy tried to stay in touch with the outside world, asking staff members and the people delivering wares what was going on.

He thought he was pretty well-informed about the world, but oh how wrong he was. A war? Prime, do they live behind the goddamn moon? How did no one get wind of that? Shouldn't something so devastating be on everyone's lips?

Or… maybe it hasn’t been revealed to the public and has been kept under wraps. A very likely possibility.

But seriously, what happened while he was gone?

When he returned to the palace, he wanted everything to go back to normal. He wanted to see the familiar faces of workers, to have small walks in the gardens and his few friends doting on him because he’s supposedly overworking himself—and this time, maybe he would swallow his pride and allow it. That is what he dreamt of when he felt miserable at night, feeling as if he were nothing more than a patient, having lost his chance at life.

He wanted to tend to his magic, strengthening it, and most importantly, help his people. Go back to his duties as a mage. Because that’s what his duties were. To help, heal and protect.

When there was a sickness tormenting the citizens, he would find a cure for it. If there was a drought falling over the lands, he would save them. If they had angered the gods, he would soothe them. Or if there were monsters rampaging, different races having problems going at eachother or somekind of wild forces bringing chaos to them, he would do everything in his power to calm the storm.

Even for the dirty work of the government has been something he has taken on. Filling out documents, asserting oneself in front of the nobilities and making negotiations. Every challenge he’d take on, determined to find a solution.

It always gave him a warm feeling in his chest, of having a place in this world, changing something for the better. A purpose.

But don’t get a wrong impression—Tommy has killed, more than he’d like. He wasn’t a pacifist, by any means, he only does what’s necessary. And If there was no other way he will resort to violence. He has seen the life fade from someone’s eyes, has heard screams cursing his name and has heard the last dying breaths of enemies and allies alike. To make it short: Tommy has blood apon his hands.

He has been through pain and a lot of it. He has kept going while others gave up, clutching stubbornly onto something while others thought it was hopeless and has seen danger in the face, sometimes even welcomed it with open arms. He’s even gotten a hint of what a kiss from Lady Death feels like.

Yet he’s still always been more used and experienced to battles of a different kind—of mind and spirit, of magic and its manipulation. Combat fighting is also something he has experience with and he’s been through many fights too. But a full-on war… war is different. And he hasn’t been anywhere near a weapon for months. Hell, he’s barely been able to function at full capacity.

War. It’s a word he’s known his whole life, heard it from scholars, from generals, from older mages whose eyes had seen too much bloodshed, something old in them. It was always some far-off concept, something abstract that didn’t touch him directly. Until now.

For a long moment, Tommy is silent, his eyes shifting between Schlatt and Dante. The tension in the carriage is palpable, thick with unspoken calculations. His chest tightens, his body suddenly weighing tenfold more.

Schlatt’s gaze doesn’t waver as he watches Tommy process, as if he’s expecting this moment of hesitation. But Tommy knows the game too well. Schlatt doesn't deal in empty threats or false kindness. When he says "we need you," it isn't a request. It's an order disguised as a plea or even an invitation. An illusion of choice.

Schlatt speaks again, breaking the silence, his voice cold and detached, like a ruler who’s used to giving orders with little regard for the lives they affect. “You’ll need to start training immediately once we reach the capital. The war won't wait for you to get comfortable.”

Tommy’s gaze snaps to him, his fists clenching involuntarily. “Comfortable? You think I need comfort?”

Dante, still lounging with his dagger, smirks, but there’s something more in his expression. Something dangerous. “We know what you’re capable of, Theseus. That’s why you’re needed now.”

Schlatt continues, voice deep “We all have our roles to play, Theseus. Even you. But you should take pride in the power you wield. You’re more than just a mage. You’re a force in your own right. You have been born to fight in this war.” The kings eyes take on an almost crazed out gleam “We will write history unlike anyone else, the three of us will forever be engraved in these lands. Even centuries later people will still speak of us as heroes.”

The kings eyes shift, hardening. “Truly, you should feel honored to be a part of this. Together we will come out of this victorious.”

Tommy grits his teeth, the taste of metal in his mouth. Every instinct screams at him to refuse, to walk away from this—from them. But there’s a deeper pull, something raw and relentless inside him that knows he can't turn away. Not when it feels like the entire world is tipping toward destruction. He signed up for this when he swore his aid. But still…

“Prime would never condone this,” Tommy mutters, the words bitter on his tongue.

“Prime?” Schlatt scoffs. “Your goddess?” He leans back, crossing his arms. “Don't you think she’d want you to use the power she's given you? The magic you’ve cultivated? Or are you going to let it all rot away while the world burns?”

The mention of her divine name out of such a foul mouth made Tommy snarl. For all the distance between him as a mere mortal and the mighty goddess, he knows the bond they share is unbreakable. She's always been there, in the back of his mind, watching over him, encouraging and guiding him in every way.

But this? This war? It doesn’t feel like something she would approve of. Yet, deep down, Tommy knows that Prime has never been one to coddle him. She gave him power for a reason. And if he refuses to wield it, he may as well be squandering the very gift she bestowed upon him.

His mind practically buzzes, the meds that were made to calm such a storm seemingly evaporating into nothing, along with the apathy. Many questions and assumptions are floating around in his head, difficult to sort through. But the most pressing question remains: what caused this?

There has always been bad blood between the three countries—fights at the borders breaking out, arguments and miscommunications between the nobles there, problems with trade and religion, everything a person could get irrated by. There was never a time of peace, but at least it had gotten somewhat close to it. They had managed.

So what caused this to escalate?

But Tommy knew better than to ask those questions. These two would only give him half-assed and twisted truths, maybe even lies, telling him only what they deemed necessary for him to know. Only what was most beneficial and safest for them. As long as they stood in a good light and the citizens believed and followed them, everything else was unimportant in their eyes.

Uncaring of the consequences.

That’s just how it goes with the government.

Yet, he still tries to get some kind of answer.

He looks up at Schlatt and Dante. “So, what’s the next move? What do you need from me?”

Dante, ever the unshakable presence, leans forward slightly, There’s a flicker in his eyes—anticipation, maybe? Tommy can’t tell. “Now,” Dante says, his voice dark, “you prepare yourself. For the worst.”

The door to the carriage is shut tight, sealing them in with the heavy air of uncertainty. Both of the men sitting opposite with unreadable expressions. The sound of hooves pounding against the earth signals their departure, and Tommy can feel the ground shift beneath them.

The journey ahead isn’t just physical—it’s spiritual, emotional. It’s a return to a life that had left him broken, and now, it demands that he heal and that impossibly fast. For what, exactly? To fight? To serve? To save?

Tommy runs a hand over his still scarred face, trying to shake off the fog of doubt clouding his thoughts. He has no choice, really. He never does. “So, war…” he mutters, his voice barely a whisper. “And I’m supposed to be what? A warrior? A sorcerer?” He scoffs bitterly. “A pawn in some grand game?”

Schlatt’s lip curls into something between a smile and a sneer. “Not just any pawn, Theseus. You're our ace.”

Tommy’s stomach churns at the implication. The weight of their expectations, their need for him, crushes his chest with each passing second. The higher-ups had always looked at him as a tool—a means to an end. But somehow, it feels worse now.

He wants to tell them to shove it. He may be restless back there, but he surely could find some semblance of calm. Is it selfish that now that he knows what awaits him, he wants to backtrack? Maybe he could suck it up and give up on his old wild life and start a quiet one—living in the illusion of a perfect, peaceful world. It is tempting.

Yet he immediately throws that idea in the bin.

Cause the reality is, Tommy can’t. Not when there’s magic buzzing underneath his skin, not when the world is breaking down, not when he could do something, not when there’s so much is on the line, not when he has a heart. It’s just not in his nature. He would climb the walls in seconds, no matter how hurt he is.

“So, what’s the plan?” Tommy asks, his voice more measured now, though it still carries a bitter edge.

Schlatt gives him a slow, calculating smile, the same one Tommy had seen a thousand times before. The smile of a man who knew exactly how to bend others to his will. “First, we need you to help us consolidate power. We need you to strengthen the defences, create the wards that’ll protect the capital while we prepare our armies. You’ll also take part of training our soldiers. Teach them how to wield magic the way you do.”

And when we are ready,” He pauses, seemingly in thought. “we attack: We need to strike first. The sooner we hit, the better. We have intelligence that says they’ve already started fortifying their borders. Essempi and the Antarctic Empire are building alliances, and we can’t afford to fall behind.”

Tommy nods slowly, trying to piece everything together. "You'll need to be ready," Schlatt adds, his voice turning sharp again. "You’re not just a mage anymore. You're a general now. My right handman like Dante. A weapon. And we need you at your peak.”

