Chapter Text
“Do you know why you’re ill?”
Philza stilled his shivers, grateful for the moment of lucidity. He couldn’t remember anything since the morning before, only hearing rumblings from nearby soldiers that they had lost a full day of travel because of the avian hybrid’s “breakdown.”
They didn’t know how true it was. It had been many years since he had been under such stress, without flock to lend him strength, and he hadn’t recognized the harm it was causing him physically until he was waking up to a goat hybrid checking his shoulder. Once the hybrid—Axel, Phil remembered—had realized he was lucid, he began asking questions. When Philza didn’t respond, he collected the emperor.
“Did you understand the question?” Technoblade asked impassively, but his eyes betrayed his intensity. “I don’t believe you have lost yourself to instincts. You have shown remarkable control so far, which suggests you are just being difficult. We almost lost you yesterday, when your fever spiked. I almost lost you yesterday. Do you understand the consequences if that happened?”
Philza opened his mouth to speak, stopping himself when he choked on his own words. But it was enough to tell Techno that he did understand.
The emperor tugged out a canteen of water, handing it to his avian captive. Taking a few swallows of the icy water, Philza relaxed as it chilled his throat, soothing the swollen glands.
“I want an answer this time,” Techno said, taking the canteen back when Philza handed it over, “do you know why you are ill?”
“I—I believe so,” Philza rasped, his voice painful, “but it’s nothing that can be solved now. I will survive it, if you need to move on. I won’t improve on the journey.”
“Tell me why you think that,” the emperor demanded, before looking over Philza with a small smile, “otherwise, I will move this caravan on, and you will remain in this medical wagon for the remainder of our journey. Healthy children are not welcome here, so it will just be Axel and myself as your company. Is that what you want? I can ensure Tommy’s comfortable in my quarters. Niki has been enjoying the additional time with Wilbur; I’m sure it would be no hardship to her to keep him.”
Philza clenched his hands in the blanket over his lap, helplessness overwhelming him at the soft threat. He couldn’t tell Techno what he really needed, he couldn’t stomach the thought of revealing so much of himself.
…but he could tell Techno what he needed to mitigate it.
***
Techno quietly snorted with amusement. Of all the choices Techno has made, having the Angel of Death…Phil…walk with the caravan was perhaps his favorite. Sure, he had allowed the avian relative freedom that first day of capture, before he knew the prize he had in his possession, but he had learned so little about him since his identity was discovered.
He would treasure the memory of his captive reluctantly telling the piglin he needed fresh air and exercise.
Exercise. Techno could have lost the man because his hybrid nature required sufficient physical exercise.
“Not all avians need it so frequently,” Phil had responded when Techno mentioned that other avian captives had survived the journey in their cells. “Some do. I do.”
That…would explain the low survival rate of avian captives. While it was still a relatively small mortality rate, the strictly confined avians did have more deaths than other hybrids. Techno had never bothered to understand why before…but he had also never been so motivated to keep an avian in good heath until now.
Until Phil. Until Tommy. Even Wilbur was a little interesting, now that he wasn’t so insubordinate. Techno thought he might have even heard the teenager singing softly to Tommy the night of Phil’s absence, although he was sure the teenager hadn’t realized his voice carried.
After speaking with Phil in the medical wagon yesterday, Techno had stopped by Wilbur’s wagon—Niki stroking the boy’s feathers as the young avian held perfectly still—and asked him about his father’s exercise requirements. It was easier to pry the desired information out of the scared child than the reluctant father.
“When we’d go to the capital, my dad would fly every morning and night,” Wilbur had stuttered, “he gets shaky if he stays inside too long. He used to take me with him, when I was old enough.”
“Will walking be enough?” Techno asked, making Wilbur flinch. He wasn’t sure he wanted the man flying, even if his children were grounded, it was too risky.
“It—it should help.”
It did help. The Angel of Death was too weak to walk, at first, and had to ride in the wagon with Wilbur while Tommy remained with Sam and Techno. But within hours of being outdoors (getting that “fresh air”), his pale face colored and his eyes brightened in awareness.
Techno was given a choice. Either allow the avian some freedom, or risk him fading away before they reached the empire.
So no, it wasn’t exactly a choice. He wasn’t about to lose his prize so early in the game.
“Emp-Emperor,” the teenager had interrupted when Techno turned away from him.
Amused at the boy’s growing courage, Techno turned to the child, looking down at the boy with ruffled wings.
“My dad,” the kid started, “I don’t think anyone has released his wings since we left. I asked him, but he didn’t tell me, and he would have told me if he was okay, but he just said he was all right. Tha—that tells me they didn’t.”
“Release his wings?” Techno mused, remembered the damage he noticed where the bindings were placed, “Is that important?”
“Well—yeah.” The boy responded, looking at him with confusion. “Of course.”
He had been surprised to learn that Niki had been stretching the boy’s wings daily. She had known that it was a necessary requirement when holding avians. They did it for even the most aggressive of avian captives, once their wings were bound.
Nobody had been doing it for Phil, because they all assumed the emperor had been stretching them during his twice-daily meetings with the Angel. They thought the emperor knew the basics of avian care, given he had apparently chosen two avians for his sounder.
What else was Techno missing? He wouldn’t get the information from Phil, not unless the man offered it to help his children.
Last night, Techno took Phil into his tent, telling him to sit in one of the armchairs that Techno kept for guests. Seeing the man awkwardly perch on the end of the chair—the arms of the chair preventing him from sitting in any other direction—with his wings bending out of the way, Techno had chuckled at how cute he found the sight before stepping out of the tent to order a stool.
The avian couldn’t quite hide the sigh of relief when he exchanged the armchair for the stool, his wings allowed to rest naturally on his back, and Techno had commented, “You could have just told me you needed a different chair, yeh know, you need to speak up when it comes to your needs.”
Phil raised a sardonic eyebrow, “I wasn’t aware a comfortable seat was a need, Emperor.”
“It may not be, and I would be fine refusing it if was an inconvenience,” Techno clarified, “but you could ask. For now, is there anything you want from me?”
The Angel stayed stubbornly silent.
“Perhaps your wings need to be stretched?” Techno prompted, and Phil winced.
