Wilbur

Wilbur was not where he was supposed to be. He was meant to be in his tent where the royal guards could protect him with their lives. He should have been reading reports and signing off on documents that would make the war effort easier on his people. He knew that was a top priority, obviously. Even a blind man could see how the war was impacting the people of Pogtopia and Manberg negatively. Every report Wilbur received about their suffering paled in comparison to what he witnessed when he ventured to the infirmary. He had even gone to a nearby village earlier that day. Despite being far from the frontlines, the village was having an economic crisis. There were no merchants to sell them goods, and all the viable hunters had volunteered for the war. In fact, Wilbur hardly saw a parent. It was mostly the elders of the village gathering the children together with the few adults who were so injured or sickly they couldn't walk. Wilbur wanted to inspire hope in his people, but their tired stares that lacked emotion or food told him they didn't want empty promises. Wilbur wished it wasn't a promise, but he had lived long enough to know that wishes didn't mean a damn thing in the grand scheme of things.

Instead of doing his best to solve these issues, Wilbur had walked the winding staircase to the very top of the ravine where his people made their headquarters. He stood at the very top of the ravines' edges, staring at the sky instead of down at the people who swore to fight for him and would probably die by that same oath. He was exposed, his body waiting for an arrow to pierce his flesh. He had foolishly not brought a guard with him, though he suspected one followed him anyway. He was alone at the top of the ravine, and he was stargazing.

Well, he wasn't stargazing. He was looking at the sky, but he could care less what stars were blinking in and out of his field of vision. He just needed the fresh air. The ravine was stuffy with all those people's body heats. Not to mention, with how many fires they had going to keep people warm, the smoke was a little suffocating. The ravine was wide enough for the smog to rise above the edges of the ravine, but it was tighter than the average canyon. All of that could be tolerated, however. Wilbur could deal with the heat. No, the real issue is that he disliked being surrounded by people when he was so alone. With each battle, less people were coming back. The list of those who were dead or had gone missing was becoming staggeringly large. It made Wilbur sick to his stomach, especially when he could put a face to the names written on those papers.

Wilbur was a king, but he didn't see himself as a cruel one. He tried to understand his people in order to make the most informed decisions about what was best for them. He was the subject of their reverie and respect. He had to live up to this conjured ideal that the people made him out to be. If he didn't, he would only foster rebellion in his subjects. If they suspected him of being a horrible king, he would sooner see their enmity than their love. And animosity meant a loss in power, and without power, Wilbur was little more than a brightly painted target. Wilbur had to balance the act of being what his people needed and what the aristocrats wanted.

In doing this, he walked a fine line between being close to his people while remaining distant enough. It wasn't like he didn't understand why there were rules of etiquette that the nobility liked to follow. He knew that as a king he was meant to take their veneration. He knew that with political power came prestige. Some people were meant to be treated with the utmost respect which included all those fancy titles and ways of addressing each other. Wilbur wasn't going to put that into question. What made him slightly upset is that he could hardly see the perspectives of his people. He could hardly leave the castle without the threat of assassins hanging over his head like the blade of a guillotine hung on a thin thread instead of a sturdy rope.

Another problem was that his people didn't treat him like he was human. That was a fair assessment. An ordinary human couldn't handle the affairs of an entire country with as cleverness and stability as Wilbur did. Still, he sometimes felt human emotions, and that must have counted for something. He was afraid of magic, and he experienced grief over his parents' deaths. That must have counted for something. But perhaps it was how the rest of his emotions had been put on the backburner for so long that he hardly recognized them. Wilbur was the figurehead and spirit of L'Manberg. When the country was prospering, he was happy. When it was torn apart by war, he was upset. He did not experience happiness or anguish outside of his people's general sentiments. Such was the way of a good king.

This war had put him on the fritz, however. He felt so much pain as he witnessed his people suffer and ultimately die. He wondered if it was really worth it. He would always have his people's best interests at heart, and he wondered if continuing this war was good for anyone. He had the support of the Antarctic Empire and the Dude Dukedom, but would that truly be enough to win this war? People were still going to die. If the war were to end at that moment, lives could be saved. Schlatt would demand Wilbur's head, but he would willingly give up his life if it meant another decade of affluence for his people. He wasn't sure about Schlatt, but there were many good people on Schlatt's side. Fundy, for instance, would never have to reveal that he was a spy. He could work for Manberg in earnest, and Wilbur trusted Fundy not to let Manberg fall into ruin. There were a handful of guards in the military that Wilbur knew would not let L'Manberg's memory be all for not.