Tommy draws the curtains aside, looking out the window, watching the blur of trees and roads pass by. The familiar world outside seems so far away now. His life is getting fucked over once again, his previous one at the monastery fading behind him, swallowed up by the rolling chaos ahead.

Tommy’s jaw tightens. “And if I refuse?”

Dante’s eyes narrow. “You won’t refuse. We know you, Theseus. You’re already invested, don’t try to deny it. This war is inevitable. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can start fighting for something real.”

Tommy’s gaze drifts toward the window again, the blur of the world outside feeling more distant than ever. He’s caught between a rock and a hard place—his duty to the kingdom, his loyalty to Prime, and his own sense of survival. But he’s not gonna lie to himself, he has to fight.

And even if he didn’t want to, he doesn’t have a choice. He never did.

He nods, his face hardening with determination. “Fine. I’m in. But understand this, Schlatt—this isn’t just your war. It’s mine too. And if I’m going to fight, I’m doing it on my terms. Not yours. It’s not just about victory. It’s about what we’re willing to lose here."

The king’s smile widens, a hint of approval in his eyes. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Theseus."

He had spent the entire journey in a haze, deep in thought while looking out the window, the world whooshing by. They had just made a stop at some kind of residence of an earl or something, with a military camp already set up there. Schlatt and Dante went in, saying they had to make preparations and that he could ask the servants for anything he needed; they knew not to mess with him.

He was left there for a while, waiting for them to return. Someone came by multiple times, asking if he wanted something like food, a drink, or just something to read to entertain himself. Tommy settled for a simple glass of water, not having any appetite.

The same person also brought him a new set of clothing, telling him that the king wished for him to change into something more fitting and that he should wear all of it. The cream-brown scapular he was wearing with his classical veil was rather simple, yet he thought it would have been good enough for the day. Well, looks like his majesty probably can’t be seen with someone clothed so plainly. Why is he even surprised?

Tommy closed the door to the carriage and made sure the curtains blocked any outsiders from risking a glance before starting to change. It was unpleasant—his body still way too sensitive for his liking. He would never admit it to anyone, but back at the clinic, he needed help with clothing himself. The stitches always stretched with pain shooting through him at wrong move. With a satisfied hum, he found it wasn't so hard anymore.

He threw away his old clothes, only staying in his underwear, and took a look down at himself. God, you’d think he was a mummy, so many bandages was he wearing. They were wrapped tight and secure around his body. He has been taking healing and regenerating potions every day, but these weren't just any normal injuries, and they were far from small.

But now they are, Tommy thought happily. The bandages now served more to stabilze him and keep his still weak body protected by an extra layer than keeping him alive.

Tommy looked at the new set, about to grab something, and immediately realized that he needed to catch up on the fashion trends.

He had been given some kind of white robe with golden accents and a fitting veil, which already looked a bit complicated because of the weird fit, but that wasn’t what was going to be frustrating. Not only has he been given a bunch of different jewellery, but there was also a thing that he doesn’t even regonize other than the fact that he didn’t know where or how to put them on.

Why does Schlatt want to torment him? Why not clothe him a bit more decently? Why does being the king's right hand man or whatever entail a damn dress code?

Maybe a mirror would help, so he could actually see what’s going on and if it fits or not, so won’t look like he has no idea what he’s doing—which, in fact, he doesn’t. He didn’t normally wear much jewelry, okay? And this large gold-chain-thingie could very well be a bracelet, necklace, or maybe even something for your head. Prime, please help me.

He changed into the new robes and put on the known jewellery, which took quite a while, mind you, threw the attached hood over his head, and covered his face with the veil, leaving the strange thing aside for now. He then opened the door slightly and asked for a mirror, immediately getting a response. An odd-looking servant wearing clothes that looked like fucking rags hurried over, almost running, while holding a human-sized mirror.

Tommy honestly didn’t know what else to expect when the servant tripped, and a loud CRASH echoed through the place.

The boy, now kneeling in the shards of something that was once a mirror, looked up at him with absolute horror and fear in his dual-colored eyes—green and red—as if he saw death herself in the face, a mask covering the lower half of his face, hiding the rest of his expression, while everything else went quiet.

Schlatt and Dante were in the building, flanked by two guards, which meant the rest of the king’s lifeguard were the ones now silently staring at the servant, doing nothing. The poor guy seemed to shrink under their gaze, cowering before him. God, he wasn’t taking this well, was he? Looks quite pathetic, to be honest. Why is no one helping him up?

It quickly dawned on Tommy that they were waiting for him. For his command. Back then, he didn’t have any power over the soldiers, but now it seemed like they were going to treat any mild inconvenience towards Tommy like an unspeakable crime, too horrid to even imagine. Heh, so he really was a general now. That would take some getting used to. Do they think this is some kind of affront to the crown or what?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a soldier already draw a sword, the metal shining in the sunlight, but before he could do anything, Tommy stopped him, throwing the door wide open dramatically. “Stand down, soldiers. The man here just had an accident. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

The warriors looked at him, skeptical, as if he’d just said something unbelievable, while the servant—he really needed to get the guy’s name, that just sounded degrading—let his eyes fill with hope but quickly hid it, as if he feared that Tommy would stomp on it ruthlessly.

The lifeguard hesitantly turned away, going back to whatever they were doing, while his gaze lingered on the man still sitting in the dirt. He was literally split in half—one side black and the other white—with light purple particles floating around him, and upturned elf ears. Ah, an Enderman hybrid, Tommy realised. He looked kind of like an Oreo. Yep, that is what he will call him, Oreo Man.

He observed the still-shivering mess, their clothes battered and dirty, just like the rest of their appearance. (Wow, they treat their employees here with such care.) Tommy now noticed the cuts inflicted from the shattered glass, with one particular big shard practically impaling Oreo’s palm.

He hissed in empathy, imagining the pain, making the man’s head shoot up, looking at him warily.

“Hey man, sorry to bother, but I don’t think that piece of glass is very comfortable sticking in your hand like that. It’s quite a gruesome sight. Would you come over and let me take a good look at it? I can fix it.” Tommy said, attempting to comfort him.

Oreo Man just looked at him as if he had just said the funniest thing ever, but his feet seemed to move at their own accord without the man's consent, as he suddenly stood before Tommy. And that’s when the realization hit—damn, this guy was tall.

Tommy was standing in the entrance of a carriage, lifted off the ground by tires, and he still needed to look up to meet the guy’s eyes, who was crouching a bit, seemingly trying to make himself smaller but miserably failing with those body traits. It irked Tommy a bit to be literally looked down upon like this, but Oreo couldn’t help it, so he dropped it. He was here to help.

The guy’s eyes stared down at him in pure confusion and terror as Tommy moved to the side and beckoned him to come in.

The hybrid still stood paralyzed before him, trembling, not even paying any mind to his wounds. Tommy slowly reached out to wrap his hand around the servant’s arm, hoping not to startle him.  He guided him inside, sitting him down where His Majesty had once been, closing the door, before taking his own place.

“Hey there, so I think we left on a bad foot with the whole soldier thingie, sooooo… I’m Theseus. What’s your name, if I may ask?” Tommy asked gently, hoping to gain the man's trust.

Oreo, who had been looking around the carriage in pure awe, looked like he had just been slapped. His head whipped around to face Tommy so fast, you’d think his neck might break. Did he say something wrong? Was that a bad question to start a conversation with? Holy shit, is asking for names a trigger topic now?

“You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. I’d just like to have an actual name to a face instead of calling you Oreo Man in my head every time. Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, I—” Tommy immediately started to ramble, panicking. Prime, since when did he have such awful social skills??? Why would he—

A snort. “Oreo Man?” That’s all it took to stop Tommy’s entire system. It was barely audible, but he still heard it. Before he could do anything to celebrate his success at getting through, the man slapped his hands over his mouth, only to cry out in pain at the movement, making the glass cut even deeper into his flesh.

Immediately, Tommy jumped to his side. “Don’t move, you’ll only make it worse,” he warned, carefully taking the man’s hand in his, observing the damage. Damn, he had seen so much worse already, but it never really got better. This was just nasty.

Blood oozed from the wounds, dripping onto the cushions, much to Oreo Man’s horror, with a few smaller shards sticking in them, with the big one still embedded in his palm. But Tommy didn’t focus on that. He was more interested in the already existing injuries littering the man’s arms.

He carefully rolled the man’s sleeve up, making him flinch as even more cuts, bruises, and really bad burns revealed themselves, making Tommy practically drown in empathy. He knew that many people harmed their employees in this world, but it still shocked him to see the damage up close.