“They’re fine,” he said, his feathers standing on end. They really betrayed every emotion, didn’t they?
“Is that so? Is ‘stretching wings’ just a want, not a need?” Techno had asked casually. He raised a hand to smooth the feathers, and the wings flinched away. They didn’t get far enough to escape Techno, and he enjoyed the silky smooth feathers between his fingertips. “If it’s just a want, perhaps I should instruct Niki that it isn’t worth the risk of freeing Wilbur when she does it for him.”
“Damn—” Phil started before biting his tongue. Techno was delighted at seeing the fire in his eyes, even if he did softly squeeze the wing he had been stroking in warning. The avian took a couple of deep breaths before continuing, “My apologies. You are right, it is necessary to avoid pain.”
Nodding, Techno reached over and, using the release for this particular binding, Techno freed the avian’s wings.
The emperor hadn’t expected the shudder of pain from the Angel when his wings naturally flexed. He hadn’t expected to see the damage to the wings from being bound for nearly a week.
He hadn’t expected it, but he did regret it.
Techno wasn’t above torture, but he did want to know when he was doing the torturing.
He had been actively avoiding injury to the Angel of Death, instinctively wanting to show the avian that the emperor was trustworthy and safe. Apparently, he had been unwittingly causing great pain, and he didn’t like that.
“Do you—do you need to go back to your children?” Techno had asked, when the Angel tried—and failed—to hide the agony he was in now that his wings were unbound.
Phil flinched again, raising his left hand to cover his eyes before saying quietly, “no, no, they shouldn’t see me like this. Just…give me a moment, please.”
Techno did give him a moment, before reaching out to pet the feathers again. This time, when Phil pulled away, it was with a gasp of agony. Watching him carefully, Techno knew the pain wasn’t because he touched his feathers, but because he shifted his wings to escape.
“Don’t touch me,” Phil snapped.
“Now why would you be like that?” Techno asked rhetorically. “You only caused yourself pain. I just want to enjoy my prize, and you get a chance to recover yourself. It seems like a fair trade off.”
Techno grabbed the Angel’s chin when the avian opened his mouth to argue. Holding it carefully, the piglin continued, “Don’t fight this one, Phil. It’s not a battle you’ll win.”
Releasing his grip, Techno turned back to the feathers, mindful of the way the wings twitched in his care.
A few minutes later, Phil bit out, “You were going to let me stretch my wings, right? Are you going to help with that?”
Curious, Techno let his hands drop from the feathers.
“Just—my wings are retracting from stress. Take the tip—just a little lower—now pull back.”
Techno slowly stepped backward with the wing in his grip, marveling at the length of it—was it eight feet? Nine feet?—as it unfurled. Phil planted his feet and held on to a tent pole to maintain position. He bit his lip in agony as the wing extended to its full length.
“Hold it there,” the avian demanded, and Techno was happy to oblige. He hadn’t seen the wings in their full length, and he marveled at how many feathers he could see. They were a little disheveled, a few broken where the bindings had pressed, but they were unforgettable.
Black. But with a half dozen white diamonds resting just a foot above the base of the wings.
After a few minutes adjusting, Phil began rotating his body, bending his wing each way, until a pop! and cry of anguish startled Techno into letting it go.
“Is this hurting you?” Techno asked, wondering if this was all a ploy for the Angel to associate him with pain, but there was honesty on his face when the avian shook his head.
“No..well, yes, but no,” Phil said, blinking through the pain. He began moving his wing again, and this time Techno saw relief in his face at the freedom of the movement. “It’s necessary to heal.”
At the avian’s motion, Techno began the same process with the next wing. Once both wings had been ‘stretched,’ and Phil was showing remarkable relief when they retracted against his back, Techno made a decision.
“You’re not going anywhere without your kids, are you?” Techno pondered aloud, amused when Phil gave him an incredulous glance. “You have shown remarkable behavior this last week. I think a little reward is in order. I need to bind your wings when you’re with your children tonight, but tomorrow, I will free them. You can stretch them while we walk.”
Techno had been pleased when Phil thanked him, spending a few more minutes stretching them before the avian was ready to bind them again for the night.
So now Techno mused at how much had changed in just a few days. Before his illness, he rarely saw the Angel of Death, hadn’t gotten to know the man behind the title, since the subdued avian had been kept in the cage-like cell. Seeing the Angel walk alongside his caravan, wings slightly flared in the breeze and only his wrists bound together, was a delight.
Even more delightful was the innocent way that Tommy drew his father out of his shell.
“Are you still sick, dad?” Tommy asked, glancing at his father from his position with Techno.
“I’m fine, Tommy,” Phil responded calmly.
“But…your wings are dragging,” Tommy said, “You always say, ‘only a sick crow, or an unruly crow, drags his wings.’”
Tommy’s voice took on a contemptuous tone at the quote, the kind only a child made when imitating his caregiver, and Techno let out a light chuff.
“You’re right, Tommy,” Phil responded mildly, and his wings lifted to ride higher on his back. Techno would need to watch out for that, it was an easy enough sign to remember, and he needed to start watching for the quiet man’s habits. Techno noted that his wings began dragging again a few minutes after Tommy became distracted.
When Tommy wasn’t talking about his friends, or his crow friends (“Do you think Clementine will find us, Dad?” “I don’t think so, Tommy, we are very far from home”), or asking about the capital, the man went silent.
But Tommy wasn’t quiet, and by afternoon, Techno had learned more about the Angel of Death than he had in all of his first week of captivity. The tidbits from Tommy were amusing (“Do you think we can go fishing at the capital? Dad loves fishing, huh dad?”), but the morsels from Phil were priceless. He learned that the avian’s efforts to keep things normal for his son ensured he would speak in front of his captors rather than remain silent (he so obviously didn’t want to talk about his most recent fishing expedition). He learned the avian hadn’t been to the capital of Essempi in over a year, despite the Lady Death’s frequent appearances. He even learned that the man hadn’t used magic in over a month (and Techno was grateful for that, it would make the transition easier) before being captured.
When the caravan stopped for an afternoon break, Phil stepped to the side of the group and \preened his wings while the horses were checked and protein bars were passed around. Techno knew Sam was keeping a wary eye on the man, and so he gave his full attention to Elias’ report.
