Chapter Text
“Auf Wiedersehen!” You shout over your shoulder, waving goodbye.
“Bye!” Multiple of your coworkers call back. The door swung shut behind, and the cold evening air smacked against your face as you left the warm building. You crossed the parking lot towards your car. Your boots click steadily on the asphalt, the crunch of the salt being crushed under you… until you see him.
A homeless man sits beside the stoplight at the corner — no sign, no cup, just a thin backpack and clothes that have survived too many winters. He watches cars pass like he’s waiting for one to stop and speak to him.
You hesitate, then sigh and veer off course. “Hey,” You say gently when you get close enough, pulling a folded twenty from your pocket. “Here. I hope it helps a little.”
The man takes it gently, like its fragile glass. “Thank you,” he rasps — then he studies you with eyes too sharp. “If you could enter a fictional world of your choice… which would it be?”
You laughed, caught off guard. “That’s a fun question. Uh — Dream SMP. With Technoblade.” You tossed the answer out casually, expecting confusion.
Instead, he nods once. “Very well.”
“What?” Your amusement falters.
“There are rules,” the man says, suddenly sounding nothing like someone who sleeps on sidewalks. He lifts a single finger.
“One: The person of your choosing will be loyal to you. Fiercely so.” A second finger rises. “Two: You will be hunted by that person’s enemy the moment you arrive.”
Your smile dissolves at the word “hunted”.
“Sorry– what?”
“Three: Loyalty can only be broken if you choose their enemy over them.”
Your heart speeds. You try to laugh it off. “Are you… quoting something?”
“Four: You cannot return until the enemy either surrenders or dies. Five: Time in this world stops while you are gone. I’ll see you when you get back.”
A pulse of fear spikes in your chest.
“Okay, sir – maybe we should get you somewhere warm–” You begin, turning around and planning to head back to your workplace. Suddenly, though, there was a spark — like a camera flash — bursts in front of you. You gasp, flinching and you're blinded. The world spins as your car, the parking lot, the scent of asphalt and winter — everything spins away like water down a drain.
“And if you die there, you’ll die here.” You hear lastly, and your blood runs cold. Die? Who’s dying? You want to scream outloud, but your voice fails to call out. Darkness encases your vision, when you swore there was a blinding light not moments ago.
When you opened your eyes again, you weren't on the ground at your work, there were trees overhanging above you. There were no trees near your work, it was tucked away in a corner of an outdoor shopping center. It was day last, too, so why was it suddenly night?
Has someone kidnapped you while you were passed out? Wouldn’t you coworkers have seen if someone took you? And why out in the middle of a forest? At night, no less?
Snow surrounded you as you lay on the floor — cold ground more like — as the stars above you glistened. It was quiet, too, which was unusual. You remembered something from somewhere that “if nature quiets, there’s a reason to be quiet”.
So why was the forest being quiet? You internally wonder, not moving from your spot on the ground. The snow was pretty deep, and the fern around you hid you pretty well, so if danger did approach, you would most likely be fine. Right?
The wind picked up, causing the pine trees to shake, dusting off snow onto you. You weren't in the attire to stay in the snow — only wearing a winter coat, a turtle-neck sweater underneath, long jeans protecting your legs from the cold, and some men’s boots to protect your feet from the snow. You had no gloves, scarf or ear muffs to keep you warm. While your coat could keep you from freezing to death, your jeans don’t do much to keep you any warmer.
The world was quiet enough that you heard sluggish footsteps walking in the snow. Whatever — or whoever — was nearby, wasn’t worried about being found.
Then, the unmistakable sound of groaning of a zombie.
You’d watch too many zombie movies to know that moan from anywhere.
This is bad! You shout in your head, I can’t stay lying here, the zombie might smell me. You slowly — oh so slowly — lifted your head to look around, but the snow was too high, so you continued to slowly lift your body to overlook the snow.
Looking left, then right, and in between the trees you saw the zombie. It wandered aimlessly, but the clothes were all too familiar — a teal shirt with blue jeans. A minecraft zombie.
You believed you were hallucinating, so you rubbed your eyes quickly, and when you opened them again, the zombie was looking directly at you.
Searing hot fear flashed through your veins, making the cold world around you feel warm for just a second, as the zombie groaned and started walking your way. Slowly at first, before slightly speeding up in a jog.
Adrenaline pumped through your veins faster than your mind could comprehend that you had stood up and ran in the opposite direction of the zombie. The snow was so high — almost to your knees — that it was hard to run through, but you didn’t care. You ran as best as you could in the snow.
As you continued to run, more zombies started circling you, and you noticed it wasn’t just zombies who spotted you now.
Creepers — tall, but not taller than you, green creatures with fur covering its body — targeted you.
