Chapter Text
The ruins of L’Manberg still reeked of smoke, even years after its fall.
Philza adjusted his cloak, pulling it tighter against the sharp night air. His camp wasn’t far—just past the skeletal remains of the walls, tucked into the shattered remains of an old underground bunker. A good hiding place. A necessary one. The world wasn’t kind to survivors.
Wilbur sat beside the fire, flipping through an old, half-burned notebook. Tommy slept near the back, one arm flung over his face, while Technoblade perched on the ledge above, crossbow in hand, watching the dark.
Then came the knock.
Three slow taps against the bunker’s outer door.
Philza was on his feet in an instant, blade drawn. Wilbur froze. Tommy stirred, muttering under his breath.
Techno shifted, his voice carrying softly from above. “That’s either a dead man or a desperate one.”
Philza opened the door an inch, just enough to see the stranger outside.
Dream.
His mask was cracked, hanging lopsided on his face. His cloak was torn, stained with dirt and blood, and there was a fresh wound on his arm. He looked like he had been running for days, barely holding himself together. His fingers clutched a dagger, not raised, just there. A last defense.
Philza exhaled through his nose. Of course it’s him.
“Phil.” Dream’s voice was hoarse. “Let me in.”
Silence. The fire behind Philza crackled, casting shadows over the stone walls.
“Not my problem,” he said.
Dream swallowed, swaying on his feet. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Wilbur shot Philza a look, smirking like this was some grand twist of fate. Tommy groaned from his spot on the floor, still half-asleep. “Just let the bastard in so I can sleep.”
Philza clenched his jaw. He should say no. He should turn Dream away like the world had done to so many before him. But he didn’t.
“Fine,” he muttered, stepping aside. “One night. No trouble.”
Dream nodded once and stumbled inside.
Philza didn’t know it then, but this was the moment everything changed.