Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Weapons must be perfect.

A hidden fault or an unnoticed imbalance in the blade of a sword can be the difference between life and death on the battlefield. A blacksmith is careful with such things, watchful and alert during the forging of a weapon. There can be no imperfections. Certainly not if the weapon is a gift for the Lady of Death and her angel.

Technoblade's trainers know this, and they shape him to be perfect.

He can fight and wield a blade better than most grown men. He understands maps and strategy and what to do with troops at his command. He can do whatever is required of him without a flinch, without hesitation. He's the perfect weapon, bloody and fast and obedient. Well, mostly.

It's the things he's not supposed to do that he struggles with. The rules have been drilled into him, yet he still struggles.

Do not look the gods in the eyes. Keep your head lowered at all times. Show respect and submission to them- you are not their equal. Do not act without permission. The gods will dictate your every move. To presume or to act without a spoken order is to defy. Obey. Do not speak. The gods have nothing to learn from you, no use for your words. Stay silent. Behave.

Techno repeats the rules in his head, over and over as the cart rocks, manacles chafing his already scarred wrists. He can be good. He can be obedient. He can behave. He has to. His trainers have made it clear that the gods will give him no mercy if he fails.

Gods are not forgiving. Gods have no patience for human error. Not, of course, that Techno is human. He's not human, not meant to be. His trainers have made that abundantly clear to him.

He is a weapon, nothing more, nothing less.

The gods will treat him as such.

Techno's been meant to serve the gods since his creation. That's his entire purpose, and he has been trained to do so for as long as he can remember. He knows all the rules, knows everything to expect from them. But he's never seen the gods before. They don't even know he exists. He's meeting them today- being given to them. It's new. It's exciting. Techno thinks he might throw up from nervousness.

The cart rolls to a jerking stop and Techno fights down a whimper. Silent. He can stay silent. He can stay good. The door to the cart rips open and Techno drops his eyes to the scratched, bloodstained floor. His trainer hums.

“The gods will be here soon,” he says curtly, climbing into the cart and unlocking the heavy metal collar around Techno's throat. He leans in close, breath hot against the shell of Techno's ear. Techno fights down a grimace. “Behave.”

Techno doesn't dare nod, just keeps his eyes and his head down, hands still in his lap as the manacles are unlocked. His wrists ache, but he doesn't reach for them to rub the pain away. He just waits until his trainer orders him to follow and obeys.

The ground is uneven and patchy, dirt and stone scattered around, holes torn in the earth. Like some kind of explosion. Techno thinks he can still smell smoke and gunpowder in the air. A battlefield, perhaps? Will he be put to use so quickly? The thought is almost relieving. Maybe he won't have to spend too much time with the gods.

His trainers stop and Techno stills his legs, freezing in place three paces behind. The group stands in silence as they wait. Techno keeps his eyes down. How long will they be here? How long until the gods arrive? What if they don't show?

Finally, he hears it.

A beating fills the air, growing louder and closer. Techno swallows as quietly as he can, tensing to keep from shaking. The gods. His new owners. They're here. He feels sick.

The sound stops and a gust of wind accompanies the silence, blowing his hair from his eyes for a moment. Techno desperately focuses on a stone in front of him. Do not look the gods in the eyes. You are not their equal. Do not look the gods in the eyes. Do not look the gods in the eyes. Do not-

“You say you have a weapon for us?” The Lady of Death's voice is soft, almost kind, but there is a cold edge to it that betrays what she is. The gods are never kind. It isn't in their nature.

“Yes!” His trainer says, shuffling nervously. “A created thing- alchemy, magic, piglin rites. Obedient and powerful. A warrior.”

“A living thing?” The Angel of Death's voice sounds disapproving, but there's something beneath it. A slight lilt, quickly hidden. Interest. He's interested.

“Oh, barely,” his trainer tells the gods. “It is a mob. But it is strong, it will serve its purpose. Follow orders and act and adapt. It's special.” Special. The word warms Techno's chest a little. He's special.

“Curious,” the Lady of Death says. “Where is this warrior, then?” His trainer steps to the side with a slight flourish, and just like that, the weight of too many eyes settle on Techno. He's not sure he could be any more tense without snapping his own bones. Still, he does not move or raise his head.

The gods are silent for a long moment.

“A child?” The Angel finally asks, disgust heavy in his voice. Techno's heart sinks. They don't like him. They don't like him, and what will happen now?

“No, not a child,” his trainer interjects. “It isn't a real child, it just looks like one. The creation process is... complicated. The weapon will grow, and it is a good weapon as it is. It's just small right now.”