Skeletons — taller than the creepers, bony creatures with bows in their hand. The fact that they could walk, raise the bow, load it with an arrow from the quilt on their back, and stand alone without muscles slipped your mind as you dodged a flying arrow.
Large spiders — oh your fear of spiders increasing ten-fold — with beady red eyes hissed as they spotted you too, some jumping down from trees to lunge at you.
A raw, fearful scream left your throat as one spider got too close, tears pricking at your eyes as you watched the creature from over you shoulder start to catch up.
As you ran, the wind picked up, pricking your nose with the cold wind, and the tears lining your eyes started frosting up, blinding you. You blinked away the cold from your eyes, but in the process, you failed to notice a creeper in your pathway, and you would’ve run right into the creature if you hadn’t seen the creature light up, and the unmistakable sound of its hsssssss for you to make a sharp left. The creeper blew up behind you as an arrow lodged itself in its head from a skeleton.
The blast knocks you off balance a little, creating a strong gust of wind, snow spraying into the air like shrapnel. Your ears ring and you can’t tell which direction you are facing anymore — not like you knew which was north, or south — all you know is forward.
Forward is away from teeth, arrows, and eight-legged nightmares.
So you just run.
Your boots punch through deep snow, dragging you down, but adrenaline keeps you going. Sharp breaths burn your throat, your lungs feel like they’re shattering with every gasp of frozen air.
You can’t stop, though, the voice of the homeless man — was he really homeless though — ringing in your ears like a mantra. “If you die there, you’ll die here.”
Another arrow whistles past your cheek. You flinch — poorly — but it still grazes your cheek and lodges in a tree. Tears basically freeze in place as soon as they fall, forming icy salt tracks on your skin.
There’s more hissing. More groaning. More rattling of bones, more footsteps, more noise to create raw, primal, fear.
Too much noise.
Your legs burned as you pushed through the thick snow. Your chest heaves, both in adrenaline and panic. Your thoughts spiral.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real. It’s just some delusion or dream or– A spider screeches behind you — echoing in your brain — and your denial shatters.
“This is real,” you wail loudly, stumbling to stay upright as you sprint harder. “Oh Notch this is so real!”
In the distance, the forest starts to thin. Between trees, you see a cabin. Sturdy logs atop a stone foundation, smoke curling from the chimney and into the night sky. Lanterns scattered around the encased land, the fencing cutting off the wilderness and comfort of the cabin.
“Yes!” You screech, pushing through the snow faster.
Lights flicker faintly from the windows as you get closer. Golden, warm, impossibly welcoming.
“Someone—!” You once again screeched, voice breaking. “Help me!”
The fences are short enough that you vault over them, but you underestimated just how far you were from the snow covered ground and you basically fell face first to the snow.
You catch yourself with your hands — instinct overriding all thoughts — and you hear a crack and pain shoots up one of your arms. It doesn’t last long as an arrow lodges itself in the frozen ground next to you, and both fear and adrenaline overtake the pain. You scramble up, and fail to notice a large figure exiting the cabin until you run face first into it after barreling up the steps.
The figure grabs a hold of your coat and lifts you up like you weigh nothing and tosses you into the cabin, where warmth immediately encases you, a shiver running through your body at the sudden change in temperature.
You hit the wood floor with an umph, your breath punching out of your lungs. You scramble backward on your elbows, searching for something — anything — familiar in the suddenly well-lit space. Your heart slams in your ears so loudly you don't hear the door shut but you feel the final thunk of it.
Your pulse doesn’t slow until a shadow falls over you. Metal glints under the glowing lanterns when you look up. A massive axe rests at the shoulder of a man — or, not quite a man. Tall. Bulky like a cartoon character. Pink fur covering his body. Tusks curving from his jaw. Nose that of a pig. Eyes burning scarlet like embers, eyeing you down like you’re prey. A red cape resting on his shoulders and down his back, slightly flowing from his movement.
“You’re loud,” he says flatly.
Your mouth opens, but all that comes out is a pathetic wheeze.
He tosses his axe onto a nearby table with a heavy clang and cracks his knuckles.
“You brought half the mobs in the tundra with you,” he states, tone unimpressed. “Explain.”
Explain? EXPLAIN?!
Your breathing comes in panicked gasps. Your mind is in chaos.
“I–I don’t– They were– It’s night!”
“Brilliant observation,” he deadpans.
You flinch, more tears springing from fear, frustration, and the splitting ache in your arm.
Technoblade’s gaze tracks the way you cradle it, the unnatural coloring of your wrist.
“You break something?” he asks, voice low.
You can’t answer — you can barely breathe.
Technoblade sighs like you're the most exhausting thing that has ever crossed his path. He crouches down — not close, but close enough that you can’t ignore the heat of his presence.