“The soldiers need practice, then,” Techno answered when the man was done, making his decisions, “schedule morning workouts in the arena. When we reach the train depot tomorrow, I want all hands prepared to work. Take note. Those who are idle today will be placed on cleanin’ duty tomorrow.”
Elias nodded once before turning to walk away. A glance at Phil, who was pulling another broken feather and placing it on the ground, had the cat hybrid calling, “Ayup, pretty bird! …Ah, need some help with that, bird brain?”
The Angel of Death paused in his preening—and Techno had to admit, it was fascinating to see the wings acting as real limbs that moved on demand—tilted his head, and opened his mouth to speak when…
“Oy!” Tommy yelled, looking up from where he was eating his nuts, “That’s a mean name! You don’t call my dad mean names! That’s like, if I called you ‘hairball,’ you hairba—!’”
“Tommy!” Phil interrupted, his face had paled at his son’s outburst. He needn’t have worried, Techno would never hurt Tommy. “You don’t speak that way—”
“He shouldn’t say—” Tommy began, but Phil interrupted him again with a very avian click that made tears come to Tommy’s eyes.
Techno approved Phil’s willingness to discipline his child, even when his enemies were antagonizing him. He’d have to commend him for his ability to manage his children later.
“My apologies, Tommy,” Elias said, looking away from Phil. While he was willing to poke at Phil, he seemed hesitant to make Tommy sad, not when the emperor held so much favor for the boy. “They were just words…”
“My dad says words can hurt more than a beating,” Tommy said, a tear coming down his face. Techno guessed that the boy wasn’t used to being chastised by his father. “That’s why Tubbo can’t call me ‘bird brain’ and I can’t call him ‘hard head.’”
Elias looked pained.
“Okay…I won’t call him names like ‘pretty bird’ or ‘bird brain’ anymore,” Elias began, but Tommy laughed through his tears.
“Pretty bird isn’t mean!” Tommy said with a grin. “Mom called dad that all the time! They said it’s because they love each other!”
Well, that was a downer, thought Technoblade. And more than a little uncomfortable, although no one was more uncomfortable than the Angel of Death, who had fully given up preening his wings to look at his son with horror.
An interesting conundrum. Techno could use this against the Angel. It was sensitive information. He could have his soldiers call the avian “pretty bird” from now on, wearing the man down with his wife’s pet name. He could…but…
“We’ll leave that between your parents, then,” Techno decided, loud enough for those around them to hear. “No more ‘pretty bird’ or bird brain.”
Tommy accepted that with a smile, forgiving Elias as quickly as he had shouted at him. The child was like that, so easy to forgive but with a lighting quick temper when his family was insulted.
Looking at him, Techno contemplated how much the child reminded him of himself. The boy still needed a protector, but he had all the characteristics of a future protector himself. So eager to protect his caregiver, even when he was all bark and no bite. Techno would enjoy seeing the child grow into himself.
“And I won’t call anyone names too,” Tommy commented, leaning against Techno, “Except for the eagles, right, dad? We can call them names.”
Looking over at the avian that had just begun preening again, Techno smirked at the blush on Phil as he adamantly told Tommy not to call eagles bad names. Judging by Tommy’s disbelief, Techno’s new nest guard must have some prejudice against eagle hybrids.
The day turned to night, and while they ate dinner with Techno’s people (Phil picking at his meat pie while surrounded by enemy soldiers), Techno continued his evening tradition with the avian, now bringing him to his own tent rather than visiting the old cell.
“Tommy was talkative today,” Techno began, sitting in the chair by the warmer. Without needing to be prompted, Phil followed his lead and sat on his stool by Techno. Techno liked the obedience. “He doesn’t usually say so much about you.”
Watching the warmer glow, Phil responded, “I wouldn’t be so impressed with yourself. Like many military children, Tommy believes he should humanize himself to his captors. He’s extending that to me.”
Techno already knew Tommy was doing this, of course, but he was surprised Phil was so open about it. The avian must have realized Techno wasn’t so foolish to not have recognized Tommy’s manipulations. Truth be told, Techno had realized Tommy was manipulating him after the first day, but he enjoyed it too much to put a stop to it. It was harmless.
“He’s trying to protect his caregiver. He is a protector at heart,” Techno mused. “A good thing.”
“Only you would find ‘good’ in a child feeling the need to protect his father,” Phil responded bitterly. “A child should never feel that way.”
The Angel of Death was in a mood, wasn’t he? A bit of freedom outside had him speaking his mind moreso than usual. No matter, Techno already knew what he wanted from the avian tonight.
“We’ll be arriving at the train station tomorrow, and then we’ll have fresh Empire supplies. I would have liked to continue our travel this evening, but I had plans for tonight.”
Techno paused, thinking on the plans he had made that day. The Angel of Death, with his wings bound at night, didn’t have time to properly preen his own wings, did he? He had been forced to find breaks during their travel to work on them. It made Techno think…
“Tonight, I would like to preen your wings,” Techno stated, raising his chin when Phil cringed. “I would like you to teach me.”
“I—I can preen my own wings,” Phil stuttered, his feathers flaring out. “I don’t need you—”
“I understand that,” Techno interrupted, “but I want to anyway. Now, you can either teach me, or I can figure it out by practicing on Wilbur.”
That silenced the avian, as expected. The man didn’t move for a minute, steadying his breathing as his eyes began shuttering with resignation.
“Okay,” Phil acquiesced, finally, “I’ll start by teaching you about wings. These, here, are primary feathers, and these are secondary feathers…”
****
Sam yawned at the hustle and bustle of the train depot, annoyed that this particular train station was only good for transporting materials within Empire borders. He had been assigned babysitting duty. It hadn’t surprised him, since Technoblade trusted him more than anybody with what he valued, but he was busy today.
They had arrived at the station by late morning and planned to stay the night before continuing their trip the following morning. The emperor took Tommy with him for inspections, leaving Sam with Angel (Phil, the emperor had told him, and wasn’t that strange) and Wilbur. The local residents, Empire citizens who were tasked with maintaining the station year-round, watched the avian family with curiosity.
Phil had taken one wing and wrapped it over Wilbur’s shoulders, shielding him from the stares and keeping the boy close. It was sweet.