“It isn't sentient?” The Lady of Death asks, tone cautious. Techno doesn't know what that means. Sentient? Should he be? Is this some unforeseen flaw?

“No, no,” his trainer reassures quickly. “Only a mob. Unless... did you want it to be sentient?” He sounds nervous, now.

“No.” The Angel's voice is firm. “No, we wouldn't want that.”

“Good,” his trainer says. “It isn't. So, will you accept this gift? This weapon we've crafted for you?” There is a moment of silence and Techno's heart stutters. What happens to him if they say no? The Lady of Death hums.

“We accept.”

There's a ruffling and dragging as one of the gods approaches, and Techno's trainers fall back, leaving him standing alone. The god stops before him, and Techno stares at their feet. Long, clean green robes and black, twitching, moving wings. Techno doesn't dare move.

“Well, let's get going, mate,” the Angel of Death says, ruffling his feathers, a clicking noise rising out of him. Techno barely restrains a flinch. Even that could be seen as some awful sign of disobedience. He's lucky he tensed, because a moment later, arms lift him at the waist, his back to the Angel's chest. His robes are soft, but his grip is unforgiving. Techno squeezes his eyes shut.

It takes everything in him not to squeak as they shoot into the air, leaving Techno's stomach behind on the ground. The urge to turn and wrap his arms around the Angel's neck crawls up his throat, threatening to choke him, but he forces his arms still. He can do this. He can be good. The Angel won't drop him. Probably.

Techno is used to travel, used to the cart and chains, and sometimes long hours of walking without pause. But nothing like this, fast with the wind in his hair, whipping against his face. He keeps his eyes tightly shut regardless. What if he looks upon one of the gods? It isn't worth the risk.

He isn't sure how long they fly before the beating of the Angel's wings stops and they begin a gentle glide toward the ground.

The Angel releases him the moment their feet hit the dirt, and Techno struggles not to stumble. His legs are shaking, blood pounding in his ears. He hears the Lady of Death alight upon the ground somewhere near them, and the Angel turns to her.

Techno angles himself away carefully and risks a small glance up.

There's a house settled among the trees of the forest they're in, garden beds spread out around it and a picket fence separating it from the rest of the woods. It's bathed in a soft afternoon light. It's cute, sweet almost. Like a fairytale or some other story that Techno's heard in passing. Is this... is this where the gods live? Techno blinks in confusion. Why would they bring him here?

The Angel hums and Techno drops his eyes again. He shouldn't have looked without permission. He's lucky that they don't seem to have noticed, just heading toward the house. The Angel pauses, then grabs Techno's arm a bit roughly and pulls him with them. The Lady of Death unlocks the door, and then Techno is pulled inside the house, the door shutting and locking behind him.

The inside of the house is dark and cool, a blue rug soft beneath Techno's feet. The Angel lets go of him and moves away to his right, into an arched doorway. The Lady of Death slips by, almost touching him, and heads deeper into the house.

He's alone in the entryway.

A glint of light catches the corner of his eye and Techno carefully raises his head, peering through his hair. There's a mirror to his left, and while the room is still dark, Techno can make himself out. He swallows.

He looks dead.

There isn't a better way to put it. His skin is pale and gaunt, his pink hair tangled and matted and hanging in his face. One eye still peeks out and the red is... flat. Flat and dull and empty. Techno's stomach twists and he pulls his gaze away, focusing back on the patterned rug beneath him.

No speaking. No acting without permission. No looking. Just obedience. Does it matter if his eyes shine? He'll serve his purpose regardless.

A warm light fills the room to his right and he hears the Angel sigh, steps moving back to him. Techno tenses slightly, but the god simply moves by him, heading toward where the Lady of Death went. Once he is alone again, Techno peeks to his right.

A fire is dancing merrily in a big, stone fireplace, comfortable looking couches spread out in the room. The warmth from the fire is appealing, but he doesn't dare move his legs. They're frozen to the floor. What if they leave him standing here all night? Where is he supposed to sleep? Sleeping on the couch is presumptuous, especially if he's supposed to be standing guard or something.

The urge to ask crawls up his throat, itchy, and Techno forces it down.

No speaking. No questions. How many times has he had to wear the muzzle to learn that? His trainers say that that punishment was kind, and Techno had still hated it. Who knows what the gods might do? So he forces the thoughts away and obediently stares at the floor, standing still.

Techno isn't sure how long he stands in the entryway, watching the shadows under the curtains move and the fire flicker against the baseboards. A smell starts to fill the house, and his stomach rumbles slightly. He flushes. Hopefully, the gods won't complain about sounds he didn't mean to make. It's not he has control over those.

A rustling fills the hall and Techno stiffens. A moment later, the Angel steps into the room. The god is silent for a moment, considering.

