Chapter Text
Free.
He was free.
He billowed through the clouds, spinning like a drill. And when he emerged from the fluffy white, his gray wings spread out far enough to block out the sun. His green robe moved like water with him, and his hat only stayed on him thanks to the strap around his neck. He saw the world below, a patchwork quilt of greens and browns, stitched with shimmering rivers. A sharp smile spread across his face. The wind whistled past his ears as he dipped a wing, carving a swift arc toward the ground.
That was Philza’s daily morning routine: to soar as high as he could before he hunted for the day.
Philza nestled into the bush of a tree, resting on a big, sturdy branch. He preens his feathers, cooing in satisfaction as every speck of dust escapes his wings. His sharp eyes scanned the forest floor, searching for any sign of movement. A rustle in the undergrowth caught his attention.
Aha, an unsuspecting worm crawling out of its den.
Philza reached into his pocket for the crow mask. Behind the dark-feathered mask, he kept his predatory gaze hidden. His feathers ruffled up, his breathing steadied, his pupils enlarged…
WOOSH!
Philza leaped off of the branch, the talons attached to his bare feet spread wide. The gray and green blur swooped down with incredible speed. Philza's shadow fell upon it the oblivious worm. Once he reached it, his talons closed, securing his breakfast. The avian let out a triumphant cry as he flew right back onto his safe branch. The worm wriggled between his talons, but Philza paid no mind to it. He was about to drop it into his mouth and eat it in one gulp when suddenly his ears picked up another sound in the distance.
A bunch of footsteps heading for…his nether portal!?
Wasting no time, he darted off the branch and followed the path that led to his precious nether portal. When he went to the clearing that was surrounded by oak trees, he hid behind a boulder-sized bush. Looking through the leaves, he noticed two young men wearing fox masks around the nether portal. They each had pickaxes in hand, like they were preparing to explore the nether.
Philza wasn’t going to let a bunch of kids use his property. A low crow rumbled in his chest. They were on his territory, about to step into his portal, and the mere thought of it sent a primal surge of protectiveness through him. He shifted his weight and emerged from the bush. He spread out his wings and dug his talons subtly into the earth to show dominance.
The two teenagers were excitedly murmuring to each other. However, the shorter and blonde one felt an unwelcoming presence. He turned around and instantly screamed when he recognized the great avian.
“AH!! I-It’s Philza, he’s here!”
“What!?” The taller one shrieked with shock.
Both of the kids' faces paled when they laid eyes upon Philza. They suddenly ripped off their masks as if they had caught fire and tossed them to the ground.
With his hands open, the taller begged Philza. “P-Please man, we genuinely didn’t know this was yours. We’ll just be on our way and–”
Philza cut him off with a sharp squawk that caused the two to scream in unison. His wings flared, casting an imposing shadow over the two terrified youths. They fled, flailing their arms as they sprinted away into a deeper part of the woods.
After a few moments, Philza relaxed his form. He walked over to the abandoned masks, inspecting them with his talons. He was never a fan of these masks personally. Since the beginning of time, everyone had to wear these masks whenever one were to hunt or allowed their inner magic to take the drivers seat to both ‘pay respect to the heavens who have gifted you your power’ and ‘show it’s not you committing these uncivilized acts, it’s your spirit’. Philza saw these as only an excuse for youths like those kids to hide their faces like cowards. But ol’ Phil knew better than to upset whatever was over the rainbow, so he always went through with it.
Looking at the Nether portal, Philza suddenly felt a rush of excitement. It’s been a while since he’s gone in the Nether, and he was running low on rare and shiny materials to add to his nest. Plus, his morning routine was getting old. Why not spice up his morning a bit? He’s always wondered what the Nether was like in the morning.
Assuming the Nether had any concept of time.
He flapped over to the chest that held all of his enchanted Netherite armor. Throwing it on, Philza’s blood was pumping to just dash through the portal already. The obsidian frame pulsed with a faint violet glow. He adjusted his hat, cleared his throat, and sharpened his talons on an old boulder. With a powerful beat of his wings, Philza launched himself forward, disappearing into the vortex.
On the other side, there were mountains and peaks of fleshy blocks. Hot, ashy reds mixed with cool, muted teals across the terrain. Pours and shoots of lava rained down to boiling rivers below, where magma cubes hopped around like rabbits. Hordes of piglins, wearing skulls of animals, travelled the peaks, heaving carts full of gold and other valuable gems back to their clans.