"You seem to be thinking hard about something," A voice spoke, startling Wilbur out of his intense train of thought. He turned around to see a man staring at him with bright eyes and a carefree smile. Wilbur sagged in relief. This was a man Wilbur was eternally grateful for, and would probably never repay the debt that he owed him. Philza Minecraft, shortened to Phil, was not an ordinary man. He was not human. He was part of the Fae, a mystical race that usually stayed outside of human affairs. Phil's Fae-hood manifested itself as huge, stygian black wings that spread from his back, large and strong enough to lift his body into the air and sustain flight. He also possessed unprecedented powers in sorcery. He practiced two of the lost arts of potion-making and enchantment. With these two abilities, Phil could enhance himself and his weaponry while weakening his opponents with liquids and magic that other people had never seen before. If he wasn't powerful enough, Phil was a naturally competent fighter, knowing how to wield a sword and bow with ease.

A dozen or two years ago, Phil had been wandering the human worlds when he came across a countess who intrigued him. The countess told him stories that he had never heard before, and she would always end their meetings with a riddle that he had trouble deciphering. When he found an answer, he would return to her. Instead of simply telling him that he was right, she would continue to tell him another riddle. Even after she married the king, Phil would come back for a riddle and a story. Even when she had a child of her own, Phil would return. Phil and the queen were close friends. They were such good friends that when the queen was frozen solid by an enchantress, Phil spent a few years of his life trying to find a cure. Even if she was a human and he was a Fae creature, he cared about her in more than just a superficial way. He did not see her as an animal with a short life like other Fae viewed humans. He was far more humane than his fellow Fae.

To that end, when Phil discovered his best friend's kingdom was being torn apart by a war that put her son in the crosshairs, Phil promptly arrived to see if he could settle the matter. Wilbur tried to convince Phil that the war wasn't his problem, but the Fae simply said that he was going to help regardless of what Wilbur said. Phil didn't care about why the two sides were fighting. He didn't care all that much about who was winning or losing, who was living or dying. His only concern was Wilbur's safety. If destroying Manberg is what guaranteed Wilbur's life, Phil would do just that.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Phil said, using an idiom that he didn't understand. Wilbur would have explained what a penny was, but Phil never asked and Wilbur didn't think it mattered that much. The Fae didn't trade with currency. They exchanged deals and favors.

"Oh, I'm simply thinking about the options we have before us. My foremost concern is the safety of my people. My soldiers are dying on the frontlines while the civilians who cannot fight are suffering from a lack of supplies. I need to figure out a way to divide our supplies between all our camps and villages. I cannot allow for over-hunting as that would upset the natural balance. The last thing I need is for some creatures to go extinct or the spirits of the forestry to attack us. The harvest is steadily growing. I have stationed some of our forces around the largest and most important of our fields to guarantee that Manberg does not burn them to the ground. Some farmers have hired mercenaries from other countries to aid in that effort," Wilbur said slowly. If he told Phil that he thought about surrendering and forfeiting his life, Phil would hide Wilbur away in his nest, keeping him there until any threat that could ever ask for Wilbur's life was eliminated. He needed to keep that option open for the time being.

"Have you considered asking the spirits of the forest for help? I've been to the place you call Manberg. The spirits there are not happy. The drunk guy that gives orders is not kind to nature. His favored method of getting people to act right is burning down their homes. He doesn't keep the fires under control. Most of the spirits are already dead," Phil said. There was a sad note at the end of his words, and Wilbur felt his heart stutter at the blatant display of emotion. Even though Phil seemed almost entirely inhumane, he did have a soft spot for some of the nature spirits. Most Fae did. The Fae and the spirits lived in harmony long before humanity began to flourish. Phil probably had friends in Manberg that had died painfully to the uncontrolled fires. Wilbur himself felt sympathy for the pitiful creatures that were trapped beneath Schlatt's control. It seemed that the people of Manberg did not follow the strict laws Wilbur implemented to keep humans from intruding on spiritual lands.