“Hey, mate. Come here,” he says, and Techno stiffly moves forward, stopping in front of the god and keeping his head lowered. The Angel takes his arm and guides him into a brightly lit room. “What do you think it eats?” The Angel asks, and Techno keeps his mouth shut. The question was obviously not directed at him.

“We can see if it eats what we made,” the Lady of Death suggests. She sounds confused and slightly worried, which is... odd. If they're that concerned, why don't they just ask? Unless they truly don't want to hear him speak. The thought settles uncomfortably in his stomach. Perhaps silence is the most important rule in the house. Techno will have to remember that.

He's pulled over to a chair at a table by the Angel. He keeps his gaze on the table as he sits, listening to dishes clinking quietly. The gods are silent, and soon enough, a plate is set down in front of him. There's a baked potato and strips of steak. Techno swallows. It smells so good. But he hasn't- he hasn't been told he can eat.

“Does it not like it?” The Lady of Death asks. The gods are both staring at him. Techno can feel it. The Angel clears his throat.

“Maybe we have to tell it to? Um, eat! Go for it, mate!” It's an odd way to phrase an order, but Techno picks up his silverware regardless and starts to eat, keeping his eyes locked on his plate and his head low. The Angel sighs, and the eyes that were settled on Techno turn away.

The gods speak quietly as they sit at the table and it's confusing. They'll lower themselves to eat with him? Unless they don't consider such things bad, too far above him for there to even be a chance of this being demeaning for them. That must be it. Their conversation washes over his ears, and Techno can't help but listen.

They don't want to send him to fight yet. They are uncomfortable with how young he looks, which is also confusing. It's not like he can make himself appear older! But, well, the gods are odd and fickle creatures. He wants to reassure them that his youth doesn't hinder his ability to fight, but he stays silent. If they want to test him, they will. His only responsibility is to obey.

When he finishes his food, Techno stares at his empty plate. What now? Is he expected to clean up after them and do the dishes? Or would that offend them, him acting without permission? He's still new, he can hardly start disobeying now.

“Hey, mate,” the Angel says, words directed at him. “Follow me.” Obediently, Techno rises and follows the Angel. They go up shiny wooden stairs and into a dark hallway. This rug is also soft beneath him, and the Angel pauses halfway down the hall. “Watch your head.”

Techno can't raise his eyes to see what exactly he's watching for, but he still steps to the side. The Angel fiddles with something for a moment, and then, with a creak, a dusty set of stairs unfolds into the nice hallway. Techno stares at the bottom step, and he's far enough back that he sees the Angel gesture to them.

“Um, get up there! Climb? Go? I don't know.” The Angel sounds so bewildered that a laugh threatens to grow in Techno's chest, but he ignores it, hesitantly making his way to the steps. They creak as he climbs up them, pulling himself into a dark attic. There's dust coating it, boxes strewn around. There's moonlight streaming from somewhere in the back, hidden out of sight by a turn.

Techno subtly glances around. There's no bed that he can see. Really, there's not much except boxes. He twists his fingers together anxiously, still kneeling on the floor next to the hole. Is he supposed to be getting something for the god? He can't ask.

“Well, goodnight mate,” the Angel says, voice carrying up through the hatch. “I'll come to collect you in the morning.” The hatch swings shut, snapping closed with a bang that makes Techno flinch away. He stares at the closed entrance. He's supposed to sleep here? Vaguely, distantly, he hears the Angel's steps go back downstairs, and the house settles into silence.

Techno scootches away from the hatch, staring around the dimly lit attic. He's gone from his cell and his trainers and his shackles to... whatever this is. Uncertainty. Fear. Confusion. How long will he be here in this attic until they decide he looks old enough? This isn't what he expected at all.

Techno sniffles, hot water filling his eyes, and he buries his head into his knees.

This is awful. Serving the gods is supposed to be an honor. That's what his trainers had always said. He hadn't expected the gods to see him as an equal, that's true, but he hadn't expected them to be so distant. They hadn't acted like that to his trainers. But maybe this is confirmation that Techno isn't human and shouldn't expect to be treated like a human.

There's no point in dwelling on what he already knows to be true. Techno wipes at his eyes with the corners of his sleeves and looks around the attic again. He doesn't know what the next day will bring, so he might as well be well-rested for it. He just needs to find a good place to sleep.

He shuffles to the back of the attic, around the turn, and stifles a small gasp. There's a stained glass window set in the wall, letting in pretty colored moonlight. There's a box beneath it, and hesitantly, Techno opens it. The box is full of old, faded blankets. Techno thinks about spiders for a moment before he climbs into the box regardless. He's slept with worse. He can handle this.