One particular family, hauling a mountain of gold in a wagon, didn’t seem to notice that one of their runts was hiding in the heap. They were snorting loudly, mimicking laughter. They saw the inside of a mountain, their own little castle. However, their fun was cut off when the mother pig reached in and yanked him outside, bits of gold falling that older siblings quickly retrieved. Holding the runt by the ear, the mother pig scolded him in a fit of angry snorts.
But the scolding was interrupted when something green barreled from the hidden Nether portal. The flap of his wings created a violent gust of wind that threw off not only the family, but other nearby piglins. The mother pig dropped her son, and the runt coward in fear as Philza revealed himself to the Nether. The light of the lava behind the avian made him look like Icarus next to the sun.
Immediately recognizing the birdman, the piglins began to attack by shooting arrows and spears at him. Philza swiftly dodged each blade, laughing proudly as he did. But showing off quickly got old to him. Unsheathing his enchanted sword, he launched himself at a firing piglin, unleashing his full fury upon the horde. After he had dispatched them, he gathered the loot they had dropped, as well as any valuable items from the abandoned carts.
Meanwhile, the runt was beyond terrified of the chaos. He wanted to run to his mama, but he was lost within the crowd of either charging or fleeing piglins. He cried out for his mama, or any of his siblings, but he couldn’t see them. The crowd pushed him farther away from where he was until he was in an isolated corner. He was nowhere near any crowd, but he was all alone.
The runt’s cries turned into whimpers as he huddled against the burning wall, his small body trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the terrible sounds of clashing would disappear. He could feel the ground vibrate with the thudding of hooves and the clang of metal.
Philza was having the time of his life, battling these piglins to get all that morning energy out. Naturally, he was getting cocky, even fighting with his eyes closed at one point. However, just as he was taking off with as much as he could carry.
An arrow strikes him right in the leg!
The sudden pain jolted Philza out of his battle-induced trance. He staggered mid-air, his loot tumbling to the lava pool. A muffled squeal of surprise escaped him as he lost altitude, ultimately crashing into a random peak far away from the hordes. He glanced down, his eyes widening as he saw the feathered fletching of the arrow protruding from his thigh.
But his attention went somewhere else when his ears picked up something.
Crying.
Something was crying nearby. It sounded like a baby animal of some sorts. Philza winced, shifting his body on the ground to try and track the source of the cry. Then…he saw it.
A baby piglin hiding behind a boulder, cradling himself as he cried. His snout was buried in between his legs.
Philza, despite the throbbing in his leg, couldn't ignore the distressed sound. He pushed himself up, wincing as he put weight on his injured limb. The baby piglin, sensing movement, flinched and peeked out from behind the rock, its large, tear-filled eyes widening further at the sight of the towering stranger.
Philza recognized the piglin was deeply afraid of him. Of course, he couldn’t blame him at all either. He removed his crow mask, revealing his concern-filled blue eyes and a deep frown.
“H-Hey, little mate. I-I’m not gonna hurt you.” Philza whispered, his voice rather rough after crowing for so long. “Where are your parents?...You do have parents, right?”
The baby piglin just whimpered, burying his snout deeper. He was clearly too young to understand the words, only registering the stranger's presence as a threat. Philza sighed, the pain in his thigh a dull throb now, less urgent than the infant's fear. He took another cautious step, holding his hands out, palms open.
“It's okay, I promise. I-I’m so sorry for scaring you, I didn’t mean to–”
No.
Philza did mean to scare the piglins. He found it fun to be feared as a way to tease what he thought were heartless creatures.
But seeing this runt, he realized this baby was no better than how others saw him a few years ago.
Back when avian poaching was the next big thing.
He saw it right in front of him.
Both of his parents, spears through their hearts. A crying baby bird in a nest watching hunters drag his parents’ bodies into a cage…
Just as something…to hunt.
He lowered himself to the ground, careful not to make any sudden movements, and settled onto his good leg. His wings draped around him, hoping to look as vulnerable as the piglin to show that they were in the same boat. The crying had subsided to soft hiccups, but the fear remained on the little piglin's face.
Philza made little chirps at the runt the same way his mom used to do when he was a baby. The piglin baby seemed drawn to these noises. The way his pupils dilated melted Philza’s heart. He continued with the noises, holding in his excitement when he saw the piglin crawl a little towards him.
The piglin let out a small squeal, its stubby arms reaching out. Philza instinctively leaned forward, using his wings to catch the piglin in a comforting hug. He was growing extremely paternal by the minute, his instincts fueling a sudden need to protect this baby at all costs.