“This is going to hurt,” Tommy said before taking the hand with the large piece of mirror glass sticking out, pulling the shard out quickly. He hoped the carriage was soundproof, as Oreo Man let out a screech of agony. He dropped the still-bloody glass somewhere to the side, reaching out to pull out another shard, only for the man to try and free his hand from Tommy’s grip, whimpering.

“Stay still. I only want to help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t comply. So please, will you let me treat these injuries?” Tommy said, letting as much honesty and care drip into his voice as possible since Oreo couldn’t see his face. The man just looked at him, seemingly thrown off by something, before oh so slowly relaxing and giving him a short nod.

With that, Tommy began to work, removing every single fragment, doing his best to ignore the man’s sobbing and the pang in his heart from Oreo’s pain. When the wounds were free of any mirror pieces, Tommy softly laid his hands on both of the man’s palms and activated his magic.

Tommy had been forbidden to use it ever since the… incident, because his weak and injured body couldn’t take on such a force. He had been really pissed about that but learned his lesson early in his clinic time after a few of his stitches tore, reopening already healing wounds when he wanted to use his magic to float around since he couldn’t walk.

The following lecture was one Tommy didn’t want to ever hear again, but he realized that he had to be somewhat healthy before doing any kind of spellcasting.

He could only hope he had healed enough for it to work now, as he let a strange feeling flow through his body. The all-too-familiar tingle gave him goosebumps as the atmosphere suddenly felt much warmer and comfier. A new presence seemed to join them in the carriage, his goddess being closer than she had been in months. He closed his eyes and welcomed every bit of it.

Tommy let out a sigh of relief, relishing the feeling of being whole again after losing something he had missed so dearly, wanting to just sway in this aura for a while. But he reminded himself that there were more important matters to attend to right now.

Enough of the touching reunion. Time to get to work.

He opened his eyes, light already engulfing his hands as Oreo’s skin started to stitch itself together. The burns faded away, the bruising purple made way for the natural skin color, and the wounds closed themselves as Tommy guided his powers.

He smiled. Healing had always been something he was good at.

Content, Tommy realizes that his body doesn’t immediately press the self-destruction button like last time at a bit of witchcraft, although there was a drain in his muscles starting up that normally wouldn’t be there. Still, only after every bit of Oreo’s injuries are gone does he pull away.

The man in question looks at him with wonder and reverence, lifting his freshly healed hands before his face, turning and examining them. He stretches his fingers and cracks his knuckles, so openly surprised at the missing pain, it makes Tommy’s heart ache.

“So, dude, with the glass out of your body, how about you tell me what your name is now?”

“I-It’s Ranboo, yo-our grace,” Oreo, or Ranboo, stutters out, looking away.

Tommy blinks, then scowls, then grins. “Oh, alright then, Ranboob. First of all, don’t call me that, your grace, it’s just... ew, just no. Second of all, why don’t you tell me what happened to you? And third of all, stop acting like I just brought the moon down to us. It’s weird.”

Ranboo’s face shifts at the nickname, which Tommy couldn’t refrain from giving, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he asks hesitantly. “What do you want to be called then?”

“I told you my name, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, but shouldn’t I call you by your title? Is ‘my lord’ more fitting?”

“Fuck no, why would you do that? Don’t put me on the same level as those stuck-up pricks. I already can’t escape those titles at the castle, so at least spare me of them when I’m here having a private conversation. Just call me Theseus.”

Once again, someone looks at him today like he just told them the sky is orange and the earth is purple. Is this just the theme of the day or what?

Then Ranboo gives him a little ‘okay’ and then goes quiet. Forget whatever Tommy said before. He is not the one with social anxiety, but this guy is. He doesn’t even look him in the eyes.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“H-huh?”

“I asked you what the fuck happened to make you look like you followed a guide called ‘every way a being could hurt themselves.’”

“The mirror—”

“Oh, don’t come with that. There were dozens of other things causing you pain, not just the shards.”

A pause.

Tommy sighs, still looking at the man beside him. “Look, man, I don’t know what else to tell you other than the fact that I want to help you. I seriously mean no harm.”

Ranboo throws him a glance before going back to looking at a seemingly very interesting wall, shrinking back and fidgeting. Something was clearly bothering him, and Tommy needed answers. But it looked like his questions weren’t the problem, but something else.

In the far back of his mind, something forgotten stirs and comes back up to the surface, a thing that he read in a book about hybrids, something that Endermen can’t stand. Endermen hybrids hate it when someone looks at them and invades their private space. Only if they’re close to you will they allow such behavior; otherwise, they will most likely lash out or feel really uncomfortable.

Immediately, he practically throws himself back at his previous seat, making Ranboo jump in surprise, while Tommy distances himself and looks at the curtains, shame bubbling up inside of him. He was supposed to know such a thing—ugh, he really needs to pay a visit to the library when he gets back. He should know how to deal with all kinds of hybrids!

“Shit, I am so sorry. I seriously didn’t want to invade your private space. I just totally forgot about the thing with eye contact with your kind and... fuck. I should have really known better and—”

“Why are you doing this?”

Ranboo cuts off his rant, actually speaking at a normal volume this time instead of something slightly above a whisper, with confusion thick in his voice that Tommy can only mirror at such a question. He already turns to the man now sitting opposite him, noticing his much more relaxed stature before stopping and looking away again, not wanting to ruin that.

“What do you mean?” Tommy questions.

“I mean, why are you doing all of this? It doesn’t make any sense!”

The mage frowns at that. “What? Of course, it does. I just want to make sure that you’re alright—”

“No, it doesn’t.” Ranboo cuts him off, seemingly a bit braver through his irritation. “I’m just some servant while you are in the king’s company. You probably have so many more important matters to tend to, so why do you care about my well-being? I literally broke the mirror I was supposed to bring you!”

“It’s just a mirror, for god’s sake! And you didn’t even do it on purpose!”

“That’s beside the point! You just wasted your magic on me! Your time! You even want to know what happened to me after I was just bleeding all over the seats of the—oh gods, royal carriage and just now apologized to me about not knowing something about Endermen? No one has ever cared about my traits before! You just...” Ranboo takes a deep breath. “Why?”

“My guy, you were hurt and in my eyes didn’t even do anything wrong, which is why I helped you. And after I saw the already existing injuries on you, I logically wanted to know what’s up with that. I have sworn an oath to protect my people and you are one of them, which is why I will always have the time to help them. There’s no catch or bad intentions, believe me.” Tommy replies formally, trying to get his point across.

“I saw that you were uncomfortable and realized it was because I was triggering your hybrid traits and simply apologized. And these cushions here will simply get cleaned of any blood. It isn’t your fault, since I was the one who invited you in, knowing of you bleeding and probably making the place dirty, and seriously, it’s not a big deal. These seats are replaceable, just like the mirror, but you, however, are not.”

Ranboo doesn’t say anything. A silence stretches between them, with Tommy still looking to the side. He can feel eyes boring into the side of his head, scrutinizing him. But he lets them. Hopefully, Ranboo will talk a bit more openly with him afterward.

Ranboo is the first to break the quiet. “You don’t have to look completely away.”

“What?”

“You can look at me, I just don’t want eye contact, if that’s alright.”

Tommy slowly turns back to face Ranboo, but instead of locking eyes with him, he chooses to stare at a point above the man’s head.

“That good?”

“Yes, your—” Ranboo pauses and corrects himself. “Yes, Theseus.”

“Alrighty, now, would you like to tell me why there was a concerning amount of wounds on you?”

“Geez, impatient.” Ranboo shyly jokes, looking shocked by himself, before that turns into relief at Tommy’s light chuckle before continuing.

“I have memory problems, you see.”

“Like an amnesiac or what?”

“Kind of. I just forget things and I can’t remember anything from my past before I started to work here a year ago, after they just found me wandering in the woods, except my name and basic knowledge, but nothing else of my old life.”

Tommy stays silent at that. Imagine waking up knowing nearly nothing about yourself, with no knowledge of where you are and what happened. That just sounds incredibly scary, and once again today, he feels sympathy for the man in front of him.

Meanwhile, Ranboo continues his story. “They took me in and now I work here as a servant for basically everything in exchange for a roof over my head. But...” He pauses, Tommy still intently listening. “Although I’m grateful for them having me, they don’t give me any free time or payment. All I do is work day and night.”

“And, like I said, I forget things. If I don’t write them down, I normally have a book where I do just that, but it can only help me that much.” Ranboo pauses again, searching for the right words. “They don’t like it if I do something wrong or forget stuff, which is why I get punished. But it’s my fault, really—”

“Stop, I have heard enough.” Tommy cuts him off sternly, anger at what he had just heard bubbling up inside of him. “These conditions are fucking unbelievable. No one deserves to live like this. Do the others here get treated like that as well?”