The morning sun burns at his eyes as it rises, orange and pink in the sky.

Techno blinks blearily and wriggles his way out of the mess of blankets he'd sunk into. His limbs are a little stiff, but he stretches the feeling away and settles down on the floor next to the hatch. The house is quiet outside of the birds chirping greetings to each other somewhere in the forest. He'll wait for the Angel to come and get him like he said. Techno can be so good. He'll prove that he's good and obedient and useful, and then he won't have to spend years waiting in the attic to look grown up.

The Angel doesn't come to get him immediately.

He hears the gods get up, hears voices and laughter and footsteps, running water. But they don't come and get him, and they go downstairs without him. The sounds are muffled from up here, but if he listens very carefully, he can hear them. They're probably in the kitchen making breakfast. His stomach growls in anticipation and Techno hushes it. It won't get him into trouble. He can wait.

He's only starting to get a little wriggly by the time he hears footsteps head toward the attic. Techno quickly stiffens, straightening his back. The hatch falls open and he hides his flinch.

“Mate?” The Angel calls. “Come on down.” Hesitantly, Techno crawls out of the attic and down the stairs. He's scared he'll slip, or look down and see the god. The Angel is standing awfully close to the stairs. Maybe he wants him to mess up? The moment Techno is on the ground, he skitters to the side, keeping his eyes locked on the carpet. He won't look. He won't see. The Angel shuts the attic hatch and sighs, starting to move away. Then, he pauses, feathers ruffling.

“Follow me.” Techno does.

The Angel takes him downstairs to the kitchen, where he's sat at the table with a plate of eggs and a glass of water. Techno's mouth waters slightly and he swallows back the sigh of relief threatening to climb out of his lungs. His mouth was starting to get sticky from dehydration. Still, he waits, staring at the condensation building around the base of the glass.

“You can eat anytime you're at the table,” the Lady of Death says. “You don't need to wait for permission. Maybe,” she adds, quieter, no longer speaking to Techno, “we won't have to tell it every time it needs to do something.” Techno stares into his plate, face heating. Are they upset with him? Annoyed? He isn't sure, but he starts eating anyway. The Angel sighs again, moving away from the table.

“We'll have to get it cleaned up,” he comments, pouring something into a cup. “It's filthy.” The Lady of Death scoffs.

“That's not its fault,” she says. “Someone hasn't dusted the attic in years.”

“I was getting around to it!” The Angel says, sounding offended. “I didn't know we'd be bringing home a living being!”

“Its handlers are at fault too,” the Lady of Death throws in. “I mean, look at it! It's skin and bones. They weren't caring for it.” Techno hopes his flush isn't visible on the tips of his ears. He doesn't mean to look like this! His trainers usually just dumped a bucket of freezing water over his head- very rarely did he actually get to bathe.

“Maybe that's why it's so small,” the Angel muses. “Hopefully it'll get bigger quicker with proper care.” Techno always hopes that too, but his trainers said he'd be short for at least another three or four years. Then he'll apparently just start shooting up. Maybe the gods can make it happen quicker, though, with some sort of magic.

“Oh well,” the Lady of Death sighs. “I'm going to go look for some clean clothes for it. We might have some in the right size upstairs. Will you handle the bath?” The Angel hums in agreement.

“I'll be right back, stay there,” he says to Techno, and then both gods vanish upstairs. Techno takes the opportunity to guzzle the glass of water as quickly as he can. In his defense, it's hard to keep his head down and drink- better to finish it now. When he's done, he peers around the kitchen, trying to memorize the way it's laid out.

It's rather quaint. Open shelves of spices and dishes, fresh flowers on the counter, and lacy white curtains that hang in the window above the sink. It's cuter than Techno would've expected from the gods. He'd thought they'd live lavishly, or maybe even live a threadbare lifestyle. Then again, the gods are very different than he'd thought they'd be like.

Footsteps head toward the room, and Techno drops his eyes again.

“You done, mate? Good. Follow me,” the Angel orders, and Techno hurries after the god. He's led upstairs and to a room off the left of the hallway. The Angel pauses awkwardly.

“Uh, I'll leave you here. Get cleaned up. If you- if you know how to do that. What if you don't? Uh...” the Angel trails off. Techno can feel his eyes boring into him. A few seconds tick by, and he fights down the urge to shift anxiously. Is he supposed to say something? Is the Angel expecting him to do something? Panic is starting to crawl up his throat, but a soft knock at the door distracts him.

“Phil?” The Lady of Death asks, and Techno blinks. Who is Phil? The Angel hums and turns to the goddess. “I have some clean clothes.” The Angel takes something from her and sets a stack of neatly folded, crisp clothes on the counter.

