He was miles above the ground, making everything look like toys to a child. Maybe they were toys. Everything down there was merely a backdrop to Dream's puppet show. It wasn't real. It was a cleverly disguised prison with chains of loneliness and betrayal to hold his favorite puppet up. Traitorous tears fell from his graying eyes, falling down like raindrops as he realized the truth that he had desperately wanted to deny. He couldn't bear to face that he wasn't anything but a puppet. Everyone told Tommy he was the hero, the main character that life centered around, but it was wrong. He was a figurehead, falling prey to the puppet strings of Wilbur and Dream. Why didn't anyone realize that he wasn't in control of his life?

Tommy slipped off his feet onto the hard ground that comprised the top half of his tower. It wasn't a tower to assert dominance or power or whatever the hell he always told people. This tower was much more sinister in nature. It was a symbol of Tommy's suffering. It was an ugly spot on the horizon in the same way Tommy was an ugly spot of the Server. This tower would be the one thing that he would create that could never truly be destroyed. It was his own unfinished symphony.

Oh, what would Wilbur think of him now? Well, it depended on at what point in time the Wilbur he was asking was in. The Wilbur from his childhood, his not-quite brother, would be crying and panicking and not much help overall. The charismatic leader of the growing L'Manberg would give him a soft, sad look as he whispered empty promises about how life will get better to Tommy. The real Wilbur from the ravine would laugh at him, telling him he should have done it sooner and mocking him by requesting he do a flip. No matter what, Wilbur wouldn't have been able to do anything to get him off that tower.

Tommy didn't care what anyone else would have done. They hated him. They ignored him and lived perfect lives only once he was gone. It was like being around Tommy is what made them fight within each other, even if Tommy wasn't responsible. Tubbo- No, Tommy thought. He refused to think about Tubbo. That boy was a traitor worse than Eret and Niki and Wilbur combined. The worst part is that Tubbo still had Tommy's heart. Tommy cared more than anything about Tubbo, and he hated that. Why should he spend hours making excuses for someone that didn't care? Tommy would toss and turn in bed as all the good memories with Tubbo were bleached with the recent distance between them. A whole salty ocean between him and his home, and a compass mocking him when he gazed at the surface.

Tommy screamed. A heart wrenching shriek that pulsated in the air, tearing at Tommy's throat as it was pushed out like an exhale. Tommy didn't stop until he was nearly choking on blood and had gone mute. His body felt numb afterwards, the cold winds from above the clouds not phasing him in the slightest. He shivered despite not feeling the temperature. At least the air helped the pain in his throat, the only thing grounding him to reality. The tears started up again, falling down with deafening thuds to Tommy's ears. He pushed his hands against his ears as more and more tears created the sound. Somewhere along the line, this noise was accompanied by flashing lights in Tommy's vision. He squeezed his eyes shut. The next sense to go was smell, the scent of gunpowder mixed with a touch of grass brought rushing memories to the forefront of Tommy's mind. He started to feel the burning caress of fire touching his skin. Smoke filled his mouth, the bitter flavor of the air making him cough.

What was he thinking about? L'Manberg's destruction? Eret's button room? Logstedshire that was far below him? Tommy hated all of those memories, and their common thread of TnT and misery. How come everyone betrayed him? Why was he stuck with sensory overloads of memories that caused panic to swell from deep within his heart?

When he opened his eyes, he was focused on the ground miles below. He relaxed as the memories had faded, the tears no longer hurting him. He couldn't speak because of his scream, and he couldn't cry anymore. He was merely sitting on a large tower that was too, too high to be on without a water bucket prepared. Worst of all, night was rapidly approaching if the setting sun was anything to go by. The last of the light was reaching high above the world, the orange turning into red that transitioned into blue and finally black. It was a lovely sight. Tommy reached his hand towards the sun. It reminded him of Tubbo. Brilliant and pure and leaving him.