“No, it’s just me. Some of the servants also punish me because I’m stupid, which is why I sometimes don’t even understand what I did wrong.”

“What? Do they just come up to you, say you did something wrong, and beat you up?”

“Kinda? And I never learn my lessons since I’m just that dumb. It’s really pathetic. Today I forgot something important, it was really bad.”

“What did you do?”

“I forgot to turn the stove off, which is why the food for his majesty got burned.”

“And for something ridiculous like that, they hurt you? It looked like that happened on a regular basis.” Tommy asks, shock clear in his voice.

“Well, it’s normally not that bad—”

“Normally??? You can’t seriously tell me that this is normal! These burns looked like they tried to fucking grill your arms on that stove!”

He is met with silence.

That deals the final blow. Tommy is practically seething with wrath. Ranboo here isn’t a worker, he’s a slave, and seemingly a punching bag too. Such horrid punishments for such little things? And the man even defends them, thinking this is normal, since he doesn’t know anything else. It makes his skin crawl at how cruel humans can be and reminds him of the war waiting at their doorstep.

Ranboo speaks up once again. “Listen, I own them, so it’s their choice what they do with me. I live here—”

“Not anymore.” And with that, Tommy stands up and opens the door so hard it bangs against the carriage wall, Ranboo flinching at the noise. Soldiers and servants immediately turn to him, and they must have noticed that he’s upset by the way they back away slightly.

“Someone pack up Ranboo’s things and get him a new fitting set of clothing. He will join us on our way back to the palace, and you better hurry up.” He commands, voice getting dark at the end of the sentence before slamming the door shut again.

Ranboo, still sitting where he left him, looks up at him, completely baffled. This probably came very suddenly for him, but what else should Tommy have done? There’s no way he will leave him in this hellhole.

“You will work at the palace as my personal servant. And with work, I mean with payment and free time. Without any of those terrible punishments.” Tommy says, taking a seat once again, voice genuine but stern.

“You will have reasonable working hours, and proper respect for you and your hybrid traits. No one will lay a hand on you, and if they do, they’ll deal with me.” Tommy’s voice is firm, leaving no room for debate as he crosses his arms and stares Ranboo down—or, well, over his head, trying to avoid direct eye contact.

Ranboo’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words come out. Finally, he manages a faint, “Why?”

Tommy sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why not? You don’t deserve to live like this, and I’m not gonna just sit by and let it happen. Plus, I’ll probably need help keeping my life in order, so this is mutually beneficial, yeah? You keep me from tripping over myself, and I make sure no one treats you like dirt again.”

The hybrid looks like he might cry but bites his lip, clearly fighting the urge. “I-I don’t know what to say. Thank you?”

Tommy waves him off with a smirk. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you see how chaotic my life is.”

A knock on the carriage door interrupts their conversation, and Tommy opens it to find a soldier standing stiffly at attention. “The servant’s belongings have been packed, your grace. We’re ready to move when you are.”

Tommy nods, stepping aside to gesture toward Ranboo. “Good. Get him some actual clothes” throwing a pointed glare at the rags Ranboo’s wearing as if they offended him personally, which they did in some way, “and make sure he’s ready for the journey ahead. And no funny business. I mean it.”

The soldier gives a sharp nod and waits for Ranboo to climb out of the carriage, the hybrid still looking dazed as he follows instructions. Before he steps out, he glances back at Tommy, his expression a mixture of fear, hope, and gratitude.

“Thank you once again.”

Tommy smiles warmly, even though you can’t see it. “No problem.”

Ranboo hesitates before adding. “The thing you casted aside, is a headdress which you wear, like in the name, on your head. Normally you would it put in your hair or maybe interwine it with your hairstyle, but you could you could attach to your hood though. I can help you with it when I come back.”

Tommy blinks. “I already know that you will be a great asset to me.”

“I’ll try my best,” Ranboo murmurs.

Tommy grins, leaning casually against the carriage doorframe. “That’s all I’m asking for, Oreo Man.”

For the first time since they met, Ranboo gives him a small, genuine smile. Tommy watches him, fists clenching as he takes in the faces of the servants and guards who had allowed—or caused—Ranboo’s suffering.

This isn’t over, Tommy thinks grimly. Not by a long shot.

With a deep breath, he steps back into the carriage, ready to continue the journey. But his mind is already spinning, plotting ways to make sure Ranboo—and anyone else in this kingdom—never has to endure such treatment again.

“Theseus, what is this?”

Schlatt and Dante stand in the doorway of the carriage, looking at Ranboo in a new set of clothes sitting beside him, having just chatted idly with the mage while outside is an angry earl a good distance away who’s just been robbed og his dependent slave.

Ranboo freezes, terrified of their presence. He tries to stand up, for a proper bow, but Tommy stops him, holding a hand out.

Tommy turns to the two with a headress now adorning him. “Remember those terms I mentioned?” He asks them, both their faces twisting in despair, ”This is one of them.” and suddenly with Ranboo at his side this whole war doesn’t seem so scary anymore.“

Chapter Text

By the time they arrived at the capital, the palace already in sight sitting on a mountain like a king would on a throne, the evening sun dipped low, the sunset casting the city in a warm, reddish glow. Despite the hour, the streets thrummed with energy, alive as if it were still midday.

People bustled about doing their own thing, hurrying to complete last-minute errands or simply rouming around. Children played, their carefree innocence weaving joy into the city's fabric while merchants were already starting to pack up after a long, productive day of work.

Tommy's lips curved into a soft smile as the laughter of the kids filled the air, mingling with the hum of life all around. Noise rang out from outside the carriage, the chatter of travelers settling into inns, the rhythmic footsteps of citizens returning to their families, and the gentle creak of shop shutters closing painting a beautfiful symphony.

Faces flash past him—each one distinct, their features etched with stories and dreams. They may blur together in a crowd yet their individuality is still vibrant against the collective tapestry of it, their differences making them unique and remarkable in every way, changing with every choice they make.

The scenery unfolded before him in a riot of colors: buildings adorned with intricate designs, vibrant exotic plants spilling over balconies, and streets dotted with stalls offering painted trinkets and wares. The wide, open fields that stretched beyond the capital walls had long since faded from view, replaced by the vivid chaos of the city.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Tommy, bringing with it the comforting sense of safety only home could provide. Every sound and sight stirring memories and filling the air with a bittersweet warmth, curling around him like a comfy mantle.

The lifeguard’s horses neigh all around them, surrounding and protecting them in a prescribed formation, their hooves clattering against the ground. On them are soldiers packed out in armor, which shimmers in the setting sun, with their weapons on display, a clear threat, who are leading the way.

The masses of people immediatly part, making way for their pompous troup with the lifeguard keeping them at distance, not allowing any room for misbehaviour. Stares of awe and curiousity follow them, bowing after seeing the royal symbol in respect before continueing on with their daily life.

The procession wound its way deeper into the city, the majestic silhouette of the palace towering over them on a mountain growing larger with every passing moment. The sun had nearly disappeared now, casting a fiery glow over the spires and turrets that pierced the amber horizon.

Tommy leaned slightly out of the carriage, his eyes trailing along the familiar streets that were so much more alive than he remembered. It had been months since he'd last seen this city in its full splendor, and he could almost feel the peaceful atmosphere leaking into the carriage.

Almost because the carriage the air is nothing but tense.

Across from him sat Dante, the general, clad in polished armor, his expression unreadable as ever. Beside Tommy sat Ranboo, the mage’s newly appointed personal servant, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, his long limbs awkwardly folded to fit into the cramped space.

Schlatt, on the other hand on Dantes right, looked perfectly at ease. His legs were sprawled out, a glass of fine brandy in hand, that he got from somewhere, its contents swirling lazily as the king surveyed the city through the carriage window.

His sharp gaze flicked from merchant stalls to bustling crowds, his lips curling into a faint smirk at the sight of peasants parting in awe as their procession passed, completely unfazed by what he had just suprised them with.

Tommy leaned back against the carriage wall as he glanced between Schlatt and Dante. “So, let me get this straight,” he started, his tone dripping with incredulity, still trying to process what he has just been told.

“There’s a war brewing on the horizon, the nobles are all squabbling like fucking toddlers over their estates, and your solution is… a ball?”

Schlatt smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his goblet. “A ball,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Tommy stared at him, deadpan.

“What better way to get a room full of rich idiots to open their coffers and back the war effort? Can’t win a war without gold, Mage. And these people need a bit of wine and music before they’ll sign off on anything useful—that’s how you grease the wheels of politics, Theseus.”