“What if it doesn't know how to bathe?” The Angel asks bluntly, and a spark of annoyance lights in Techno's chest. Why won't they just ask? They're very clearly curious- do they find the thought of him speaking that awful?

“I guess we'll find out,” the Lady of Death says simply, turning to Techno. “Take a bath, get changed, and come find us when you're done, alright?” She pulls the Angel out of the room and the door clicks shut, leaving Techno alone.

“What if it drowns?” Techno hears the Angel ask as they move away from the door. The Lady of Death just laughs. The hall falls silent outside the door and Techno finally lets himself move, looking around the room.

The bathroom is tiled in green and white, with plants decorating the counter. A green towel is laid out on the counter next to the pile of clothes. There's already a bath drawn in the tub, steaming a little. Techno risks a glance in the mirror and flinches. Somehow, he looks worse than he did yesterday, dust coating his clothes and hair.

He turns his gaze away and focuses on wriggling out of his dusty clothes, climbing into the bath. The warm water is a nice change, though Techno winces at the way it darkens as he scrubs at his skin, dirt and grime flaking off. He's hesitant about what products he's allowed to use and picks whatever looks simplest and cheapest. He wouldn't want to use the Angel's favorite shampoo or something and get punished. That would be embarrassing.

Techno tries to hurry, but washing his hair is difficult. There's so many knots and tangles that get caught in his fingers and tug painfully at his scalp. They just won't come out. It's like his hair is one giant tangle. Techno glares at the wet ends of his hair gripped in his fingers through a haze of frustrated tears. If he doesn't get his hair clean, the gods might get upset and cut it off! The trainers had threatened it plenty of times, though they never did. The gods might actually follow through.

Techno tries again and again, but eventually, he has to give up and finish rinsing it out. The gods might cut it off- Techno will have to let them. He has to obey, even if he doesn't like it. It's just hair. It will grow back. It shouldn't matter this much.

The clothes the Lady of Death left him are soft, though the shirt hangs big, covering his hands. He tries his best to roll the sleeves up, then drains the bath and hangs the towel up carefully to dry. He tries not to get any water on the floor, though his hair is still dripping, attracting far too much attention if it wants to stay on his head.

Techno swallows, then goes downstairs.

There are voices in the living room, and he hovers anxiously in the doorway. He doesn't know if the gods have seen him, but he can hardly announce his presence. So he just waits, wet hair hanging in his face.

“Oh!” The Angel exclaims, almost making him jump. “You scared me, mate!”

“See, it didn't drown,” the Lady of Death says, sounding smug. “It's... hm. Come here.” The order is directed toward him, and Techno hesitantly goes to her, standing in front of her and staring at her feet. She's sitting on the couch. It would be terribly easy to make eye contact like this.

“Turn around and sit, please,” she requests, and Techno blinks, confused. Still, he obeys, settling down onto the soft carpet. The Lady of Death's hands settle gently in his hair. Techno fights back a shudder. “Oh, you poor thing,” she croons. “Its hair is such a mess! Phil, can you grab me-”

“Of course, Kristin,” the Angel says, and Techno stares at the carpet as he leaves the room. Phil. Kristin. Are those their names? They're such simple names for gods, far simpler than he would've expected. Techno mulls over them for a moment, turning them in his head. He likes them, he thinks, though he certainly isn't permitted to refer to the gods by name.

The Lady of Death runs a soft hand through his hair, humming, and his mind snaps back to the situation at hand. Right. His hair. She's going to cut it off. Techno is going to let her. The Angel will come back with scissors and Techno will let her.

His chest hurts.

The Angel steps back into the room, and Techno doesn't dare move. He'll let them. They own him. He'll obey. He'll be good.

“Here,” the Angel says, wings rustling. “I also got this.”

“Thank you,” the Lady of Death says, smoothing back Techno's hair. “Let's see here.” Techno flinches, hard enough that it hurts as something touches his hair. The Lady of Death makes a soft croon, and he expects her grip to turn painful, for scissors to snip and cut and take, but-

But the thing just runs through his hair, catching against the tangles and pulling them out. Oh. Oh.

Techno feels so stupid. A hairbrush. They're just- they're just brushing his hair for him. They weren't going to cut it at all. The Lady of Death is gentle as she untangles his hair, humming softly as she goes. Techno keeps his fingers curled tightly in his lap. There's an ache crawling up his chest and into his throat, resting behind his eyes.

She could've cut it, but she didn't. She could've ripped the brush through his hair roughly, but she didn't. She was gentle instead.