“You’re either very stupid,” he says, eyes boring into yours, “or you’re running from something else.”
Your pulse stops for just a moment.
Because he’s right.
Your wings — still bound painfully under your coat — burn against your back, cramped and screaming for space. You haven't dared acknowledge them in the terror. Or even noticed them until now.
Technoblade listens to the silence building between you, then stands. “Stay,” he orders, tone final and unquestionable.
You listen, in fear, shock, and obedience. He walks towards a wall of chests, opens one at the bottom, and grabs something. It’s when he turns around and tosses the object at you that you see it’s a bandage.
“Wrap it up. But if you dodge my question again,” he says, voice low but deadly. “I’ll throw you back out there to finish what you started.”
Your survival instincts finally jab your brain back online.
You force words past your dry throat as you start to tightly wrap your wrist, wincing in pain at the slightest of movement.
“I’m not—” You swallow, trying again. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Technoblade folds his arms, unimpressed. “Everyone has somewhere to go.” He tilts his head. “Why isn’t yours where you came from?”
Your heartbeat spikes.
The homeless man.
The blinding light.
The rules.
You can’t tell him any of that. He’d think you're insane. Or worse — lying.
You shiver violently, curling into yourself.
“Someone was chasing me,” You finally admitted, voice cracked as you lied. You just hope he thinks it's because you're terrified. “They wanted to kill me.”
Technoblade’s eyes narrow — assessing, calculating, dangerous.
“And who,” he asks slowly, “would want to kill you?”
You hesitates, terrified of the truth spilling out.
Technoblade steps closer.
“Names,” he demands.
You stiffen, fear spiking again.
“I don’t know their name,” You lie again. It comes out too fast.
Technoblade’s jaw twitches — irritation or suspicion, you can’t tell.
“Then why’re they hunting you?”
Your breath shakes as you whisper, “Because of,” You paused to think of an excuse, “my wings.” That was the only thing that popped up in your mind, hoping it's a good enough excuse for Technoblade to not bring an axe down on your neck.
Technoblade goes utterly still. Then his eyes harden — not with fear — but recognition.
Wings in this world are hunted. Wings are power. Wings are sacred.
He narrows his eyes at you.
“Show me,” he finally demands, unfolding his arms and resting them on his hips.
“W– What?” You freeze.
“If I’m going to decide whether or not I should kill you, I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
Your heart crawls up your throat like an animal trying to escape. You hesitate, and a harsh glare from Technoblade makes you move. Slowly, with shaking fingers, you reach your good hand for your coat zipper. You pull it all the way down.
Your wings practically explode when you slugs your coat off — forced and desperate. They unfurl halfway before gravity drags them down, fluttering weakly. Velvety-soft wings, a mix of pink and yellow, shimmer under the firelight.
Despite the warmth of the fire, colder air hits the newly-released limbs and you gasp with a shiver — half from relief, half from terror.
Technoblade’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, the crimson in his eyes darken.
“Fairy,” he mutters. “Great.”
You blink. “Is– is that bad?”
His brow lifts just a fraction.
“Oh, unbelievably.” He turns away — as though your presence is now simply a problem to be sorted.
“There are people who’d rip those wings off you to mount on their wall. Or to take the magic inside them. No wonder you were running.”
The room tilts. Magic?
There’s magic in your wings?
“Well, you didn’t fly here, which means you came from the south. And the only idiots who would hunt winged people south of here are–” he stops himself, clicking his tongue. Then shrugs, almost unconcerned.
“Doesn’t matter. They’re probably still searching."
Your lips tremble.
“So… what happens now?” You ask, voice tiny.
Technoblade stares at you for a long, cold moment.
“You stay here. If you came from the south, I can’t have you wandering around now knowing where I live.”
“W–What!” You shout, but Technoblade ignores you, turning around to climb the ladder next to the door.
He climbs two rungs, then pauses — glancing over his shoulder just enough for his tusks to catch the firelight.
“And don’t try to run. You won’t outrun me.” His voice drops lower — a warning. “Or make it past the wolves before they eat you whole.”
You are left alone in the warm glow of the fire when he closes the trap door above.
You don't know if Technoblade was joking.
You don't think he was.
Your wings ache as you can’t seem to get them to relax, your shoulders sag as the weight between your shoulderblades feel like a foreign object.
They were.
It felt like forever for the adrenaline to wear off, your body shaking in violent shivers, until your eyes started to droop. Your wrist still throbs when you crawl towards the couch sitting in the middle of the room, careful to be quiet as the couch creaks from your weight.
As you lie there, you can't find a comfortable position when lying on your side, so you twist and turn until you're lying on your stomach, head resting on the couch pillow, your wings slugging over the side and back of the couch. Eventually, your consciousness slips away before you can question the choices from earlier. Or before you can think about taking your boots off.