“Politics?” Dante’s gravelly voice cut through the conversation, his arms crossed over his chest. “More like delaying the inevitable. These nobles don’t need parties—they need orders.”

Schlatt shot him a sharp look. “And they’ll get orders, Dante. But first, they need to believe those orders are worth following. That’s where the wine and music come in.” He tilted his head, his gaze shifting to Tommy. “And maybe a little magic to impress the crowd, if you’re feeling generous.”

Tommy groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ah, so I’m just a glorified court jester now. Perfect.”

The familiar weight of his staff felt glaringly absent at that moment, and instinctively, he reached for it. His hand closed around nothing but air, a sharp reminder of its absence. He frowned, flexing his fingers. The realization was jarring leaving him feeling strangely incomplete.

The bond between him and his staff wasn’t just practical—it was personal. He’d poured weeks of effort into crafting it, hunting down rare materials, shaping and molding them into something uniquely his. It was more than a tool; it was an extension of himself.

Sure, he could wield magic without it, but not with the same precision, not with the same power, not to the same extent. Leaving it behind during his recovery had been a necessity and hasn’t bothered him all that much, but now, as they neared the palace, he suddwnly felt exposed. Vulnerable, even.

Schlatt laughed, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “A very important jester, Mage. And don’t worry—I’ve got Dante here to play the brooding muscle. You two are the perfect pair because you’re opposites.”

The two men scowled simultaneously, Schlatt’s grin only growing wider. “See? Like oil and water. But you make it work. Sort of .”

Tommy rolled his eyes, noticing Ranboo’s confused look. “Dante hates magic. Thinks it’s a crutch.” He answers the unasked question, smirking. “I think his brain’s simply too small to understand it.”

Dante’s scowl deepened. “I think it’s an instable force too volatile and uncontrollabe to be relied on. Without it, you’d be utterly helpless. I’d rather trust something that doesn’t fail me, like skill and strength. Something you clearly lack, Theseus.”

Tommy grit his teeth, his smirk thinning into something more dangerous. “I can manage it. Magic requires a strong mind, something you wouldn’t understand. Any dumbass can swing a weapon like you do. But to control magic? That takes talent. Intelligence.” He tilted his head mockingly. “Something you clearly lack, Dante .”

Dante growled, his fists tightening at his sides, but Schlatt’s booming laugh cut through the tension. “Ah, you two. Always at each other’s throats.” He leaned forward, gesturing at Tommy with his goblet. “But I need you both, you hear me? Tonight has to go perfectly.”

He pointed dramatically at Tommy. “You’re my firestarter, my ace in the hole.” Then to Dante, “And you’re the fist that keeps everything from falling apart.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Nice to know I’m reduced to a card in your deck. Your flattery knows no bounds.”

Schlatt grinned, unbothered. “I don’t pay you to be flattered, Mage. I pay you to keep me alive and make things go boom when I need them to.”

Ranboo shifted nervously, glancing between the three of them. “Uh, Your Majesty,” he began hesitantly, “do you think the nobles will actually… support the war after tonight?”

Schlatt leaned back, considering the question. For a moment, his easy demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing with a calculating edge. “They’ll agree,” he said, his voice quieter but no less confident. “Because they don’t have a choice. But whether they’ll make it easy for me…”

He trails off, finishing the rest of his drink in a single gulp. “That’s where the charm comes in. That’s why I’ve got this little spectacle waiting for us.”

Tommy exchanged a glance with Ranboo, his brow furrowing slightly. “And if charm doesn’t work?” he asked.

Schlatt’s grin returned, razor-sharp. “That’s why I’ve got you.”

Before Tommy could respond, the carriage lurched to a stop, and the muffled sounds of the city faded as the towering gates of the royal palace came into view. The golden crests glinted in the fading light, hanging over the massive blackstone walls surrounding the property, the intricate filigree sparkling as if alive.

Soldiers in gleaming armor lined the entrance, their spears crossed ceremoniously as the carriage came to a halt. Only after identifiying themself, they allow them entrance to the place grounds, big gates opening for them

They entered and then the procession comes to a halt once more, and Schlatt adjusted his cloak, tossing the empty glass onto the seat beside him as he stood. “Showtime,” he said with a wink, stepping out of the carriage.

Tommy sighs, before following close behind, with Ranboo trailing nervously at his heels.

As they stepped into the courtyard, alive with colours, the grandeur of the palace spread before them, lit by a thousand lanterns. Music drifted through the air, the lilting notes of a string quartet blending with the murmur of conversation.

Nobles in vibrant silks and tailored suits turned to watch as the king descended, their expressions a mix of awe and suspicion as they bow, whispers hanging in the air.

Schlatt spread his arms wide as if greeting old friends. “Ah, look at them!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying over the din. “My loyal subjects, all gathered to bask in my brilliance. What a sight.”

Tommy muttered under his breath. “Subtle as ever.”

Ranboo stifled a laugh.

Dante was the last to emerge, his armor gleaming under the lantern light. He surveyed the courtyard with a sharp, critical eye, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “This better not be a waste of precious time, Schlatt,” he said, his tone low.

Schlatt clapped a hand on the general’s shoulder, his grin never faltering. “Relax, Dante. By the end of the night, they’ll be eating out of my hand—and you’ll have your army.” He turned to Tommy, raising an eyebrow. “Now, play nice, Mage. I need you charming, not snarky.”

“Charm’s my middle name,” Tommy shot back with a grin, although it’s not visible under the veil.

Ranboo tugged at his sleeve. “Are you sure this is going to go well?” he whispered.

Tommy glanced at the nervous servant, then at Schlatt, who was already striding towards the grand doors of the palace with the confidence of a man who owned the world. “No idea, Boob,” Tommy said with a faint grin. “But it’ll definitely be interesting.”

They ascended the palace steps, the grand doors looming ahead. As they reached the top, Schlatt turned dramatically. “Now, aren’t you forgetting something, Mage?”

Tommy only tilts his head before a painfully familiar voice speaks up from the side. “I believe your grace is missing his staff.”

Tommy froze. Slowly, he turned—and there he was. Tubbo, grinning like he’d just pulled off the greatest trick in the world, holding Tommy’s staff.

Tommy blinked, the familiar voice cutting through him like a shockwave. Standing just a few feet away was Tubbo, inventor, servant and guard, but most importantly, his best friend, his partner in crime , strides toward him, wearing the usual attire for his job, little goat popping put of his brown mess of curls.

Tommy’s lips twitched upward, a grin spreading despite himself. “Tubbo?”

“In the flesh,” Tubbo said with a smike as wide as his face, stepping forward. The polished staff rested carefully in his hands, its intricate runes shimmering faintly under the torchlight. On its top, the glowing nether star pulsed with an otherworldly light, a reminder of the magic locked within.

Tubbo held out the staff, looking far too pleased with himself. “Thought you’d want this back before you embarrass yourself in front of all these nobles.” He paused, tilting his head to study Tommy, his grin softening into something more genuine. “It’s been too long, man.”

Without hesitation, Tommy stepped forward and took the staff from Tubbo’s hands. The moment his fingers closed around the familiar grooves, it was like something inside him clicked back into place. The weight of the staff in his hand, the faint thrum of power in the wood—it was more than just a weapon or a tool. It was his. And Tubbo, as always, had known exactly what he needed.

“Too long is an understatement,” Tommy said, his grin faltering slightly as he looked at his best friend. He tightened his grip on the staff, his voice dropping to something softer. “I missed you, Tubs.”

Tubbo’s grin widened, his brown eyes sparkling with a familiar mischief. “Missed you too, idiot. You’ve been off playing sick while I’ve been stuck here dealing with all these whining nobles. You owe me.”

Tommy let out a laugh, the sound light for the first time in what felt like ages. He tapped the end of his staff gently against Tubbo’s shoulder. “Oh, sure. Because it’s been so easy for me. Haven’t I suffered enough?” He leaned closer, his grin turning teasing. “But fine, I owe you. What do you want? Gold? My eternal gratitude? A bee ?”

Tubbo raised an eyebrow, his grin never fading. “I’ll take the eternal gratitude. And maybe a bee. You’ve been gone for ages—I deserve compensation.”

Tommy snorted, shaking his head, but the warmth in his chest didn’t fade. The reunion felt like a brief break from the chaos around them, like they were back in simpler times.

Tubbo stepped closer, his grin softening as he studied Tommy. “You’re looking better. Still a bit scrawny, though. Have you even been eating properly?”

“Always the mother-hen,” Tommy muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine, Tubs. Back to full strength—or close enough.”

“Close enough isn’t good enough,” Tubbo replied, crossing his arms in mock sternness. “Don’t overdo it in there, okay? These nobles are vultures. They’ll eat you alive if you give them a chance.”