Maybe the gods are good owners, Techno thinks. Of course, they would be. It wouldn't do for their weapon to be unkempt. Polishing it and feeding it and caring for it makes sense. The warm feeling the care gives him is inconsequential.

“There we go,” the Lady of Death says as the brush runs smoothly through his hair. “All sorted.” She sets the brush aside, but her fingers don't leave, moving deftly through his hair instead, folding and weaving. He hears the Angel hand her something, and a moment later, a braid is being placed over his shoulder, a red ribbon tied on the end.

Techno chokes back the thank you that threatens to slip out. He's being so good, and this kindness is his reward. He won't lose that now. Not yet.

“Well,” the Angel says, clearing his throat. “I have some paperwork to attend to.” The Lady of Death hums.

“I think I'll check on the garden.” Her hand settles on Techno's head. “How about you help me?” Techno blinks. He's never gardened. That wasn't in his training! What if he's bad at it and she gets upset? Still, when she stands and moves away, Techno follows.

The sun is bright in the sky, nearly blinding him even with his head lowered. He trails after the Lady of Death, making sure to step where she does as she leads him into the garden. He doesn't want to ruin anything. She kneels and Techno hastily averts his eyes, clumsily following.

“We're just looking for weeds,” she tells him, showing him a little green growth that's working its way out of the dirt. It's kind of nice, Techno thinks, that it's found its way here, found life among so many bigger plants. Life persists, or something like that. “Then we pull them out!” The Lady of Death rips the little plant out of the soil, tossing it carelessly aside. Techno's breath hitches. Oh.

That could be him if he messes up. He can't afford that. Techno stares helplessly at the plants. How does she know which ones are weeds? They all look the same to Techno. What if he pulls up the wrong thing and she gets angry with him?

A crow flutters down into the dirt, peering up at Techno. It cocks its head, staring, hops, then twists to look with the other eye. It croaks. The Lady of Death laughs.

“No, Brian. Phil and I are not on our adoption arc,” she scolds lightly. “This is the weapon.” The reminder is cold, flooding Techno's chest. Right. They're just making use of him until he looks old enough. Then he'll fight and kill and-

The bird croaks.

“Oh, hush,” the Lady of Death says. “You don't know anything. Don't get attached.” She turns away and moves down the row, pulling up more weeds. Techno stares helplessly at the ground. The crow, Brian, hops over to a green shoot and looks at him. It tugs at it, then looks back, then does it again. Oh. It's helping!

Quickly, Techno pulls it up. The bird hops to the next, and Techno follows. They make quick work of the row, Brian helping him and occasionally pecking at his hand when he reaches for the wrong thing. Eventually, Techno starts to understand what to pull on his own, but the crow stays, just moving to his shoulder and watching. His sleeves have slid down, but he doesn't dare fix them. The ends of them are slightly stained with dirt now.

“I think that's enough for today.” Techno barely restrains a flinch. He'd almost forgotten that the goddess was there. He hears her stand and he lurches to his own feet, Brian pecking at his ear in protest. His sleeves flop all the way over his hands and he twists his fingers inside them, nails digging into his palms.

The Lady of Death sighs, stepping over to him. Gently, she folds the fabric back up, pausing as her fingers brush the scars from his manacles. She turns his wrists and Techno's heart stutters. Will they realize that they need to chain him, too? What if they think the scars are ugly and get rid of him? Worse- they're a sign of his past disobedience. Brian makes a soft noise in his ear.

“How barbarian,” the Lady of Death comments, tone bitter. Techno isn't sure if she's talking to him or Brian. Not that either of them will answer. Although, she was speaking to the bird. Maybe Brian does talk? The thought is confusing.

They move back into the house and Brian leaves them at the door, fluttering away to perch on a clothesline. The Lady of Death starts moving around the kitchen and Techno just hovers awkwardly in the corner. Is he supposed to be helping? He doesn't know. He wishes they'd just give him orders.

Feathers ruffle in the hallway and the Angel steps into the room, groaning.

“Are the generals bothering you?” The Lady of Death teases and the Angel sighs, moving over to her. Techno hears them kiss and he flushes, staring at a crack in the wood floor. He knows the tips of his ears are red. Hopefully, they won't see.

“They're all demanding a change- they were so excited for the weapon.” Techno tries not to tense, embarrassment and shame warring in his chest. Right. Him. The big thing that was supposed to turn the war in their favor. “They won't like this.”

“Well, that's too bad,” the Lady of Death says, curt. “We're not sending the weapon in while it looks like a child.”