Tommy curled in on himself, chin resting on his knees as he waited for the sun to finally leave him alone. As the moon started to rise, Tommy had brought himself to his feet. He was unbalanced, his bare feet getting scratched by the dirt. He shivered, bringing Wilbur's coat closer to his body. He held the compass to his heart as he stumbled forwards to the enticing edge. He turned around. He placed his hand against his forehead, a salute to those still alive. "It was never meant to be."

Tommy Innit fell. Or did he jump?
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Tubbo was tired. It was an exhaustion that clung to his bones, swam in his bloodstream and sapped the energy from his organs. It was killing him until he fed it. Tubbo held his arms as he stumbled almost drunkenly in the Nether, a quite literal Hell. He was going to see Tommy. He had to. He learned long ago that being away from Tommy for long periods of time drained him more than going on adventures with Tommy. Ranboo helped, alleviating the worst of his condition, but with the added responsibility of presidency over unruly civilians was fuel to the fire that was consuming him.

When Tubbo saw the broken Nether portal, he was about ready to cry. He knew Tommy hated him, all of them, but why would he go this far as to cut off contact? Tubbo had given Tommy the space he wanted, so why wasn't Tommy feeling better now? Tubbo let his shoulders hunch together. This wasn't the end. Dream had to visit Tommy somehow, so he wouldn't have let Tommy cut off all entrances. If Tommy wanted to be difficult, Tubbo would try even harder. This was his best friend.

Tubbo looked around for clues. He tried to identify each portal so he knew which one didn't belong. It took some walking, and a five minute nap he didn't mean to take, but he eventually found one that he figured would take him to the right spot. Tubbo threw himself into the swirling purple, allowing the color to fill his vision before he was deposited in a forest area. Tubbo followed his compass to the east, breaking through the treeline to find where Tommy's home should have been. Dream told them it was a small cabin called Logsteadshire that Tommy spent most of his time at. Tubbo envied his friend's extended vacation from the Server and it's many inhabitants. It was annoying to deal with all their problems, especially when they couldn't blame themselves for the life of them. Tubbo was to mediate conflicts every day between people that would never admit when they were in the wrong.

What Tubbo saw wasn't a small cabin. It was several holes in the sandy ground with smoke billowing out of a few. The sun was down, but Tommy could clearly see scorch marks and a splintered sign that put together would say Logstedshire. He knew the smell of gunpowder more than anything, his life catered to the whims of TnT wielded by angry men and women. The worst part of it all was the large tower made of cobbled together materials like someone desperately made it was sitting in the focus of what could have been a wonderful view.

Tubbo's breath hitched as he fell to his butt. "No..." He whispered despite guilt wrapping a shadowy hand around his neck to make him realize what he had done. Tommy was a good actor, that's what Tubbo had said after they pranked Wilbur in the pre-revolution era. Tubbo shouldn't have trusted Dream. The man wouldn't be able to tell when Tommy was lying about his mental health. Tubbo felt tears race down his eyes as a scream broke through the crushing weight of knowing what he did, "No!!"

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"Get up," Dream nudged his favorite puppet with his foot. Dream looked down with dark but gleeful eyes, a horrible and twisted plan showing itself through his hidden facial expression. Dream's mask was smiling goofily, but Dream's smirk was far more sinister. It was time for the final act. Everything he did had led up to this moment, and he couldn't have imagined it going more perfectly. His puppet was bobbing in the water face up, eyes completely gray as they searched the sky for answers that would never come. He didn't think Tommy would do this all on his own, especially since the last time Tommy did it. Back then, it was too early and Dream didn't have a contingency plan. Now, everyone would believe him dead. Dream could make his puppet into something more. He chuckled under his breath at the thought. "You failed, Tommy, now get up. We have work to do."

——-
Philza looked out of the window, trying to find joy in the countryside that he saw. Being trapped in his house for protecting his friend was killing him, but even worse was the news that was spreading through the Server. Tommy Innit had jumped off a tower in his exile, and upon further inspection, no body could be found. In most ways, Philza shouldn't care. He didn't know Tommy that well, and it wasn't a stretch to say that a lot of conflict on the Server was partially Tommy's fault. However, everything about Tommy's situation rubbed him the wrong way. Why was arson punished now, of all times, when people blow things up and steal with little consequence? How was exile for an undetermined amount of time the proper punishment? How come only one person visited Tommy when he should have had several friends? What was this party Ghostbur mentioned but promptly forgot on the basis that it was 'too painful'? How could this child get pushed so far that he jumped off a tower? It was all sketchy to Philza.