The avian had seemed…twitchy…since last night. Ever since his meeting with Techno the night before, the blonde avian was on edge. Sam hoped it wouldn’t make his job harder, he didn’t want to deal with poor behavior today.
The creeper hybrid directed the avian’s wagon to a large tree near the training arena, mindful of the shade it would provide the otherwise exposed avian pair. It would allow him a direct view of the fights between his soldiers today, while still watching his charges. It was, after all, his job to ensure the Empire’s army was up to form.
“You know that favor you owe me, Sam?” asked Niki quietly, coming up from behind him. “I want you to bring the Angel of Death over here. Let’s let him eat with us, shall we?”
“What are you doing, Niki?”
“Just follow my lead, and I won’t use my favor to make you pick the gapples on the way home.”
And so, Sam separated Phil from Wilbur during lunch. The man hadn’t protested, just squeezed his son’s knee and raised himself to follow the general. Niki handed Wilbur a sandwich she had prepared (Phil’s wings twitched at that), and the three returned to the arena. Sam didn’t bother to bind the Angel’s wrists again…the man wasn’t going anywhere with both children absent.
With barely concealed interest, Phil watched the two goat hybrids flatten each other during their battle.
“So…Are you as good as they say, Angel?” Niki asked. “Or are you just a pretty bird now?”
Only decades of military experience kept Sam from flinching at the pet name offered to Angel. Sam knew Niki hadn’t heard Tommy’s comment about the avian’s name for his wife, she wasn’t so cruel, but there was no doubt that she had meant it disparagingly.
“Would you like a demonstration?” Phil responded coolly, his head tilting in thought, and Sam started at that. From everything he had seen, the Angel of Death was more a pacifist than a fighter. Oh, Sam knew of the Angel’s reputation. Who didn’t? But unless the man or his children were threatened—as they were in the case with the merling assassin—he had actively avoided violence.
Sam knew how hard it was for captive hybrids to control their instincts. There was a reason for the stains on the cages that had held the Angel. They all gave into their instincts eventually. Yet the Angel hadn’t given in yet; in fact, he behaved admirably, even keeping his children from acting out when he could.
But now? He seemed almost eager to fight Niki.
“The arena will be available in three minutes,” Niki responded with a cold smile, glancing at the fight that was taking place. “Will that be enough time to prepare?”
“I’m ready,” the blonde man said, pulling his hair back with a tie he had wrapped around his wrist. His wings fanned out in anticipation, and Sam admired their ability to intimidate the soldiers around them. Even the ones that had been quietly catcalling the Angel hushed. “First blood?”
The thought of Technoblade seeing his avian caretaker bleeding after a fight, while Sam was supposed to be watching him, had the creeper weighing in on that particular idea.
“No,” Sam stated firmly. “It will be my head if Technoblade finds out his prize is injured under my watch.”
“I promise I won’t hurt him,” Niki cooed slowly, eyes on Phil, before adding: “I’m just going to pin him down, throw him over my lap, and pet his pretty feathers until the ten minutes are up. If I win, Technoblade won’t have a problem with that, will he?”
Sam looked at the Angel, noting the revulsion concealed in his eyes. His wings had already flickered in distaste at being called a ‘prize,’ but Sam didn’t regret his words. For his own good, the avian needed to get used to them.
Sam was surprised at Niki’s behavior, though. She usually didn’t pick fights with captives, and until now she hadn’t had a problem with the avian. What was her angle?
“I can’t have the Angel flying around—” Sam began.
“I know the rules of arena combat,” the avian interrupted, “I’ll fly—it’s not a fair fight otherwise—but I’ll go no higher than the marked posts.”
Sam looked at the posts surrounding the arena. They were raised only a few body lengths up. They were high enough that Phil could fly out of Niki’s reach and stay up there if he thought he was going to lose, but that would be nearly as humiliating as being caught by her.
Tommy was with Technoblade, and Wilbur was still shackled to the wagon while eating his lunch. The Angel wouldn’t be going anywhere without them.
A little curious himself, Sam had no excuse to deny them.
“Angel, you understand what you’re getting into?” Sam asked. Personally, he wasn’t a fan of captives being touched beyond what was necessary to restrain them. What Niki was suggesting went beyond that, and Sam wouldn’t normally allow it under his watch, but the avian seemed ready enough for a fight that he might go for it.
“First to subdue the other, I got it.”
The bell chimed in the arena, and the previous combatants shook hands and walked out.
Sam almost pitied the Angel, for the humiliation he was about to experience. People underestimated Niki, and that always got them in trouble. As a merling hybrid, she was stronger than she appeared. Even more importantly, she was clever and fast. The combination allowed her to rise to the ranks of General in an already fiercely competitive military. Sam almost pitied him…but this too would be a valuable lesson.
The Angel’s only hope to avoid humiliation was to last long enough that Niki could only subdue him, without being able to carry on with the rest of her stated plan.
Niki and the Angel moved into positions, both raising their hands to their forefront. Immediately, Sam could see that the Angel’s style relied on balance…an interesting strategy against Niki, who tended to throw herself against her opponents.
The bell rang, and the two warriors sprang into action.
The spectators—a growing number, Sam realized, somebody must have spread the word—gasped when the Angel’s wings spread wide and whipped him around as Niki charged. The speed it gave him (and the Angel’s footwork was phenomenal as it complimented the speed his wings granted him) had the Angel whipping around Niki before she could adjust her course, and he didn’t hesitate to push his boot into her back, kicking her to the ground.
Niki rolled to her feet, and Sam noted with interest that the avian waited for her to do so. In his current position of strength, and the speed he could have reached her, the Angel could have ended the fight before it had really begun.
But the Angel didn’t charge, and Niki wasn’t so overconfident now to charge him again. She must have had the same realization as Sam: the avian didn’t want the fight to end so quickly. He didn’t want Niki to lose through overconfidence. He wanted to beat her on merit.
“Wilbur is a cute kid,” Niki said casually, and the Angel tensed. “You could have ended this, just now. Do you really place so little value on him?”
“This quarrel would mean nothing if you didn’t have a chance to prove yourself,” the man responded. “I know what you’re doing, and with my son watching, I’ll end it now.”