“I know,” the Angel says. “I just- what are we supposed to do with it when we're fighting?” The kitchen is silent for a moment. Techno turns the question in his head, anxiety working its way up his throat. What is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to go with them? Stay here? What if they send him back to his trainers until they deem him old enough?

“It's very smart,” the Lady of Death suddenly says, sounding uncertain.

“Kristin?” The Angel questions.

“It's... I don't like this, Phil. Something feels off.”

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no,” the Lady of Death interrupts. “It's fine. I'm just not used to magic like this. It's unnerving. It feels so real.”

“Yeah,” the Angel agrees, tone heavy. “I don't know what to make of it either.”

“Let's finish lunch,” the Lady of Death says quietly after a heavy moment of silence, and the two of them start moving again. Techno keeps staring at the floor. They're having doubts about his abilities, he thinks. He has to find a way to prove himself. He can't go back. But how will he prove himself if they don't let him?

“Come eat,” the Angel eventually says, and Techno's legs jerk into action, sitting himself at the table. There's a little cup of soup on his plate, with a grilled cheese that's cut into triangles. The plate matches the cup, with little sunflowers painted on both. It's cute. He likes it.

Techno can't go back to his little dirt cell and his gruel on metal trays.

Lunch is a quiet affair, not that Techno would have contributed to the conversation anyway. He's still glad for the silence- he has a lot to think about. After, the Angel takes him back to his attic, leaving him up there with the hatch closed. Techno sits back in the corner and thinks, running his fingers up and down his braid.

The worst case scenario is being taken back to his trainers. They'd be furious with him, regardless of how good Techno's been. He knows that he'd be punished for failing to please the gods. He shouldn't complain, because the punishments will make him better, but Techno wants to stay here. The gods are, for some reason, far more lenient than his trainers.

The best option would be the gods taking Techno with them. Either to fight or just so they could watch him. Then, he might have an opportunity to prove that he can fight, that he can be the best weapon. That might require some disobedience, but he's sure the chance would present itself.

There is, also, the neutral third option of just being left here to rot in the attic.

Techno isn't sure how he feels about that one. It's not bad, it's not good. It's just somewhere in the middle. What would he do all day here alone? What would his purpose even be? But leaving him to get dull would be silly- the gods won't do that. Or at least, Techno hopes so. The longer he sits here, watching shadows move across the floor, the less certain he is.

The Angel comes to get him for dinner, and Techno obediently follows him to the table. Dinner starts quietly, the gods tense. Techno knows it's over him, but he keeps his head down. He'll be good. He'll accept whatever they decide to do.

“We'll be gone for a week, starting tomorrow,” the Angel says suddenly into the silence. “We'll be leaving tonight. You'll be here by yourself.” Techno stares at his plate, willing his fingers not to freeze. The third option. They're going with the third option. Why are they going with the third option?

“We'll be giving you a chest of golden carrots and water,” the Lady of Death adds. “Also, a clock so you know when to eat.” Techno keeps staring at the table. Why wouldn't he know when to eat? They sound overly worried. Still, Techno listens. He can be good and stay in the attic and eat the right amount of food when told. The Angel sighs, standing and moving away from the table.

“Well, I'll get everything set up,” he says slightly awkwardly before vanishing upstairs. Techno sits quietly at the table and the Lady of Death does the dishes. She doesn't ask him to help.

The Angel brings him back up to the attic after, where a brand new chest is sat against the wall and a clock is ticking merrily above it. The Angel points to the clock, which has dark marks drawn on it in the morning, at noon, and in the evening.

“Eat a few carrots and have a water bottle when the sun is here, here, and here,” the Angel tells him, pointing to each mark. “The chest opens like this.” He demonstrates, and Techno stares. He knows how a chest opens. Still, he supposes that it's nice that the Angel is fretting like this. He's even made his way up into the attic, looking very out of place in the dim space. Techno keeps his eyes on his twitching feathers, the tips dusty, leaving little rivets in the gray dirt on the floor. “We'll leave tonight and be back in a week.” Techno doesn't move. He knows that. Why do they keep telling him? “Okay. Goodnight, mate,” the Angel says softly and slips out of the attic, the hatch clicking shut behind him.

Techno waits, perfectly still as the shadows continue to creep across the floor. Soon enough, he distantly hears the front door shut. He risks peering out the window, the sky streaked with red and orange. The gods take flight, and he tears his eyes away, staring back at the floor. When he doesn't hear their wings, he peeks back out.

The sky is empty.

Techno is alone.

He heaves a breath, letting the tension sink out of his shoulders. It's the first time he's been truly alone since the gods brought him here. Actually, he thinks it's the first time he's ever been alone- the trainers were always breathing down his neck. He'll be completely alone for a week. He doesn't even really have to worry about the rules. It's nice. It kind of makes Techno want to cry.