"I have considered that, but I would not want to force that upon them. This is not their war. They should not have to deal with humanity's grievances. Plus, they will only get hurt if they are surrounded by this much... human things. I won't ask them to sacrifice their lives for a war that is not their own," Wilbur said with a shake of his head. Phil opened his mouth to respond, but he suddenly stopped, his wings puffing out.

Phil slid in front of Wilbur, drawing upon his sword. The ebony blade was formed into a cylinder with a thick base and a sharp point. The hilt formed into the head of a crow with the crosspiece resembling wings in flight. It was a beautiful sword that seemed like it had a rich story behind its creation. Phil admitted to Wilbur one night that he did not remember where the sword had come from or how it became one of Phil's possessions. He knew he had one day woken up with it, but he had not been surprised to see it at his side that day. He did not question its existence until several months later.

Now, the sword was pointed at a figure who stepped out of the shadows. The figure was riding a large wolf with dark gray fur and sentient eyes. The figure themselves wore a mask that resembled a wolf with glowing gold eyes with a hood pulled over their face. The figure wore a teal shirt with long sleeves and dark green pants that went into boots with cyan shoelaces. Her fingerless gloves were clutching the soft fur of the creature they were riding. The figure stopped short when they saw the pairing. The wolf sniffed the air cautiously before leaning down. The figure slid off the wolf's back, landing on their feet. They were on the shorter side, but there was something intimidating about her that must have made Phil uneasy.

"I am Lilka, the eternal hunter. The body you see before you is a vessel for my power. I have been summoned by the spirits of the Undergrove forest in their time of need. The gnomes of that forest were destroyed by a demonic creature that the mortal Jay Schlatt has summoned: all except the one I am currently possessing. My power has been greatly diminished due to this form, but it is enough for me to have a fighting chance against nature's oppressors. I require your assistance as the ones you are in conflict with Jay Schlatt and the demon he has summoned, Xornoth. I see that another Fae creature has involved himself in this fight. I do recognize you personally, but I know of your species, Avian," The figure spoke, their voice echoing like there were several people saying the same thing at the same time as Lilka.

"Avian? Gnome?" Wilbur whispered to himself in confusion. Lilka did not seem to look at him, but Phil looked over his shoulder to respond.

"Fae are actually a lot more complex than you think. We have several variations within us. I am an Avian. We are born with wings and are generally closest to birds. We are usually part of the summer court. I'm actually part of the winter court, though, but that's a story for another day. This one before us is a gnome. They are short creatures close to fungus, making them part of the summer court. That girl you were talking about? Hannah? It seems she's part Faerie. Even though the word 'Fae' comes from 'Faerie', they are extremely rare. In fact, I think only the leaders of the summer and winter courts are considered Faeries," Phil explained briefly. There was probably a lot more to it, but Wilbur was glad that he was given a brief grasp of what it all meant.

"The Avian is correct. Those are general descriptions of all those species, and I can say that this girl you speak of is part Faerie. I have not personally met her, but her aura is incredibly strong. I could feel it in the Undergrove along with the spores of a demonic creature that is not Xornoth. I believe Jay Schlatt is getting involved with matters much more powerful than he understands," Lilka said with a dark undertone entering her multiple voices. "He will be crushed beneath the weight of the creatures he is summoning. Demons do not like working for mortals, and he will do well to be taught this. If I have to be the one to do so after sending all those demons back to the underworld with their mistress, I shall do that. However, with my weakened body, I will require your assistance, Human and Avian."

"Of course. In fact, we could use your help as much as you need ours. The war has been going on for long enough. If Schlatt is summoning demons and recklessly killing the spirits of the forests and Fae, he needs to be stopped even more now," Wilbur said. He couldn't sacrifice his life anymore. He would be fine if this was just a normal war between humans, but Schlatt was involving other species now. Demons and Fae were supposed to stay within their own realms. Schlatt couldn't pull them away from that for no reason.