Before Tommy could respond, Schlatt’s voice rang out from behind them. “Touching as this reunion is, we’ve got a ball to attend. Wrap it up, boys.”

Tommy sighed, shooting a glare over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, Schlatt. Keep your crown on.”

Turning back to Tubbo, Tommy gave him one last grin. “Looks like duty calls. I’ll catch you after.”

“Yeah, you’d better,” Tubbo said, his grin returning full force. Then, as if noticing something for the first time, his gaze shifted to Ranboo, who had been hovering awkwardly in the background. Tubbo’s eyes widened. “Wait a second. Who’s that?” He practically squealed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he approached the towering enderman hybrid.

Tommy smirked, already sensing the chaos about to unfold. “Tubs, meet Ranboob. Ranboob, meet Tubbo. My best friend. But you have to call him Tubbo. Only I can call him Tubs. He is a random stray who I picked up so generouslyand now he’s my newperaonal servant.”

Ranboo, looking slightly terrified, which was absolutly ridicolous given to their height differences gave a shy wave. “Uh, hi,” he said quietly, shifting nervously under Tubbo’s wide-eyed stare.

Tubbo gasped. “Oh my God. You’re an enderman? I’ve never seen one up close before! Is it true you can’t see me if I wear a pumpkin on my head? Are you really afraid of water? How do your genetics even—”

“ Prime, Tubbo! ” Tommy groaned, smacking a hand over Tubbo’s mouth to cut him off. “Give the man some breathing room, would you? He’s shy.”

Tubbo swatted his hand away, glaring at him. “I’m just curious! It’s not every day you meet an enderman, you know.”

Ranboo, looking slightly overwhelmed but still polite, managed a small smile. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I, um… get that a lot.”

Tubbo beamed. “Great! Because I’ve got so many questions.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Tommy said, stepping between them with an exaggerated sigh. “Look, Tubs. I’m about to get dragged into this disaster of a ball. So why don’t you take Boob under your wing for a bit? Show him how it’s done here, keep him out of trouble.”

Ranboo shot him a look that practically screamed betrayal, but Tommy just grinned.

Tubbo tilted his head, his grin turning sly. “Oh, you’re just trying to get rid of him, aren’t you?”

“Obviously, he won’t survive in there for even a second ,” Tommy replied without missing a beat. “But you’re the best man for the job.”

Tubbo clapped Ranboo on the arm—well, more like his elbow, given the height difference—and gave a mock salute. “Alright, I’ll take care of your freshman. Go on, then. I’ll be around if you need me.”

Tommy smirked. “Good. Don’t break him.”

With that, Tommy turned and followed Schlatt and Dante, his staff clutched tightly in his hand.

The heavy palace doors swung wide, their gilded edges catching the warm light of countless chandeliers that adorned the vaulted ceiling. The ballroom beyond was a masterpiece of opulence—rainbows danced across the polished marble floor as crystal prisms scattered light.

A huge banquet is set up, the most divine of dines making mouths water. The air was thick with the intoxicating mix of lavender, honeyed wine, and the faint hum of a string quartet weaving a delicate melody into the background of polite conversation.

Tommy trailed behind Schlatt and Dante, his sharp eyes darting across the room. Nobles gathered in clusters, dressed in the finest silks and velvets, their laughter too light, their smiles too practiced. Too careful. Too fake .

A mage. Their mage. Theseus.

Whispers stirred in his wake, hushed voices pressing against the grand hall’s gilded walls. It wasn’t just his presence that unsettled them—it was his absence.

Two months. Two long months he had been gone. Vanished from court without a word.

Rumors had swirled like wildfire. Some had claimed he was dead, others had whispered of exile, treason, even defection to the Antarctic Empire. But no one, not a single noble in this room, knew the truth.

Only Schlatt and Dante knew. Only they had known the extent of his injuries—the ones that had forced him into a secluded clinic far from prying eyes. And by Schlatt’s decree, no one was allowed to question it.

Yet the questions were there. Hidden beneath every glance, tucked into every whispered conversation. The way they eyed him now—curious, uneasy—told him enough.

He let them look. Let them wonder.

But even as he smirked beneath his veil, even as he straightened his posture, pain licked up his spine like fire. He wasn’t healed. Not fully. Every step sent a dull ache through his body, a bitter reminder that he was still treading the line between recovery and collapse.

And magic—magic took more from him now than it ever had before.

Still, he stood tall. Still, he followed Schlatt and Dante through the murmuring crowd.

Schlatt moved with purpose, his stride cutting through the crowd like a blade, commanding silence without a word. When he mounted the stage, every conversation died, and every eye fixed on him.

He paused, savoring the charged silence before raising his hand in a signal. The string quartet fell quiet, and the room settled under the weight of his presence.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Schlatt began, his voice rich and smooth, carrying easily across the vast space. “Welcome. It warms my heart to see so many of you gathered here tonight. And why wouldn’t you be? After all, who can resist a night of fine wine, exquisite food, and the company of such… distinguished individuals?”

A ripple of polite laughter swept through the crowd followed by lopight applause, but Theseus could taste the tension beneath it, thick and cloying. They were restless. Suspicious. Even before Schlatt could get to his point, they were already bracing for it.

He spread his arms, gesturing to the opulent hall around them. “But tonight is more than a celebration of our wealth, our culture, our legacy—though, of course, it is all of those things.” His gaze swept the room, lingering on the most powerful figures among the crowd.

“Tonight, we gather to confront a truth none of us can afford to ignore.”

The air seemed to grow heavier, tension coiling in the room like a snake preparing to strike. Schlatt’s smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve.

“Beyond these walls, whispers of war grow louder. The Antarctic Empire and Essempi—our so-called neighbors—have crossed the line one too many times. They’ve scarred our lands, bled our people, and tested our patience. It ends now .”

The mere mention of those names sparked a ripple of unrest through the crowd. Harsh whispers broke out, faces darkening with anger. It was no secret that the history between the three kingdoms was tainted with betrayal and bloodshed.

But Tommy, standing silently to the side with Dante at his right, could sense that there was more to this than the king let on. The tensions had been brewing for years yet no war broke out—there had to be a catalyst Schlatt wasn’t revealing.

A restless murmur began to ripple through the room, voices growing uneasy, suspicion settling in . The doubt was visible. The fear. Even the king looked kind of anoyed by the missing believe of his people. Tommy didn’t wait for it to fester.

With a sharp motion, he raised his staff. The polished wood gleamed under the chandelier light, and instantly, the room fell silent. The nobles froze under his gaze, their uncertainty shifting into something closer to fear.

He hated how they wanted to cower, to step down, how they doubted their abilities to fight. Tommy may not be a fan of war, may be afraid of it, but he atleast faces it.

Tommy tilted his head warningly. “You dare question the kingdom’s strength?” His voice was a low drawl, yet it echoed through the hall, settling into the bones of those who listened. “Do you doubt the might of those who stand beside us? The strength of those who would see this kingdom rise, not fall?”

The air shifted. Power crackled, unseen yet tangible.

Tommy stepped forward, his presence almost suffocating, the weight of magic pressing down on the room. “This kingdom was not built by cowards or doubters. It was built by visionaries, by dreamers, by men and women who dared to believe in something greater than themselves. And it should  be defended by that same spirit!”

He lowers his voice, “and i you don’t want to stand up for it like our ancestors did, then you have no place in this kingdom.”

This time, the applause was louder. More enthusiastic. Yet wary.

Schlatt sighed, as if entirely unsurprised, like he expected this outburst. “Ah, Prime.” He says, looking over at Tommy with a smirk. “I knew you always had a hang for dramatics.”

A few nervous chuckles swept the room as Schlatt turned, gesturing toward Tommy.

“And now, allow me to introduce someone many of you know by name,” he continued smoothly. “Someone who has just spoken up—Theseus.”

The name sent a fresh wave of murmurs through the crowd.

Schlatt pauses, letting his name hang in the air, “A man whose talents will turn the tide of battles and whose reputation precedes him. You’ve heard the stories. Tonight, you’ll see why those stories aren’t just rumors.”

Tommy stepped forward once more, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room.

He tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You want a demonstration, my king?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “I’m happy to oblige.”

The air shifted, anticipation crackling through the hall.

Tommy raised his staff, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar pull of magic surging beneath his skin. Then he snapped them open, electric blue flashing behind the veil.

The air crackled. Shadows shifted and danced unnaturally as a sudden breeze swept through the hall, ruffling hair and flickering candle flames. With a sharp crack, Tommy slammed the staff against the marble floor.

Lightning erupted, surging outward in an intricate web, shimmering just above the ground.

