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Wemmbu was walking through the dense forest, his boots crunching softly against the grass. The trees seemed to lean in as he passed, He hadn't intended to wander this far, yet his feet seemed to know the path better than his mind did. Slowly, the greenery gave way to a clearing he hadn't visited in what felt like a lifetime.
He didn't expect to find himself standing directly in front of the large remains of the burnt-down tree house. Memories he had tried to bury began to resurface, triggered by the sight of the scorched wood and collapsed platforms. He ran a hand over a charred trunk, feeling the rough texture rub off on his fingers.
He didn't expect himself even more to be standing there, helplessly reminiscing about the old days. The weight of the past felt like a physical pressure on his chest, pulling him back into a version of himself he thought he’d outgrown. It was strange how a pile of ruined wood could hold so much power over a person’s heart.
He stood paralyzed by nostalgia, trapped between the person he used to be and the person he was forced to become.
Those were the days where it was just him, Eggchan, and ManePear.
They had spent countless hours in that very tree-house, training and laughing until their sides ached. It was a simpler time, defined by shared goals and a bond. Back then, the world felt vast but safe because he wasn't in it alone.
Suddenly, the snapping of a dry twig broke his trance as he heard heavy footsteps approaching from afar. The sound was rhythmic, echoing through the trees with a confidence that made Wemmbu’s wings twitch. He went still, his hand hovering instinctively near his side as he strained to pinpoint the source of the noise.
The footsteps grew louder, a small, desperate part of him hoped against all logic that it was ManePear. He imagined his mentor stepping out from behind a tree, offering a nod of approval or a lesson. The hope felt dangerous, but he couldn't help but indulge it for a fleeting second. His heart hammered against his ribs as he turned toward the sound, searching for a familiar silhouette.
Instead, he sees a player who is entirely unfamiliar, yet strangely striking in his presence. The figure is draped in regal attire that bears a similarity to Wemmbu’s own. Most strikingly, the stranger wore a skull mask resembling a pig, which completely covered the upper half of his face. The dark, hollow eye sockets of the skull stared back at him, He stood tall and unmoving,
Wemmbu, by comparison, stood on his own, wearing a white, puffy-sleeved shirt with ruffled cuffs. A small blue brooch, shaped intricately like an eye, fastened his collar at the neck, shimmering faintly in the dim light. His dark, tailored trousers were held up by a sturdy black belt featuring a rectangular golden buckle with a star-shaped gem at its heart. A wide purple sash was wrapped around his waist, acting as a divider between his top and the lower half of his outfit. Gold-rimmed hexagonal plates protected his thighs, and a tiara with a glowing purple diamond sat perfectly between his upward-curving horns.
The player with the skull mask wore a gold crown that rested atop his head. A heavy, deep red cape was draped over his broad shoulders, featuring a massive, thick white fur collar that framed his head like a lion’s mane. Underneath the cloak, he wore a white, loose-fitting shirt with a ruffled neckline. A large, blood-red gemstone pendant hung at the center of the ruffled collar, catching what little light reached the forest floor. His forearms were tightly bound in leather wraps that extended down to the base of his fingers, and a dark maroon sash was cinched around his waist over tailored trousers.
Wemmbu’s hair was a deep, vivid purple that cascaded down his back, often reaching well past his shoulders. Long, silken strands hung down the sides of his face, framing his features, his hair was always gathered neatly into a long ponytail. The color was so saturated it almost seemed to glow against the dark backdrop of the burnt wood.
While the other guy’s hair was a startling, saturated bubblegum pink that fell in a straight curtain down to his mid-back. He had a small, tight braid running down one side of his head, The pink strands were thick and healthy, swaying slightly as he shifted his weight. It was a bold choice of color for someone who looked like they had stepped off a bloody battlefield.
Wemmbu’s hair was longer, of course, trailing slightly further down his spine than the stranger's. He took a strange, silent pride in the length and the deep violet hue that defined his silhouette. The two of them stood there, two variations of a similar theme, mirroring each other in ways neither expected. It was like looking into a distorted, more rugged version of a mirror.