"You have my gratitude. I must retire now. It is draining to remain in this form. I will return this body to its rightful owner. I hope you understand that if any harm should befall the girl that I cohabit with, I will not hesitate to eliminate that threat on her behalf. She is far too kind for her own good," Lilka said with a huff that sounded almost affectionate. Before Wilbur could comment on it, Lilka's mask faded away. Her outfit even morphed into something else. A teenager wearing a mint green off the shoulder shirt with long sleeves underneath blue jean overalls that ended at her thighs. She wore red socks with white polka dots that went into small booties. Her brown hair was tied in a braid that fell on her shoulder, and Wilbur could see that she had yellow eyes. She held a hand to her forehead, gagging a little. "Oh, that always upsets my tummy!"

The teenager took a few deep breaths before turning to Phil and Wilbur. Her eyes widened as she looked around. "Oh my! She brought me somewhere, didn't she? Forgive me for that. When she takes over my body, I get a little sick. It's nothing to worry about. My name is Shubble Berry! I come from the Undergrove. Who might you be?"

"My name is Wilbur Soot. I come from L'Manberg. This is my friend, Phil. He doesn't have a permanent residence or place of origin," Wilbur explained with kindness rising in his tone. Shubble looked at him for a moment before her eyes widened. She dropped down into a clumsy bow, almost falling on her face but quickly straightening herself before she did.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know you were King Wilbur! Oh, thorns, I'm probably not supposed to call you 'you', am I? Or was that another political system? No, I think it was kings! Thorns! I'm rambling in front of a king, aren't I?" Shubble said, rising up to straighten her body. She sighed out in frustration before looking back at them. "Let me start again! I swear I'll be better!" Shubble attempted a curtsy. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't deep enough to show proper reverence in the L'Manberg kingdom. "I am Shubble Berry, a resident of the Undergrove. It is my pleasure to meet you, King Wilbur! I humbly ask for your help. My people, the gnomes of the Undergrove, were attacked by... uh, what was he called? I forgot his name, but he's a real nasty demon! He made all my people go crazy. They became violent and started killing each other. I was able to survive, but I had to leave my home. On my travels, I was taken in by this shaman in the woods. He did this special ceremony, and he put this goddess-spirit-thing inside of me. Her name is Lilka! She's actually really nice when you get to know her! Lilka told me to come here so I can ask for help in saving my people. Will you please help me?"

"It would be my pleasure, Shubble, to help you in your noble quest. If I might ask, how did you learn how to speak so formally?" Wilbur asked. She wasn't perfect by any means, but she was a lot closer than most forgein commoners would be. Wilbur didn't know why a Fae creature from the border of his kingdom would know how to address a king. He thought that the Fae didn't care about humans enough to learn anything about them.

"I picked up a book from this store! Here it is! Mother Wolf keeps my things secure for me," Shubble said, pulling out a book from the wolf's satchel. She brought it over to Wilbur with a big smile on her face. She showed him and Phil the cover of the book. 'How to Talk To Political Leaders For Dummies' by Grian. Wilbur lowered his face into his hands. Grian was part of a wandering troupe known as the Hermits. He is notoriously known for writing books that did not sit well with most leaders, but the commoners could not get enough of his sense of humor. Wilbur thought it was all in good fun, so he didn't make the books illegal. He was a little perturbed that Shubble learned her etiquette from one of those books, however.

"How about I teach you how to talk to people? This book is made to make people laugh, not for them to seriously listen to it," Wilbur said, taking the book from Shubble's hands.

She looked sad, and Wilbur almost gave her back the book. Instead of reaching for the book, she said, "Was I that bad? I really tried to learn how to curtsy! Do you know how much my legs hurt!"

"You did fine, Shubble. I was incredibly impressed," Wilbur said with a smile, running hand through her hair. She smiled at the praise. She followed Wilbur back down the steps into the ravine.

Phil hung back for a second, looking at the wolf that was Shubble and Lilka's mount. For some reason, Mother Wolf reminded him of something. He didn't know what of, but the feeling was there. The wolf stared back at him, and he could have sworn the wolf recognized him in return. Phil shook his head. He turned around, his wings flapping to lift him in the air to return him to his home.