Gasps erupted from the crowd as the magic rippled upward, forming an ephemeral dome of light above them. Within the dome, shimmering images began to form—figures of warriors standing strong, a mighty castle unyielding against a storm, and finally, a kingdom triumphant.

The nobles stared in awe, some stepping back instinctively while others leaned forward, captivated. Tommy’s voice rang out, steady and commanding. He’s a mage but he also has his way with words.

“This is who we are—strong, unshakable, unstoppable. But strength means nothing without unity. If we fail to act now, everything we’ve built will crumble into ashes and regret.”

The images blackened.

Shifting to scenes of devastation—villages burning, streets flooded with blood. The nobles flinched, some turning their faces away, unable to look at the horror laid bare before them.

“But,” Tommy continued, his voice rising with determination, “if we stand together, if we fight not just for ourselves but for those who can’t, we can build a future worth fighting for.”

The darkness lifted.

The dome transformed again—fields blooming with prosperity, children laughing, the kingdom alive with hope. The longing in the nobles’ eyes was unmistakable.

Tommy’s gaze swept the room. “So, what will it be? Will we rise to this challenge and be remebered as heroes? Or will we sit back and watch everything we love turn to ruin?”

Tommy lowered his staff and steps back, shaken by the strain of controlling this force but not letting it show, thanking every god there is for not pressing the self-destruction-button, the lightning fading as quickly as it had appeared.

The room fell silent for a heartbeat

Then—thunderous applause.

Like a dam breaking, applause and cheers erupted, the sound deafening. The nobles, shaken but clearly invigorated, now looked up to them with a mix of awe and determination, every doubt forgotten.

In the corner of the room he sees Tubbo giving him a thumbs-up with Ranboo at his side wearing a more awed expression as he looks up at him.

Schlatt stepped forward, the faintest smirk on his face. “What you just saw is the power of our kingdom when we stand our ground. This is what we can achieve together. And let me assure you—this is just the beginning.”

“Now,” Schlatt said, his voice cutting smoothly through the applause, “you’ve seen the strength that lies within our reach. But now you know, it won’t come from me alone—or from Theseus. It comes from all of us. Together, we will build a future free of fear, full of joy and prosperity.”

Schlatt raises his voice, taking on a lighter tone. “So, my friends, eat, drink, dance—but do not forget why we are here. Tonight, we celebrate not just what we have, but what we can achieve together. The future is ours to shape. Let us make it one worthy of our legacy.”

With that, he raised his goblet, which— somehow —he had acquired again, and toasted. “To the kingdom! To unity! To victory!”

The hall erupted into cheers once more, the tension transforming into electric energy. Tommy leaned toward Dante, who stood impassively beside him, arms crossed. “So,” Tommy muttered cheekily, “did I make my point?”

Dante grunted, his eyes scanning the room. “Flashy enough for them, sure. Let’s see if they’re still clapping when they have to pay up.”

Tommy chuckled, gripping his staff tightly as he watched the nobles return to their mingling, their conversations now charged with a new urgency. The night was far from over, and the real games were only beginning.

But as the nobles cheered, none of them noticed the new dark figures lurking at the edges of the room having joined them, their gazes cold and calculating. Outside, crows gathered on the windowsills, their cries a haunting counterpoint to the revelry within.

The grand ball raged on, but Tommy was done with it.

The laughter, the clinking of crystal goblets, the weight of too many eyes tracking his every move—it was suffocating. Even the music, a once-delicate melody, had warped into something grating, needling at his already frayed nerves. He needed out.

So, under the guise of seeking fresh air, he slipped from the great hall and into the night.

The palace gardens stretched wide before him, a labyrinth of hedges and marble statues bathed in silver moonlight. The air smelled of roses, the damp earth beneath his boots a welcome contrast to the polished marble floors. Out here, the noise of the ball faded into a distant hum. Here, in the quiet, he could breathe.

But the peace was shattered.

Harsh laughter cut through the night, followed by the sound of something crashing to the ground.

Tommy froze. His heartbeat quickened, instincts screaming a warning before his thoughts caught up. Hand tightening around his staff, he picked up his pace, the polished wood cool against his palm as he rounded a corner.

What he saw made his blood boil.

A young girl—thin, barely more than a wisp of a thing—trapped against the fountain. Her small hands clutched a bundle of bread and fruit to her chest like a lifeline. Four palace guards loomed over her, their heavy armor gleaming under the moonlight, their sneers twisted with something ugly.

You’re bold,” one guard mocked, brushing his gloved fingers across the girl’s dirty cheek as she flinched. “Sneaking into the palace for a snack. Should we teach you a lesson?”

The others laughed cruelly, one of them yanking at the girl’s arm.

She cried out, stumbling but refusing to let go of her bundle. “Please! I was just hungry!” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I’ll leave, I swear!”

“Oh, you’ll leave,” one said, leering. “But not before we’ve had our fun.”

Then—

“Wow,” a voice drawled, dripping with mockery. “Four of you against one little starving girl? Brave. Truly inspiring.”

The guards stilled, then turned, irritation flashing across their faces, as two figure stepped from the shadows.

The first was tall and lean, wearing the typical guard uniform, his wild brown curls catching the moonlight. A bow hung loosely in his hand, though he hadn’t drawn an arrow. Intelligent red eyes gleamed with something sharp beneath the humor of his smirk. “You lot must be so proud.”

“Get lost, Wilbur,” one of the guards snapped, their sneers faltering.

Wilbur feigned a wounded look. “Me? But I was having such a lovely evening.” He shifted, tapping his bow against his palm. “And now I find you lot playing hunt the little girl like a pack of rabid dogs. Not very knightly of you, is it?”

Behind him stood a second figure—a mountain of a man, with striking pink hair tied back in a loose braid and the same unsettling crimson eyes. An enormous netherite battle axe rested casually on his shoulder as if it were weightless, though his cold, calculating expression made it clear he didn’t need it to intimidate. “Let her go,” he simply said, his deep voice calm but laced with warning.

“Don’t get cocky, Techno. You guys are still new here after all,” one of the guards spat. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Everything here concerns me,” Techno replied, his voice almost disinterested, though his grip on the axe tightened ever so slightly.

One of the guards merely spat on him, Techno’s face contorting to one of clear disgust.

Wilbur tilted his head, his smirk sharpening. “You really want to do this, boys?” he taunted. “Because I’ll be honest—I’m bored, and you’re not going to like what happens next.”

Tension snapped taut between them, thin as wire.

Then, like idiots, the guards lunged.

The fight was over before it began.

Wilbur moved like a wraith, his bow snapping up with effortless precision. Arrows struck at the joints of armor, embedding between plates with surgical accuracy. His movements were fluid, an artist weaving chaos into the night.

Techno was the opposite—an avalanche in motion. Where Wilbur danced, Techno destroyed. His axe carved through the space around him with terrifying ease, each movement calculated, each swing devastating.

It was clear that the twins weren’t even trying to kill them—just hurting. If their opponents weren’t in heavy armor, they’d have been split apart already.

But when Tommy arrived, he didn’t see the distinction.

All he saw was six guards locked in combat, and a terrified girl trapped in the middle, who had fallen to the ground, trembling as she clutched her bundle.

Something snapped inside of him.

“ Enough! ”

The world shook.

Tommy’s voice rang through the night like a crack of thunder. His staff glowed with searing light, golden energy exploded from Tommy’s staff, a barrier surging between the fighters, forcing them apart .

Silence fell, thick and heavy. The garden, once alive with chaos, now stood frozen.

All eyes turned to Tommy.

Tommy’s gaze, sharp as a dagger, swept across the group. “ What ,” he demanded, his voice cold and commanding, “ is the meaning of this? ”

One of the aggressors spoke up quickly, his voice slightly trembling. “My lord, this girl—she’s a thief! She broke into the palace grounds to steal food!”

“She’s just a criminal,” another chimed in. “We were apprehending her!”

Tommy’s gaze darkened, his grip tightening on his staff. “And that somehow justifies your behavior? Surrounding her? Manhandling her? Harassing her?” His words lashed out like a whip, each one cutting deeper than the last. “She’s a child. Hungry and desperate. And instead of helping, you chose to terrorize her.” He exhaled sharply, voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “ Cowards. ”

One guard tried to argue, “We were only—”

“ Silence. ”

Power crackled through the garden. The remaining protests died in their throats.

Tommy turned his attention to Wilbur and Techno. “And them?” His voice was clipped. “What’s their part in this?”

“They attacked us!” another guard spat. “They had no right—“

Wilbur, leaning against his bow despite the gash on his arm, smirked. “You really think I’d risk my charming good looks for no reason?”

Techno, standing beside him like a silent storm, said nothing.