For a long moment, they both just looked at each other, sizing one another up in the quiet clearing. The tension was thick, but it wasn't exactly hostile; it was more a sense of curiosity. Neither moved to draw a weapon, though both looked more than capable of using one.
“We look.. Similar? In a way,” Wemmbu finally points out, breaking the silence with a slight tilt of his head. He gestured vaguely between his own purple sash and the stranger's maroon one, noting the shared taste in clothes. He had never met someone who matched him so closely in terms of fashion and presence.
The guy snorts as a sharp fang pokes out from his lower lip. “Yeah, I mean... It’s not exactly rocket science,” he replies in a dry, monotonous tone. He didn't seem particularly impressed by the observation, acting as if their similarity was just another boring fact of life. His posture remained relaxed, yet there was a hidden hostility in the way he stood. He shifted his weight, the heavy red cape swishing against the dead leaves at his feet.
“So like uh, I believe we've never met before," Wemmbu attempts to make conversation, his voice trailing off slightly as he tries to navigate the awkwardness. He attempted to look the stranger in the eyes to gauge his intent, but the hollow sockets of the pig skull urked him. There was something unsettling about talking to a literal wall of bone that showed no emotion. He shifted his feet, feeling the urge to fill the silence before it became too heavy. It was a clumsy attempt at socializing, but it was all he had.
The guy noticed the discomfort and took off the skull mask. Wemmbu felt a wave of relief wash over him as the mask was removed, making the stranger feel more human. The mask was tucked under the man's arm, revealing a face that was surprisingly calm despite the scars of battle. Without the mask, Wemmbu breathed a quiet sigh of gratitude for the gesture of transparency.
He is met with striking red orbs. The color was intense. Wemmbu found himself momentarily captivated by the intensity of the gaze.
Wemmbu looked directly into those blood-red eyes, and in return, the guy stared back at his own amethyst purple eyes. The contrast between the red and the purple was jarring, neither looked away,
“I'm the ‘Blade,’” the guy says, his voice carrying a flat, deadpan quality that made it hard to tell if he was joking. There was no boastfulness in his tone, just a simple statement of fact. He watched Wemmbu’s reaction closely, his expression remaining largely unreadable.
“Do people actually call you that?” Wemmbu asks, amused with an eyebrow raised as his tail swishes back and forth in curiosity. He found the nickname a bit dramatic, even by his own standards of lore and titles. A small smirk played on his lips as he waited for a response, his initial nervousness fading into interest.
The guy looked at him, a flicker of something like sheepishness crossing his features for a second. “Nah, it’s just... uh, it’s the nickname my lil bro Theseus calls me, he just kinda... does it. Kids, man. What can ya do?"
“Theseus? Like from Greek mythology?” Wemmbu asks, trying to pull the name from the depths of his memory. If he remembers correctly from one of Eggchan’s frequent yap sessions, Theseus was a hero or something similar. Then he recalled something about the hero being exiled from his home or falling from grace. He usually zones out a lot when Eggchan starts yapping his ears off, but some details always manage to stick. He wondered if the "lil bro" lived up to the name.
“Yeah, my actual name is Technoblade. Though, uh, usually people are too busy fleein' in terror to actually use it,” he added. He said it so casually that it took a moment for the weight of the statement to sink in. There was a quiet confidence in the way he spoke about his own reputation. He wasn't bragging, he was merely stating facts. It was the kind of deadpan delivery that Wemmbu could appreciate.
Wemmbu snickers at this, he realized he was starting to like this guy. He relaxed his posture, his wings settling into a more comfortable position against his back. It was rare to find someone who could be so threatening and so conversational at the same time. This Technoblade was certainly not what he expected to find in the woods today.