“Awww, hello, little mate. You’re such a cute little piggy, aren’t you?” Philza cooed again, using a baby voice. The piglin giggled even more, loving the silly voice.
He gently stroked the piglin's head with a wingtip. The runt snorted, the feathers tickling his sensitive skin. The piglin nuzzled into Philza’s armored chest, its snout making a small squish against it. A soft purr came from the piglin, and he matched Philza’s breathing.
“Don't worry, little one,” Philza whispered. “You're safe now. Papa’s here.”
Wait. Papa???
Where did that come from???
Philza blinked a few times as he tried to process what had just come out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that. He'd never even considered himself a father before, and yet here he was, holding a piglin baby and calling himself “Papa”. It had to have been his instincts doing.
A geyser of lava erupting from below interrupted the sweet moment between the two. There was a loud rumbling coming from within the walls. Philza recognized this as a lava shower, where the pressure builds up in the Nether and a bunch of gas is released via the lava pools. However, the baby piglin cried again, hugging Philza tightly in fear.
Philza instinctively shielded the piglin with his wings. His armor never felt hotter or tighter. He had to find a safer place for them both, and quickly. His mind sharper than ever, he scanned the area for that Nether portal. When his eyes found it, his bird brain only repeated one thing:
Take
Take
Take
His pupils dilated, his wings ruffled, his talons dug into the ground.
He tightly held onto the baby piglin before he took off into the air. Never before did he take such precision when dodging the lava geysers and barreled through the pieces of rock falling from above. Ghasts wished they could fly like him.
The Nether portal was barely 10 feet away. He closed in his wings, ready to dive right through the violet when suddenly—
WAIT!
W-What am I doing!?
Philza stopped in midair, as abruptly as a car slamming on its brakes. Confused, the piglin baby hummed as Philza gently set him on the ground.
“I-I can't just take you away from your home,” Philza murmured. “You belong here, little mate. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me.”
To his surprise, however, the runt immediately came running back, clinging to his leg and sobbing, begging in snorts for Philza not to leave.
Philza’s heart ached. He looked at the small, tear-streaked face, the tiny hooves digging into his worn robe. This was his worst nightmare: having a little creature imprint on him. Philza expected to feel annoyed, but that instinct to protect still lingered.
Mine.
“No!” Philza corrected himself, holding his head. “He belongs in the Nether! He’ll never survive in a place like–”
Mine.
“Shut up, brain!”
MINE!
He looked down at the shaking piglin as he allowed his primal side to take full control. This baby, this runt, was his. It was always meant to be his. Not before putting the crow mask back on, he scooped the piglin back into his arms. The Nether portal pulsed with a siren’s call. And Philza, with the baby piglin clutched tightly to his chest, stepped through.
“See? The grass won’t hurt you.” Philza reassured the baby piglin by stroking his hand across the green blades. However, the piglin stubbornly stayed on the rock, too terrified of the surrounding nature.
He then gently nudged the small creature towards the edge, hoping to coax it into taking a step. It’s like trying to teach a toddler to get into a pool for the first time. The piglin squealed, its tiny tusks poking Philza’s hand as it burrowed itself deeper into the avian for comfort.
Philza sighed. “Come on mate, I know you’re not used to…breathable air. But I promise, it’s going to be ok.”
Oh, who is he kidding? Philza has no idea where to go from here. What was he thinking, taking a piglin out of the Nether? The piglin race was built to sustain intense heat, breathe tremendous amounts of polluted air, and carry fifty pounds of gold on their backs. Could piglins even live a 'normal life' in the Aether?
The Nether portal was right there. He could simply put the piglin back and forget this ever happened. So why? Why can’t he? Why is he struggling so much to grab the piglin and toss him through the shimmering purple vortex?
These instincts ruin his life sometimes…He’s always struggled with being selfish, taking what wasn’t his. “Finders Keepers” was a common value in these parts, but only for things like trinkets and such! If the owner can’t fight for it, they don’t deserve it. But babies!?
This little one. He couldn't just abandon him in the Nether with no idea where his family was, nor could he simply find him a new home in the Overworld. He was a creature of instinct, yes, but he was also capable of empathy. Emotions are what separate hybrids like him from the animals that crawl all over the Aether. And in that moment, looking down at the trembling piglin nestled against his chest, Philza knew he couldn't turn his back on him. Not now. Not ever.