Before Tommy could press further, the girl darted towards him, clutching at his robes and burying her face against him as she sobbed. Tommy stiffened in surprise, his gaze softening as he rested a hand on her head.

“They’re telling the truth,” the girl managed through her tears. “They saved me. Please, my lord—they protected me.”

Tommy’s gaze flickered to her, then back to Wilbur and Techno. They said nothing, their expression unreadable as they stood there, bloodied but unbothered. Finally, Tommy’s posture eased slightly.

“The four of you,” he said, turning back to the aggressors. “You will spend the night in the dungeons. We’ll decide your fate in the morning.”

As additional guards arrived to drag them away, one, emboldened by fury and humiliation, spoke up again.

“You’re siding with them?” he snarled. “Those bastards don’t belong here! And as for that brat—”

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Tommy snapped.

But the guard wasn’t done.

“We should’ve cut her throat along with her guardian angels— pinky pie and his pet freak! ” He sneered, voice dripping with contempt. “And you—who are you to order us? We aren’t afraid of your magic tricks! You ran, hid in a hole for two months like a pathetic coward—and now you expect us to bend to your whim?” He laughed, ugly and bitter. “You don’t deserve your title—”

For a second he hesitated. Then—Tommy flicked his wrist.

A golden blast sent the guard flying across the yard backwards, slamming into a hedge. He crumpled to the ground with a strangled groan, whimpering in agony.

Silence.

Tommy lowered his staff. “Anyone else want to speak out of turn?”

No one did.

Wilbur’s red eyes flickered with something while  Techno’s gaze was unreadable, though the slight tilt of his head spoke volumes.

Tommy ignored them, stepping toward Wilbur. “You’re bleeding.”

Wilbur raised a brow. “Noticed that, did you?”

Without waiting, Tommy raised a hand. A soft golden glow emanated from his palm, chanting an incantation silently, the wound on Wilbur’s arm closing seamlessly.

Wilbur flexed his fingers. “That’s... unexpected.”

Techno, still watching, finally spoke. “Why?” His voice was quiet but pointed. “You don’t know us.” A pause. Then, deliberately, “ My lord. ”

Tommy met his gaze evenly. “You protected her. That’s all I need to know.”

Wilbur and Techno exchanged a glance. Calculating. Curious.

The girl—Clementine—was handed off to a maid, having been ordered by Tommy to take care of her every needs, and as he turned back toward the palace, a light limp in his step after so much magic, he felt the weight of two unwavering stares on his back.

Intrigued.

Suspicious.

And maybe—just maybe— dangerously interested .

The ball continued inside, music and laughter echoing through the palace halls. But outside, in the quiet depths of the garden, two shadows lingered long after Theseus had left.

Wilbur leaned lazily against the marble fountain, idly flexing his freshly healed arm. The faint golden glow of Theseus’s magic had long since faded, yet he still felt a lingering warmth beneath his skin. His crimson eyes flickered with amusement as he examined the spot.

"That was... something," he murmured.

Techno stood beside him, silent, contemplative. The night air was cold, but he barely seemed to feel it. His fingers drummed idly against the hilt of his axe, his expression unreadable.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, finally—

"What do you think?" Wilbur asked, voice light, teasing, playing it out dramatically. "Our dear Lord Theseus, his Grace, the Mage of the Vermilion Court."

Techno didn’t answer immediately. He had been watching. Calculating. The magic, the anger, the hesitation beneath it all. A puzzle he had yet to solve.

Techno exhaled through his nose, his crimson eyes unreadable. “He’s different.”

Wilbur’s smirk widened. “Different how?”

Techno’s fingers flexed over the haft of his axe, considering. “Doesn’t grovel. Doesn’t care for titles or decorum. Like someone who doesn’t care, yet at the same time does. Makes him stand out.”

“And…” he pauses, "He’s powerful," Techno finally said, voice low, even. "Too powerful to be left unchecked."

Wilbur hummed, tipping his head back to gaze at the stars. “I’ve heard stories about him, you know.”

Techno didn’t react immediately, but Wilbur knew him well enough to sense the curiosity beneath his silence.

“They say he’s a prodigy. That magic bends to him like a loyal dog.” Wilbur’s smirk turned sharper. “Remember the northern skirmish? They say he burned an entire siege line to cinders with a single spell. Didn’t even break a sweat.”

Techno raised a brow. “Exaggerations.”

“Maybe.” Wilbur’s eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight. “But you saw him tonight. He doesn’t use magic, Tech. He wields it. Like it’s an extension of himself.”

They go quiet again, reminiscing what happened, not only in the garden, but at the ball. How Theseus silenced an entire room by simply lifting his staff, how he lashed out at seeing the nobles’ doubt. And finally, the display. 

“The court praises him in public but fears him behind closed doors,” Techno says at that. “A mage like that? That untethered? He doesn’t play by their rules. That makes him unpredictable.”

Wilbur’s grin sharpened. “Well, can’t argue with that statement. A few insults, and he sent that idiot flying like a sack of grain. He’s got fire, that’s for sure.”

Wilbur pushed away from the fountain, pacing slowly through the garden path. His boots crunched against the gravel, his fingers twitching against his bow. "But you felt that, didn’t you?" He glanced back. "That surge of magic when he lost his temper?"

"Yeah."

Wilbur exhaled, long and slow. His smile curled, sharp as a dagger. "For all it’s glory and precision, it was... raw. Unrefined. He’s holding back ." He turned, his expression shadowed with thought. "Which means—"

"He’s capable of more," Techno finished.

Wilbur hums.” The rumors prove so too.”

Silence stretched between them.

“And yet,” Wilbur mused, “for all the stories, no one really knows him, do they?”

Techno’s grip on his axe tightened slightly.

“Back there at the ball the court called him their champion—the hero of the northern skirmish. But did you notice? Nobody asked him about himself.” Wilbur’s voice dropped slightly, turning thoughtful. “Like they can’t. ”

“The two-month disappearance.” Techno stated rather than asked.

Wilbur snapped his fingers. “Exactly. He vanished. No trace, no whispers, nothing. Then suddenly—poof! He reappears tonight, and everyone just accepts it.”

Techno frowned slightly, deep in thought. “That kind of silence isn’t natural. Someone made sure no one asked questions. Nobody knows what happened.”

"Except maybe Schlatt. And that dog of his—Dante." Wilbur’s lips twisted into something unreadable. "The nobles whisper about it. They’re all so terrified of speaking out of turn. And yet, their eyes betray them." He spread his arms wide. "A scandal, a secret—one they aren't allowed to touch."

Techno remained still. “Whatever happened in his absence left him drained. He’s…battered."

Wilbur smirked. "Yes, he is." He tapped a finger against his temple. "Did you notice the way he hesitated before using his magic? The way it exhausted him?" His eyes gleamed in the dim moonlight. "In the moment he was all mighty, but afterwards he was tired. He’s weaker than he should be."

Techno’s fingers twitched on his axe. "And yet, even weakened , he was able to take control of the entire situation. Forced six men apart with a flick of his wrist." His tone was unreadable. "Imagine him at full strength."

Wilbur’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes darkened.

"He’s... interesting," Wilbur admitted. "I was expecting someone fragile, someone crumbling under the weight of expectation." He tilted his head. "But what I saw was someone dangerous. Someone who maybe could be a problem."

Techno met his gaze. “I think he is a problem. He’s a risk. And people don’t disappear for so long without a reason.”

Wilbur exhaled, shaking his head with a grin. “You always assume the worst.”

“I assume what makes sense,” Techno countered. His gaze turned toward the distant palace lights, a flicker of something unreadable in his crimson eyes. “Whatever happened during those two months… it wasn’t good.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The night air whispered around them, cool and still.

Then Wilbur’s expression shifted—thoughtful, intrigued. He leaned in slightly, voice lower now, almost a murmur.

"But you know what’s most fascinating about him?"

Techno didn’t answer, but Wilbur knew he was listening.

"He was gone. Disappeared. Removed from the board." Wilbur gestured vaguely. "For two months, Schlatt kept him tucked away like a delicate secret, and now he's back—changed. Something's broken in him, but no one dares to say why ."

His smirk deepened, sharp with something unspoken.

"I wonder," Wilbur mused, "if he even knows how broken he really is."

Techno’s gaze lingered on the palace, unreadable. Then, finally, he turned. "Come on. We’ve seen enough for one night."

Wilbur sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over his twin’s shoulder as they walked. "And here I was, just starting to have fun ."

Techno didn’t respond, tired of his brothers theatrics.

The both of them had come to learn.

And Theseus?

He was someone worth learning about. Someone to discover.

He was a mystery worth unraveling.

And they would find the truth.