Niki grinned wickedly, and Sam decided he was missing some important information. Looking over, he could see Wilbur watching the battle from the wagon, his meal forgotten.
Perhaps Sam shouldn’t have allowed this to happen, not with the Angel’s son so close.
Why was Niki so intent on fighting the Angel, humiliating him, with Wilbur watching?
Only a few more seconds passed before avian’s wings flared—distracting Niki with their movement— before he darted into her reach and swiped his hands across her chest. If the talons weren’t dulled, Sam suspected the attack would have left deep marks against Niki’s leather vest.
The battle truly began, and Niki gave as good as she got. She, too, had realized that her strength was her greatest weapon in this fight, but the Angel was too fast for her to latch onto. Between wings that swept him from her grasp, to perfectly balanced footwork that brought him around her, the avian was uncatchable. For her part, when Niki’s punches landed, they knocked the Angel back hard.
Then, finally, Niki caught the Angel by his oversized uniform, just as his arms were spread out to his sides, and—using his momentum against him—she heaved him to her.
The avian became unbalanced, turning to the side, and Sam was sure the battle was over, when the man pivoted just as he reached the merling’s arms, swung down to her waist, and then shouldered her in the stomach. His angle had him pushing into her lungs, and Niki went down.
This time, the Angel didn’t hesitate to flip her to her stomach, a knee planted on her lower back. With his wings spread wide, Sam was grateful their positions were angled so that Sam could see that the Angel wasn’t truly trying to hurt Niki when he dug blunt talons into her gills.
“Yield,” the Angel hissed loudly, “or you will regret it.”
Niki had lost, and it was with three minutes to spare.
The merling did yield. In a real battle, fighting from her position would leave her dead. Even if she twisted out of his grasp and continued the battle, the Angel would be awarded the victory.
After accepting Niki’s defeat, the avian stood up, and Sam saw fury in his eyes. Gone was the aloof, but submissive, captive from the last few days, and Sam finally understood that the avian had appeared to be weak because he allowed it. Because of his children. With a glance at Wilbur, Sam saw the boy pumping his fist into the air at the victory.
Looking at Niki’s disappointed eyes, Sam knew she had lost whatever battle she was aiming for.
Significantly more subdued as they walked to the gate, Niki commented, “You’re just going to let me walk away? After everything I have been doing with your son?”
“Unlike you,” the avian growled back, “I don’t feel the need to humiliate those I beat in battle. Stay away from him.”
Garret, a phantom hybrid who had his eye on the Angel of Death since the day of his capture, sprung into the arena, issuing his own challenge to the avian. The Angel accepted, and once again, Sam agreed to the fight. It gave him a chance to watch the avian and evaluate his fighting style.
It was interesting, Sam mused, to consider the progression of Technoblade’s relationship with the Angel. Techno had taken a special interest in caregivers over the years that Sam had been in service. Good caregivers were always in short supply, especially after war, and the emperor had made it clear that, when possible, enemy caregivers were to be taken unharmed.
Techno always wanted to meet them, even if he sent them away only minutes after their introduction.
After considering their qualifications, Techno usually released the caregivers back to their charges. Those caregivers were free to raise their young within Techno’s newly acquired territory. If the caregiver was especially good, Tech took them back to the empire for retraining. After all, his fallen soldier’s children deserved the best.
That was supposed to be the avian’s fate, after his children had fallen into Techno’s hands. When Tommy took Techno’s hand to lead him to his dad and brother, a glance at the emperor told Sam that the avian would be allowed to rear his children, but that the man would be put to work with his own clutch as well.
When they actually met the Angel, Sam knew there was something different about him. The emperor dismissed his own curiosity as mere interest over the blonde avian’s obsidian wings, but Sam knew there was more to this particular caregiver.
It started when the teenage avian opened the door to find Sam holding Tommy, the creeper having taken the boy from the emperor when they arrived at the well-camouflaged house.
“Da-Dad!” The teenager choked, and then the blonde avian made his appearance.
The man had hurried to the door at his son’s distress, wearing a green apron over his loose black robes, a smidge of flour on his forehead. His feathers immediately puffed out when he saw the unexpected guests.
Okay. The man was cute, even Sam had to admit it.
“Wilbur, get inside,” the avian had said, shouldering past his son to stand in the doorway, his talons already curving up to defend against the threat. He was preparing for a fight.
Then he saw Tommy.
Grief and resignation. Those were the emotions Sam discerned when the man saw his son in an Empire General’s arms. With barely concealed emotions in his hooded eyes, he looked at Technoblade, and a flash of recognition revealed anger and fear and sorrow.
“I hope you don’t mind that we invited ourselves over,” Techno started, and snickers of laughter echoed behind them. The soldiers were all in good spirits, having enjoyed another successful conquest. “Sam, Niki, let’s meet our new friends.”
The blonde man hesitated, looked at Tommy again, and then reluctantly stepped aside.
A good choice. An excellent choice. Choosing his child before himself.
Once inside, the avian proved himself again, keeping himself collected even as Niki wrapped Wilbur carefully in her arms. Only a tremor in his fingers, noticeable to the experienced military leaders, betrayed his fear.
Techno had been uncharacteristically gentle with the avian, personally restraining the man’s wings with great care and wiping the flour from his forehead. That was another sign of something different.
Later, they discovered the Angel of Death’s identity and realized just how often the avian had chosen captivity over freedom just to stay with his children. The man had to have suspected what fate was in store for him when they inevitably discovered his identity. His wife’s severed wings were just a short distance away, after all. Yet he had refused to leave his children.
Many years ago, Sam had seen a girl playing with dominoes, painstakingly setting up each tile next to the other, her friends gasping when one wobbled dangerously near another as she carefully set it up. After her row was completed, the child tapped the final tile, and they all cheered as the dominoes fell one by one.
When the last domino fell, the bell it hit clanged loudly in its triumph.
As Sam now watched the Angel of Death defeat Garret—it only took three minutes, their company needed to increase their morning practices—the creeper hybrid mused that the Lady Death’s demise had toppled the first domino, and unless something broke the chain, the last domino would see the Angel accepting his place in the Emperor’s sounder.