“My name's Wemmbu,” he says, offering his own name as a fair exchange for the introduction. He said it with a bit of a flourish, It felt right to introduce himself properly now that the ice had been broken. He watched Technoblade for any sign of recognition
Techno nods slowly at that, acknowledging the name with a simple tilt of his head. "So, uh, why are you like... in front of a really big but burned tree-house? I mean, no offense, but you’ve been out here for a while. It’s not exactly the most... uh, efficient use of yer time, y’know?" He snorts again, looking over the charred ruins.
"Just reminiscing about old times," Wemmbu admits, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes drifted back to the wood. He didn't try to hide the sadness in his voice this time, feeling strangely safe enough to be honest. The honesty felt like a release, a way to let the past breathe for just a second.
"Reminiscing, huh? That's... uh, that sounds like a lot of effort for a Tuesday. Most people just, y’know, eat their breakfast or whatever, but I guess starin' at a burnt treehouse is one way to spend a morning. Not exactly an efficient use of yer time, but... whatever floats yer boat, I guess." Techno’s voice was full of cynicism, yet there was faint understanding. He wasn't one for sentimentality, but he seemed to recognize the weight of the burden Wemmbu was carrying. He leaned against a nearby unburnt tree, crossing his arms over his chest.
Wemmbu stares at him, feeling a sudden urge to explain the hollow feeling in his chest. "I just, can't seem to forget and move on, you know? I had uh... a mentor, yeah, and I guess I disappointed him. He just left, and a part of me wishes he would come back," he says, his voice wavering slightly. As he spoke, his wings fluffed up a bit in a nervous gesture as he looked back at the remains of the treehouse. He was admitting his greatest insecurity to a stranger, and yet it felt like the most logical thing to do.
“Yeah. I mean, that's—that’s rough, buddy. But, y'know, usually when people leave, they’re just... effectively irrelevant to the plot. Wishin' for them to come back is just... it's a lot of emotional 'power output' for very little return, y'know? Not exactly an efficient use of yer time, starin' at a burnt house hopin' for a ghost to show up. But, uh... I guess if he was a half-decent mentor, he’d probably tell ya to stop mopin' and go... I don't know, farm some potatoes or somethin'." Techno attempts to give Wemmbu some comfort in his own way. Wemmbu eyed Techno and guessed that the man wasn't used to doing this sort of thing, but the effort was there.
“Thanks man, that uh... helped me a lot,” Wemmbu said, giving Techno a small, appreciative smile. The advice about "power output" was weird, but it made sense in a strange way. It was the first time in a long time that someone hadn't looked at him with pity regarding his past. He felt a little lighter, He appreciated the pragmatism more than he would have appreciated a standard apology.
"Heh, well... uh. Don't mention it. Seriously. If word gets out I’m out here givin' life lessons instead of, y'know, maintainin' my reputation, it's gonna take a massive hit. It’s just... uh... basic logic, really. No point in havin' all that power output if you're just gonna let it 'consume' ya over some guy who didn't stay, right?" Techno seemed almost flustered by the gratitude, looking away toward the horizon. He was clearly more comfortable with combat than he was with emotional support. He adjusted his cape, making sure the fur collar was sitting right once again.
“Right, hey uh, I actually have to like go, hope to see you soon, 'The Blade',” Wemmbu said, preparing to head back to Eggchan. He offered a small wave, his hair swaying as he turned to leave the clearing. Meeting this strange, pink-haired dude had been the highlight of an otherwise depressing day. He hoped their paths would cross again.
“See ya around... I guess," Techno says, He reached down and began putting back on his skull mask, the bone clicking into place over his face. Once the mask was on, he looked like a legend again, he stood perfectly still, watching Wemmbu prepare to take flight or trek back into the woods.
“Don't die on me, alright?” Wemmbu teases, throwing a playful smirk over his shoulder. His tail flicked playfully as he waited for the response. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.
Techno grins under the mask, though only the slight crinkle in the eye sockets and the shift in his jaw gave it away. "Technoblade never dies,” he stated, which sounded like a universal law. It was a promise to the universe itself. And with that, they both turned and walked their separate ways.