Using his wingtip, Philza gently pushed the baby piglin off of the boulder. It was barely a foot drop, yet the baby reacted like he just fell from a cliff. Like a fish out of water, he scrambled all over the grass rather comically, acting like the earth burned like fire. After a few moments of wailing did the baby realize that the grass was completely harmless. He looked over to Philza with a pout.
“Don’t give me that look, mate.” Philza said. “If I have to teach you the hard way, so be it. If anything, I’m going easy on you. My kind just tosses their fledglings out of the nest in hopes that they’ll fly.”
The piglin let out a soft snort. He then nudged his snout towards a patch of daisies. Led by curiosity, he crawled towards the mini flowerbed.
Philza chuckled. “Yes, little mate. These are called ‘flowers’. There are many different kinds, y’know. These are called ‘daises’, my old man’s fav–”
The baby seized a large chomp at the daisies, the loud crunch horrifying Philza.
“NO! NO! That’s not FOOD!” Philza yelled, picking up the baby by the shoulders and patting him lightly on the back. “Spit that out! Now!”
The piglin only giggled, tickled by Philza’s patting. Chewed-up petals fell from his mouth as he laughed, so killing two birds with one stone, he guessed.
Philza released a breath of relief before turning the runt towards him. “Let’s get you some actual food. I bet you’re starving from all that.”
The baby shook his head. However, the loud rumbling in his stomach told a different story.
“Oh, my! What a hungry baby you are! Luckily for you, I happen to make a smashing potato puree.”
The piglin’s ears perked up at the mention of food. He wobbled to his hooves in Philza’s arms. Philza, a fond smile gracing his lips, hugged him closely as he walked down the path back to his house.
The outline of Philza’s cottage came into view. It was his father’s cottage…and his father’s father’s cottage…and his father’s father’s father’s cottage. So, of course, it was pretty worn down. The herb-scented wooden walls sagged rather than stood proud. Moss spread like the plague. Ropes that have survived eons of storms barely held the roof together. A small trail of smoke escaped the chimney above. And the grass in the lawn was way too overgrown with dandelions scattered everywhere.
Kicking the door open with his foot, Philza entered his home. Upon entering, the baby piglin in his arms gasped at his surroundings, like he’s never had a proper roof over his head (which he prolly didn’t). The piglin’s tiny snout twitched, taking in the musty but comforting air.
“Yes mate, that’s called ‘oxygen’.” Philza jokingly revealed.
The runt wriggled in Philza’s arms, his small hooves scrabbling against the worn leather of Philza's tunic. Philza laughed before setting the baby down on a bear rug in the living room. The stained couches around the baby felt like castles, and the lit fireplace was like the sun. He was just so small, and this house was so big…yet crowded.
Philza squeezed his way through the poorly decorated furniture in order to get to the kitchen. Dried herbs were littered across the counter, and Philza faintly brushed them off with his wing. He searched the cabinets for the canned potatoes and pots. He knew the recipe by heart, and was more than happy to make it for this new little one.
Once he’s gathered everything he needed, he turned around to call out for the baby. “Mate!” he yelled, but no response. Philza just realized he never gave the baby piglin a proper name, or did he already have one? He had to, surely! Thinking of what it could possibly be, he walked over to the living room, only to find…
HE’S GONE!
“AHH! L-Little mate!?” Philza panicked.
He peered under the table, behind the tattered armchair, even into the hollowed-out log that served as a planter. He tossed the pillows off the couch, opened every cabinet in the kitchen, but he was still nowhere to be found.
Desperate, Philza made bird calls in order to locate the baby. Only then did he get some kind of response. There was muffled laughter coming through the floorboards upstairs. Philza scrambled up the stairs, shouting, ‘MATE!’ as he did.
Now in the hallway, the laughter was coming from the farther door, across from his bedroom. Swinging the door open, he was now in a walk-in closet where he held all of his prized possessions and achievements.
At the sound of the door opening, the baby piglin finally revealed himself, popping his head out of a cardboard box. On his head was a rusty gold crown. Philza swelled with relief and amusement. The crown was far too big for the baby’s head, which made it all the more adorable.
“Oh, sweet thing. You found my first parkour trophy.” Philza cooed, reminiscing on those times.
Philza scanned across the room, feeling awfully proud at all that he’s accomplished. 1v1s, speedruns, parkours, Philza has done them all. He’s recognized as a legend around these parts, and for the longest time, he thought it was what he was made for: greatness and fame.
But he always felt like his worth was measured by the next achievement. How long must this cycle go on until he’s satisfied?