After all, only the obtuse would deny that the Angel was the caregiver—a nest guard Technoblade won fairly when he killed the man’s mate—that Techno had been looking for. The only one that the piglin’s instincts found worthy in his place.
***
The training arena was unusually busy, Techno noticed as he brought Tommy from the “play date” the child had engaged in while Techno completed his inspection. There was a group home at the station, where abandoned and orphaned children stayed before being transported to the capital for placement in clutches. There were only a few children this time—one of whom was an avian, and Techno decided Phil would not be meeting the babe after Tommy declared that his dad would adopt her immediately if he saw the little orphaned nestling—but Techno always made sure to inspect the premises when he passed through.
The home was in good condition, even if the caretakers had begged him to loan his avian caretaker to help with the little girl’s downy. Techno had refused. The nestling could wait until she was placed in her own clutch. Techno was pleased with the current state of his sounder, and he didn’t want to add another child until his own caretaker and children were well-settled.
With Tommy riding his shoulder, the kid loved being high, Techno entered the arena to find his caretaker perched on top of Elias, pinning his wrists behind the cat-hybrid with a knee planted at the small of his lower back.
The avian’s wings were flared out, balancing him as the hybrid bucked and twisted to get out of his grip.
“Well…this was unanticipated. Is everything okay?” Techno asked Sam casually when he approached the creeper hybrid from behind. Ever vigilant, his general had already acknowledged him as the emperor approached.
“I didn’t see any harm in it,” responded Sam, “Niki wanted a fight, and the Angel was happy to oblige. Not really sure what was going on there, though, you’ll have to ask her. He beat her though. Since then, he’s been accepting challenges. They’re just fighting to subdue.”
“Has he lost yet?” Techno was surprised. Niki was hard to beat.
“No, and he has proven himself to be honorable with each fight,” Sam said without emotion. “It’s made me realize I need to drill some more honorable approaches in our own soldiers. Elias lost his battle two minutes ago, but he refuses to surrender. He still has two minutes on the clock.”
Hmmm, Techno wasn’t sure he liked that, as he watched the Angel of Death hold the cat hybrid down. When fighting to subdue, etiquette ruled that when a soldier was pinned, he’d surrender. The cat hybrid refusing to do so, clearly hoping for a second chance, was poor form.
Techno gave Tommy to Sam and strode into the arena, enjoying the hush that fell over the crowd. The Angel glanced up at him, and his wings retracted momentarily before Elias’ bucking had them flaring again.
“Having fun here?” Techno asked.
“I’m just humbling your soldiers,” the Angel said coldly, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” responded Techno, “Elias, surrender. I don’t like time wasters.”
The cat hybrid collapsed, and with obvious reluctance he announced his surrender. Phil got off him, stepping away as the cat hybrid twisted himself to a stand.
Smiling, Techno unclasped his cloak, handing it to Elias who carried it back to Sam.
“I wouldn’t mind a challenge myself,” said Techno, excitement rushing through his body at the imminent fight. The piglin looked forward to subduing the Angel in front of soldiers and children, to ensure they all knew who stronger.
But with a small bow of surrender, the avian responded, “No, thank you. Another time, perhaps.”
Heh? He won’t fight? Is the man a coward? Can’t handle being beaten?
Techno hadn’t expected the crushing disappointment at the avian’s refusal. He was even disappointed in the caregiver himself. The Angel of Death hadn’t seemed like the type to avoid a fight. He hadn’t been avoiding a fight.
Was he scared of Technoblade? Was he so prideful, he couldn’t handle the thought of being conquered by the piglin?
“I could make you,” Techno warned, bitterness in his own voice.
“You could,” Phil responded, that cold voice of his making Techno wonder if he realized Tommy was watching. The difference in his personality could be shocking sometimes, with how cold and distant he was unless he had to put up an “everything is okay” façade for his children. “But my heart wouldn’t be in it. It’s been a long morning already.”
I should make him. I could make him. He’ll fight me if forced. I could threaten—
Biting back his own instincts, Techno accepted the refusal. A look around revealed that Tommy had been taken to the wagon to eat lunch with Wilbur, who was clearly telling him about their dad’s escapades.
“Scared, Angel?” Elias sneered, as the pair passed him. He seemed to be smarting from his own defeat.
Phil didn’t respond, only deigning to look at the cat hybrid with contempt. Techno noticed that Phil was very good at looking at his soldiers the way a field hawk reserved for the mouse it stalked. The Angel of Death may have had his wings clipped (metaphorically, for now, as he was behaving), but his pride was intact.
“I was surprised as well,” said Sam, and Techno was glad he wasn’t the only one who was questioning the Angel’s rejection. “I didn’t think you were the type to shy away from a fight.”
“Oh, don’t be so hard on him,” interjected Niki. There was a calculating glint in her eye. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to imprint on our Emperor.”
The world shuddered to a stop.
“Imprint?” Sam asked, “I thought that was something only baby avians did with their caregivers.”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Niki smirked, and she put a hand on Phil’s wing. The avian shook her off, avoiding physical contact but offering a glare that would stop a bull in its tracks. It didn’t stop Niki: “Crows are flockers, it’s what makes them so fun! Crow-hybrids imprint on each other even in adulthood…that’s how they ensure the strength of a flock. With everything our Emperor is doing already—feeding him, scenting him, touching his wings—all Angel needs to do now is be subdued by Techno. Right, Angel?”
Judging by Phil’s pale face and narrow eyes, Niki may not be wrong.
Had Techno been angry that the Angel of Death refused to fight him? That already seemed so long ago. He was so far from angry now. No, he found himself ecstatic, delighted, even thrilled! Phil had simply been protecting his instincts, but he would submit to his protector. The man already recognized that Techno was the superior fighter, and he just wasn’t ready to imprint.
How could Techno deny his prize the time to come to terms with his new sounder…flock?
Techno had so many questions, but he suspected Phil didn’t know that Techno wasn’t aware of his ability to imprint on the emperor, and Techno wasn’t about to impart that knowledge on him. The piglin knew Niki hadn’t meant to conceal this very important piece of information from him—it was a coincidence that the very things Techno was doing to soothe his instincts also happened to be the conduct needed to instigate an imprint—Niki had always been loyal to him.
Was it coincidence that a piglin’s needs were so similar to the needs of an avian? Maybe. Perhaps it was fate.