Philza groaned at the thought. It didn't help that this was the same Tommy Wilbur had written about in his letters. The blonde, second in command that marched on battlefields at a young age without fear. Wilbur had confided in Philza all the pains he imagined Tommy had, speaking about everything that didn't add up and the little things that made Wilbur worry. The same Tommy that was sobbing at Wilbur's grave as much as Philza was while cursing as much as Fundy was. It was clearly a painful moment for the boy as thousands of emotions Philza could never hope to grasp flooded his senses.

He would have kept thinking, but a sound from downstairs made Philza jump from out of his comfortable seat. He was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn and poised for attack. He crept down the ladder, landing on light feet that couldn't be heard by the average human. Philza wandered close to the figure now standing in the middle of his living room, attempting a sneak attack in the dark shadows of the moonless night. To Philza's surprise, the figure rose their own sword up, twisting around at a speed Philza knew wasn't natural. The figure's sword clashed against his with enough force to knock the iron metalwork from his grip. The purple, not quite Netherite but close sword of the stranger was resting against Philza's throat.

The name tag above the figure read out 'Raven'. Philza didn't know anyone named that, and he certainly never saw someone with the same look. A hood covered his head, blonde hair sticking out. A bird-like beak mask covered his face, jeweled turquoise eyes shining through the slits for eyes. The hood is attached to a coat made of dark purple feathers with an equally dark shawl covering his upper arms. Underneath is a maroon hoodie with jeans. It was like someone tried to make a casual outfit fancier with accessories, and Philza would have laughed if the figure wasn't projecting such a menacing aura. It reminded him of Techno's murderous shine whenever his bloodlust took over, but this was more calculated and controlled like Dream's sadistic buzz.

Philza wasn't afraid. He had lived in hardcore worlds for fun. This wannabe killer wasn't that intimidating, especially when Philza had extra weapons in his pocket dimension. He reached inside for his trident, only to be surprised when the figure sliced his anklet clean in half with his sword. Raven stepped away from Philza now that the man was freed. Philza looked at Raven for a long moment. What did he want? To set Philza free? But why? What did Raven want from him?

Raven didn't say anything. He walked around Philza to the ladder that went upstairs. Philza followed behind him after the reality had set in. When he reached the second floor, Raven was lifting the lid to one of his chests. With one swipe of his gloved hand, Raven grabbed the chain of a compass. Philza didn't need to see the name to know that would lead him to Technoblade's home. Philza was about to start fighting when Raven threw the compass at him. Philza barely caught it. Raven tilted his face to the side like an actual bird before jumping from the balcony back to the streets of L'Manberg. His coat furled around him like wings, and Philza felt his ruined wings twitch in envy. However, Raven landed on the ground before running around with his head lowered.

Philza stared at the compass before looking down at his leg that wasn't shackled anymore. He could go free, and no one would find out until morning. Raven had freed him from house arrest, but that only left the question of why? It didn't help that Philza didn't know what material that sword was made from. It was darker in shade than Netherite, and it went from thick at the bottom to thin like a ramp. It was strong, that was all Philza could tell. Not even Netherite was able to cut through the metal of his cuff, but that sword slid through like it was hot butter.

Philza packed what he needed before climbing to the roof. He jumped from building to building until he was at the edge of L'Manberg. Without a second thought, Philza abandoned the place that abandoned him.
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His mask was left face down on the table. His legs were crossed as he leaned back against the chair, hands folded together as he watched his opponent with careful eyes. He was smiling- he always was- but there wasn't a hint of amusement in his body language. The chessboard laid before him, the pieces lined up in neat rows waiting to move and claim the rest of the board for their respective kings.