Philza managed to find his old high chair to put the baby piglin on. The runt was restless, rocking back and forth. Philza kept a hand to keep it from tipping over as he took a spoonful out of the bowl of potato puree.
“Ok, little mate. Open wide–”
The baby smacked the spoon away, pieces of potato sticking to Philza’s face. Philza sighed, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "
“Alright, alright. Plan B,” he muttered.
“Brrrrrrmm! Here comes the airplane!” Philza played, flying the spoon all across the piglins face.
The baby giggled happily, opening his mouth wide open for the airplane. He continued the game, making the airplane swoop and dive, the piglin squealing with delight between bites. Soon, the bowl was empty, and the baby, now content and sleepy, snuggled into the high chair. Philza gently scooped him up, cradling him in his arms.
“You’ve got quite the appetite, huh? I’ll have to stock up on potatoes soon.” Philza smiled softly, peppering the top of the baby’s head with kisses.
Nest.
“Excuse me?” Philza asked himself. That’s a new thought.
Nest.
“Nest what?”
Nest fledgling. Keep fledgling safe.
This urge was hella strong. Philza glanced down at the piglin. The thought, “Nest. Nest fledgling. Keep fledgling safe ," echoed in his mind. He let out an involuntary caw as his wings ruffled once more. With widened eyes, he scanned the room for anything soft or shiny to add to the nest. He already had the perfect spot in mind.
Closet. Warm. Warm for fledgling. Fledgling must be warm.
Nest nest nest nest nest nest nest nest nest nest nest nest—
Philza didn’t run; he flew up the stairs at record speed. He ran into the large, open closet (which honestly, should be an attic, but it’s not at the uppermost level). His eyes were bombarded with all of the shiny objects. His main target was a soft-looking cape. He placed the baby on a rug and wrapped the surrounding cape. Then, he fled back down the stairs. On his back were pillows, blankets, rugs, and even towels that had been collected all across the house. He barely felt the weight crushing him. All that mattered was his nest.
Running back into the closet, he tossed everything into one pile and began to construct the perfect pillow fort or nest around the baby piglin. There was a comforter spread out below, and pillows made up the walls. Philza tucked blankets into the corner and tossed them over head. He nudged the baby deeper into the plush confines, letting out a series of chirps. When that main layer was done, it still wasn’t enough. Philza ran into his bedroom and took out all of his sweaters and robes. He used those for the inside of the nest. Philza settled back on his haunches, wings folding protectively over the piglin. There was still the urge to caw again, to gather more, but now seeing that the piglin was warm and safe, his instincts finally relaxed.
Philza let out a low trill. “Do you like the nest, little mate?”
The piglin snorted in agreement.
“I think it’s about time I find out your name. But it’s not like I can keep guessing forever. Snort for yes, silence for no. Does your name start with an…A?”
Silence.
The two went on for quite a while, with Philza listing off every letter of the alphabet. It’s like the longest game of hangman. Eventually, Philza gathered the clues that the piglin’s name started with a ‘T’ and ended with an ‘O’.
“What about Theo?”
Silence.
“Thai?”
Only a blink.
“Does your name start with ‘TH’?”
More silence.
“Ok, damn. Is the letter after the T a vowel?”
Finally, a snort!
“Alright. Ta…Tammo? No, that’s not a word. Te–”
A chorus of excited snorts came from the piglin.
“Oh! TE? And O…Hmmm…Teno?”
The baby responded, but it was more of a whine than a snort.
“Getting warmer, I see. Teno, Teno…No way, is it Techno?”
The piglin baby bursted into happy snorts, rolling on his belly.
“Techno! Awww, what a cute name. Hello, little Techno. Who’s a good Techno?”
The piglin chuffed happily, nuzzling against Philza’s chest. A series of soft, contented grunts followed, as if the little one was trying to say his ‘new’ name. Philza, beaming, continued to shower the piglin with affectionate coos and kisses. He can see it now: a future of taking care of this sweet little baby. He’s grown far too attached to even think about returning Techno to the Nether.
He’s mine now.
My fledgling.
Philza’s eyes fell back to his now bandaged up leg, where an arrow once stood out.
He remembered something deeply important.
It was the dead of night. Many refer to this as the witching hour. All that mattered was that it was dark, so nobody could see Philza stalking like a zombie.
He made his way over to the Nether portal. The purple mixed with the fire in his eyes perfectly. His face sharpened with fierce determination.
He reached into his pocket
And pulled out a diamond pickaxe.