“Wilbur would have imprinted on me if I beat you, right Angel?” Niki said, and Techno frowned. He hadn’t decided what to do with the teenager yet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted his General making that decision for him. And what would it have meant for Phil and Tommy if Niki had beat him? His claim on them was well-established.
Niki continued, “It’s the way of the flock. Everyone under you will submit to your Protector.”
So…many…questions…
“I think that’s enough for now,” Techno finally stated, he’d ask his questions of Niki later. “It’s time to get my avians settled in the barracks for the night. Sam, please continue the practices. We’ll speak later about an additional training regime I would like to put in motion.”
***
Philza wanted to scream.
When Niki challenged him this morning, it was everything he needed to soothe his instincts. His instincts that had been begging him to fight back since he has submitted so weakly to the emperor’s preening the night before. The same instincts that had been quietly begging him to take action ever since his family was taken.
Phil had refused to let his instincts take over. His logical, rational, calculating mind warned him that fighting wouldn’t help. Until he was in a position of strength, fighting would only lead to defeat.
But his instincts—those animalistic urges rooted in his hybrid nature—warned him that if he didn’t fight, they would take over for him.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
So when Niki challenged him, he jumped at the opportunity to soothe his instincts. His avian instincts didn’t care if he fought to simply subdue or ultimately kill his opponent, they just wanted to fight.
It had been a real fight, with real consequences. He had seen Niki’s actions with Wilbur. She was feeding his teenager, providing her own cloaks to him so that Phil could smell her on his son, and even touching the boy’s feathers.
When Philza was finally given the chance to nip that in the bud, he took it.
It wasn’t as though Wilbur couldn’t imprint on Niki now that Phil had won their fight. As she had said, crows were flockers, and Wilbur could form several bonds. But it would take time, and time was what Philza needed.
Imprints were not binding or permanent in the way non-crows often believed. A crow could leave a flock, even after imprinting, but not without a devastating blow to the psyche.
Philza would know, he severed several flock bonds after Tommy had been diagnosed.
He didn’t want Wilbur to go through that when they escaped.
With his and Wilbur’s wings bound by Technoblade before the piglin left, Philza spent the afternoon with his children in a room reserved for the avian family. Phil wasn’t sure they could call it a room, exactly, as it was the size of Eret’s closet (bigger than necessary, in Phil’s opinion, but not a room), and it had no windows, but it was warm.
And there were piles of blankets. Whoever prepared this room actually knew something about avians.
Philza liked small rooms. They were cozy. Everyone else could have their grand homes. Philza wanted a small room filled with a defensible nest.
Philza and the boys had prepared their nest (it hit three of the four walls), piling the sides high with the overlapping blankets, while Tommy talked about the children he had played with at the group home. Phil was grateful to learn that it was a nice enough place. The children were being well-tended.
Phil was concerned to learn that an avian hatchling was among the children, though. They didn’t do well without avian parents. In Essempi, Philza had made sure an orphanage was secured for avian children until they were adopted into a safe home.
When Niki and Sam took the boys, and the emperor came to collect Phil (the piglin glancing at the nest with curiosity) dinner had already started. Instead of eating with the soldiers, Techno brought him to his rooms and unbound his wings.
Of course, the emperor was no longer pretending not to know about the imprinting process. The piglin hybrid carefully handed the platter of food to Phil, making sure the avian ate what was given, before eating his own share.
Phil’s feathers bristled.
It was a good thing he had an opportunity to release his rage earlier today. He wasn’t sure his instincts would have allowed this tonight. Not since the emperor was so blatantly trying to force an imprint on him. After last night, it would just be too much.
“I have a little surprise for you,” Technoblade commented, holding out a gapple for Phil to take. Philza took it easily and bit into it, savoring the juice that flooded his mouth with each bite. “You have been behaving so well, and I wanted to reward you for today. You deserve a little something after your many little victories.”
Phil hoped the look he gave the emperor conveyed all the contempt he felt for the man.
“Niki tells me the clothing we found you in were mourning robes,” Techno continued, and Phil found himself unable to keep the piglin’s eye contact. “She says crows mate for life, and even if you did not belong to me now, you could not have taken on another lover after Lady Death’s demise. Is that true?”
Philza didn’t want to talk about this. Why was Technoblade bringing it up? Although he could feel his feathers were flexing in grief, he made sure his face was unwavering.
But he couldn’t meet the piglin’s eyes again, not when this was the topic.
It was all true, of course. He could form flock bonds (in fact, he was at real risk of forming flock bonds since his mating bond was in tatters, and his instincts begged for the empty void of his soul to be filled), but he was not interested in taking on another mate. Not in this life.
The emperor didn’t need to know any of that.
Instead, Philza looked beyond the emperor to the large desk near the emperor’s bed. A stack of papers sat on it, none of which the avian could make out.
“Your old robes have been checked, and we have found no reason to believe the garment can be used as a weapon, so as your reward, I’m going to give it back to you.”
Philza’s eyes whipped back to Techno’s face so quickly, there was no chance of hiding his desire. Techno snorted, “I’m not so cruel as to pretend her death did not impact you. She will remain a part of your history, and there’s no use denying that.”
Did Techno understand the importance of those robes? They were the last reminder of a mating bond. Kristin had prepared the crested robe with loving hands, for him to wear in the event of her death. Phil had done the same with a set of robes for Kristin, although they would be left to disintegrate in her closet. Phil had not intended to wear anything else until the threads Kristin had woven within the robes naturally frayed and decayed.
To have that reminder back…
“Where are they?” Phil asked.
“The bathroom,” Techno responded, nodding to a bathroom attached to his opulent rooms, “where I have already prepared you a bath. It’ll take a couple more weeks of travel to reach the capital, and I don’t know how often we’ll rest in civilized towns on the way, so take advantage of this while you have the chance.”
Phil didn’t wait for the emperor to change his mind, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind him. It even had a lock, and Phil quietly took advantage of that, hoping the piglin didn’t hear the click and take offense.
Finding the robes, Philza laid them out with loving hands. The silver thread Kristin had woven into them was only lightly damaged after being worn for a month. They had been cleaned, pressed, and folded carefully so that the rich fabric was not ruined. Even the green sash he had tied around his waist was there, folded neatly within the garments.