"What do you want?" Technoblade spat, sitting in his chair sideways, leaning forwards onto his spread legs with his own mask tied to his face. He wasn't wearing his signature red coat with fur lining or his golden crown. He was in a rather baggy shirt and pants with boots tied tight to his ankles and calves. Hunched over, he didn't have an above average height either. There really wasn't anything scary about Technoblade. In a similar vein, Dream wasn't that impressive either in a lime green hoodie and jeans.

That's where they fooled any onlooker. They were, by far, the most powerful mortals on the Server. As entirely flesh and blood with three canon lives each, they had reached heights that even demigods would dream about. They could never match gods, but sometimes they allowed themselves to be called gods by the mortals who were fortunate enough to see their skill without being on the other end of it. Gods would scoff at the two, but they didn't do anything about it. The so-called 'gods' weren't affecting their domains, so they didn't bother with the rather trivial matters of humanity that were so far beneath them. Two hybrids that had the potential of ascending were under Dream's thumb, so nothing stood in their way.

"I'm merely waiting for our guest to arrive. Patience is a virtue," Dream replied easily. As powerful as Dream was physically, he truly shined when it came to mentally warping a person. Dream could more easily wield manipulation as a weapon than he could a sword or axe. It was his speciality. He was strongest when it came to twisting luck to his favor. The universe was merely a rubix cube to Dream, complicated but easy enough to align what odds he needed to.

"What guest?" Technoblade growled lowly at the thought that Dream had invited one of his vermin to his house. Technoblade didn't need to wait for Dream's answer because his door swung open. Philza Minecraft was standing there, out of breath as his wings- one burned by an explosion- were curled against his arms. Philza glared darkly at Dream, a cough starting to build in his throat.

      "Alas, you have finally arrived. I'm sure you've met my newest pet, a raven of purple color," Dream smiled at Philza, tilting his head to a figure that had slid through the door into the shadows while everyone was distracted. Raven slammed the door shut to warn Philza that he wasn't leaving. Philza glowered as he realized that this was what Raven wanted, for Philza to come to Techno while Dream was there. That question was answered, but a new one sprung to mind in Philza's head: what did Dream want?

        "I'm not here to pick a fight. I'm merely building my chess board. Tubbo has no idea what he is doing. He's a fool that has shoes too big to handle. Schlatt and Wilbur may have been insane, but they were far more equipped to run a country. That leads me to decide that L'Manberg shall no longer be. Wilbur had the right idea when he blew it all up. It is only unfortunate that people couldn't bear letting it die," Dream explained what he came here for. "I request the aid of you two."

        "No. You want L'Manberg destroyed because it represents something that you can't control. You didn't account for Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo to defy you. You didn't expect a war that involved many people," Technoblade scoffed, smoke pouring from the nostrils on his mask. Raven's hand reached for his sword on his hilt, but Dream held out a hand to stop the boy.

        "Now, now, that isn't true. Not now. I have complete control over L'Manberg. Everyone there is in shambles. They don't know that I'm manipulating them all. Tubbo is the easiest of all. He is still grieving his best friend, so he's mental state is perfect for coaxing," Dream replied with a silent laugh, complete evil in nature.

        "Isn't that your fault? I don't know what you did to Tommy, Dream, but I know you were the one to push him to suicide. That cannot be forgiven. No matter what Tommy did, no matter who is, he didn't deserve that fate," Philza snapped, glaring at Dream. He was about to attack when a sword was right in front of him. Those sharp blue eyes dared him to move as the purple sword was pressed right against his throat. Dream smiled even wider as he watched Technoblade tense.

        "Tommy was a fickle, indeed. However, he is a remnant of history. He isn't alive. There isn't anything anyone can do about it. We must move past his unfortunate death in order to shape a much brighter future, one that doesn't involve him anymore. He did many things for this Server, but not enough to save himself," Dream sighed before standing on his feet. "It is alright if you don't agree. However, it won't be long until you agree that L'Manberg needs to fall. There will arise more problems, and we mustn't have corrupted people. Come, Raven."

        Raven lowered the sword, following Dream out the door. Philza could have sworn that the last look Raven gave them was screaming for help, his eyes begging them to do something- anything. The door swung shut.