The sun rises and sets each day on inaccuracies. Whether it be little white lies or downright gatekeeping, these inaccuracies transcend time and overstay their welcomes.

Technoblade was one of those inaccuracies.

When first he was born, he went by a different name, in a different time, and he was not, in fact, a bloodthirsty piglin like he is now. Well, not after the Battle of Kalinga. Ever heard of it? Probably not. Here, I'll summarize it for you.

The Battle of Kalinga was fought between the medieval time Maurya Empire, and the state of Kalinga, an independent kingdom located on the East Coast of India. Long story short, the Maurya Empire won. Their leader, Ashoka? Yeah, that was (technically) my brother. However, the war changed him. Maybe it was the thousands of women and children slaughtered, or maybe it was the burning villages with people burnt to crisps, but he decided "oh, fuck it". Then he became a pacifist, majorly ripping off Buddha and Alexander the Great at the same time, and he created a newer, "better" law code under his name.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Okay, okay, enough with the boring stuff, Will! Get on with the story!" Well, I'm getting there. But first, a word from our sponsor.

Wilbur, I am not saying that— it sounds stupid and self-absorbed! Too bad! You owe me a favor, Tech! You are SO lucky I love you.

Well, hello, I guess. Technoblade here. As my nuisance of a blood relative has made painfully aware to you, I am a god, descending the long line of history that he refuses to respect, and coming to stand before you today as a well-known immortal. As he has failed to mention, however, our third brother, Tommy, is just as important. SUCK IT, WILL, IT'S MY TURN TO MAKE THE SCRIPT NOW!

Let's use Will's analogy here; I'm virtually a time-transcending miscalculation that was lucky enough to have a plot-relevant lifeline. Will put me back together in my new body because the Fates were sick of the same old Journey of the Hero.

Tommy is like my time travel assistant.

———

"Tom, are you ready to go?"

His eldest brother's voice sounded from the other side of the door, collected, and yet powerful, as always. He inhaled slowly, staring himself in the mirror. His eye was swollen shut from a fight he had gotten into with some about thrice his size, and quadruple his strength. He was lucky he had been witty enough to escape with only that.

"I'll be ready in a minute, brother. Just let me finish packing."

There was the impatient sigh he'd been waiting for. As the other inhaled, ready to respond, his father's voice carried up the stairs.

"BOYS, THE CARRIAGE IS LEAVING SOON!"

He yelled from somewhere far below them, and Tommy knew he didn't have enough time to properly hide his wound. Letting his hair down, he pressed it in front of his face, and hoped it would stay. Then he grabbed his final bag, full of only what could not fit in his large, brown duffel that was already packed. Then he exited the room, black slacks clicking and clacking as he walked past his brother and down the hall without a word.

The carriage ride wasn't fun.

The entire time, they were trying to include him ("they" being his brothers and father). They would laugh, and smile, and ask him about his day. At least, they'd try to. And then one of them would pop an awkward question while the other two pretended they hadn't scripted this at all. Eventually, he got tired of it, and pretended to fall asleep. It didn't work.

"Maybe when we get there, you can— Tommy? Tom, are you— Oh my god, is he dying?!" "Wilbur, calm down. He's not dyi—" "PHILHE'SNOTBREATHING." "I'm sure he's fi- WAIT WHAT?!"

...Or maybe that was him actually dying.

When the carriage arrived at the palace, with its golden wheels mud-trodden, and its vessel glistening with red, distinguished blood, and even its curtains torn off, nobody was alerted. This happened every time.