He wanted to where them right now, but…he would regret dirtying them from the dust of the arena.
Turning to the bath, Philza quickly undressed and hopped into the warm water. He wanted to groan as the water soothed his aching limbs. After cleaning himself (and his children) with nothing more than rough soap and a bowl of water each night for the last week, this was a boon.
He washed himself quickly and efficiently, using the expensive shampoos in his hair while carefully avoiding his wings. His feathers would not appreciate the chemicals. He was just about to exit the bath—he would wipe down his feathers with clean water in the sink—when Technoblade’s voice echoed outside the door.
“Phil, I need to check on something at the mess hall,” the emperor said, “It’ll only take a few minutes, but I want you to stay here until I’m back for you. Got that?”
“Yes,” Phil answered, once again biting back his desired answer.
Phil quietly dried himself off (there was even a hair towel that dried his hair in seconds), put on his robe, and then peeked into the emperor’s rooms.
The emperor wasn’t there.
Phil didn’t dare leave the rooms. What was the point when he didn’t know where his children were? He would only get in trouble.
But he did walk to the desk he saw earlier. The desk with papers.
There, under the blueprints for a building Phil didn’t recognize, the avian saw the corner of a map.
Taking one talon and pressing it down on the paper, Phil carefully slid the document from the stack of papers. The rest remained in place as it released itself.
Philza had never seen a map of the empire before, so it took him a moment to recognize the mountains they were following. Once he did, he quickly identified the train stop they were currently residing. Markings Philza recognized followed the path they had taken, and he realized they represented the camps they had been staying in.
Saying a prayer to Kristin in thanks, Phil recognized that he couldn’t have identified these landmarks if he had been kept confined as he had in the initial days.
Additional markings were made on the road Phil anticipated they would travel, and the third marking up…
There, on the third day of travel, the camp would be within miles of the nearest mountain. If Phil and the boys escaped then, the distance to reach safety would be minimal.
His heart pounding, Phil carefully folded the map and slid it between the documents. Nothing was out of place, and the avian quickly but silently entered the bathroom again.
As he dressed and began peening his wings in the sink, feeling a little more like himself now that he was clean and in his own clothing, Phil plotted.
He had three days before the optimal escape presented itself. As much as Phil wanted to leave now, he could wait if it meant his family was more likely to escape. There was so much he could do in three days…
What to do?
Rewards. As much as it disgusted him, Phil had to admit that the rewards he had “earned” to date benefitted him. His wings were not being tortured anymore. He could see where they were travelling. He was exercising his body and improving the odds that he would be physically capable of escape. If he continued to receive rewards—and maybe if Phil was just a little nicer he would receive the rewards without alerting Techno to what he was doing—maybe that would help him escape.
He hated the Empire’s army. He held as high of a regard for them as they did for him. They all knew it, but could that change? Not much, but just enough for them to lower their guard?
And Wilbur. Phil hated to admit it, but he couldn’t escape unless he knew that Wilbur wouldn’t lose his wings if they failed. Techno had threatened Phil with the teenager’s wings time and time again. He had no doubt the piglin would follow through if Phil failed at the escape. Unless the piglin’s instincts prevented him from harming the teenager.
Phil knew a little about piglin instincts. Wilbur had been the one to teach him, as Wilbur had known a piglin during his studies with Eret. Piglins were both territorial and social, and once they claimed someone as sounder, they would not allow harm to come to their social unit. They wouldn’t even harm their sounder, not permanently.
If Philza failed his escape, he needed to know that Techno’s instincts would not allow him to maim the child.
This was a harder task, because the emperor did not have a positive relationship with Wilbur, and there was only so much Phil could do. Ever since his mother’s death, Wilbur had been combative and obstinate, and if Wilbur wasn’t in the right mindset, Technoblade’s instincts would not accept him.
That was all. Phil had three days to bond the emperor to his older son and, hopefully, gain some favor (and consequently freedoms) himself. It wasn’t much, but it gave him something to do.
A knock at the door alerted Phil to Technoblade’s return. He grabbed his green sash and opened the door, waiting until the emperor saw him before tying it around his waist, cinching the robes down as he did so.
“You looked better in blue,” the emperor muttered, and Philza bit his tongue. That was nothing new, but now, it was no longer about avoiding punishment for Wilbur. Philza needed to actually be likable.
Following the emperor to their seats, Phil flinched when the piglin grabbed his wing again.
“You don’t need to do that,” Phil said, “I already preened them in the bathroom.”
“Now, I know you couldn’t preen them like you taught me,” Technoblade responded with a smirk, “you even said it takes hours of work every day, and you weren’t in there for more than 30 minutes. Let me do this.”
Biting back his retort, Phil instead nodded and let the piglin have his way. They both knew this would be part of the nighttime routine now, since Technoblade was set on getting Phil to imprint on him.
Thirty minutes went by, with Philza regularly correcting Technoblade (it hurt when the feathers were twisted the wrong way or pulled too aggressively) under the guise of preparing him for Tommy, before the emperor exclaimed, “Oh, before I forget, I have somethin’ to show you.”
The piglin crossed the room and grabbed the set of blueprints Philza’s gaze had passed over. Phil forced himself to relax when the emperor shuffled the rest of the papers into a neat stack before passing the blueprints to Phil.
“I received the first designs for the aviary today,” Technoblade said, pride evident in his voice, “I wanted to get your opinion on it before construction starts.”
Looking at the blueprints with new understanding, Philza felt his mouth go dry. This was his family’s fate if they didn’t succeed in escaping. If he understood the scale correctly, he’d lap the aviary in seconds. It wasn’t nearly large enough for him to correctly teach his children to fly when they grew old enough.
And…was that an observation deck? Would Phil and his family be viewed like animals in their little cage? Would Technoblade invite the public to see the pretty avians in their enclosure?
Phil wanted to weep, but…he reminded himself that his children would never see this abomination.
And telling the Emperor what he really thought of the aviary would only anger the man. He reminded himself that he needed to change his approach with the piglin, beginning now.
So instead, with a swallow, Philza nodded his head, “It has what’s necessary.”
Three nights. He could play nice for three nights.