To avoid thinking about it, he crawls into his little box and curls up, blinking away the haze covering his vision. He's being good. It's okay. Everything is fine.

He wakes to the sun shining directly into his eyes.

Techno scrunches up his nose, burrowing down into the blankets. He can tell that it's later than he usually wakes up, but then, he isn't needed today. There's no one to get up for. Still, he gets out of the box and heads across the attic.

The sun on the clock is almost at the first marker, so he eats a carrot and drinks one of his little glass bottles of water. It's tempting to hide some of them in the attic, but the gods will notice if those go missing. Besides, they'll probably keep feeding him. Hopefully.

Techno hasn't been given any instructions and he fidgets, not used to the feeling of the day stretching out endlessly, left in his hands. What is he supposed to be doing? Should he train? Clean? Sit and wait for the gods to come back?

He only manages about fifteen minutes of staring at the ticking clock before he gives up. Waiting will drive him insane. He looks around. There are an awful lot of boxes up here. They probably won't even notice if he looks through them. They never said he couldn't.

Techno looks through the boxes.

They're mostly full of old clothes, sheets, and blankets. There are a few boxes piled with old broken tools, others packed with crumbling books, covers cracking and dusty. Not all of the books are in a language that Techno recognizes. Still, maybe he can read some of them. Way back in a corner, he also finds an old, rusty lantern. Only the handle is broken, something that Techno can easily fix. Then he won't have to be in the dark up here! Unless, of course, the gods don't want him to have a light. Maybe they haven't given him a lantern for a reason.

Once he's finished looking through all the boxes, Techno curls up under the window with one of the books. It's large and heavy, full of words that he doesn't always know. It's terribly boring. But it breaks the monotony of the attic and he even risks reading it out loud, sounding out the words that he doesn't know. At the very least, the house isn't completely silent anymore.

His voice is cracked and unfamiliar in his ears.

Techno tries not to think about it.

When it gets too dark to see the pages, he carefully sets the book back in its box, closing the lid. Then, he curls up in his box, staring out at the stars. Six more days of this. Six more days of complete silence and an empty house. Six more days of the boring books and the dusty attic and then- and then what?

How many months of this will Techno have to endure?

The thought is too much to dwell on for long. This will end eventually. It has to.

The second day starts similarly to the first. Techno eats his breakfast, fixes the lantern with some string he found, and then reads his book. He's being good. It doesn't matter that he's full of so much energy he's afraid he might explode. He's being good. Techno eats lunch at the correct time, watching the clock tick on endlessly. The house is so terribly silent. It might be less silent, downstairs.

They never said he had to stay in the attic.

Sure, they left him here, but they didn't tell him to stay. He's allowed to act when not in their presence. He wouldn't be breaking any rules or orders, right? Right.

The hatch is easy to open from the inside, held in place with a latch that's easy enough to loosen and push out of place. The stairs fall open and the fresh air is horribly relieving. Techno climbs down into the hall, letting the stairs close behind him.

The house is still silent.

He tries not to focus on it.

Instead, he looks around the hallway, somehow unfamiliar despite the fact he's been here several times now. To be fair, Techno hasn't really seen much of the house. He's mostly just seen the floor. They wouldn't mind him looking around, right? They didn't say he couldn't.

Techno creeps down the hall and eases open a door, peering inside. A bedroom is inside, sparse and mostly decorated in white. A spare? He moves down the hall slowly, peering into each room. There are a few spare bedrooms, the gods' bedroom, which he hastily gets away from, the bathroom, and finally, the Angel's office. Techno doesn't dare step inside, but he stares from the doorway. There are so many books. They line the walls, heavy, shiny leather catching the light.

Techno hasn't been told he can't be in here.

Hesitantly, he steps inside, the thick carpet muffling his footsteps. He creeps over to the shelves, letting his fingers trail across the spines. There are so many to choose from- not that he would. Taking one would be against the rules, wouldn't it? But he hasn't been given any rules. The freedom is terribly overwhelming.

Techno swallows and steps back, forcing himself to leave the room. He'll- he'll think about it. He's not done exploring yet. He'll come back, maybe, when he is. Maybe. Techno forces himself downstairs on unsteady legs, heart hammering.

He's seen quite a bit of the downstairs already, though he discovers an enchanting room, outfitted with brewers on the walls. There's also a storage room in the basement that he rummages around in. There are extra swords in some of the chests. Techno could keep up his training in case the gods decide that they need him on the battlefield after all.

Techno spends the rest of the afternoon looking through chests and drawers, then climbs back up into his attic for dinner. He's only a little late. He's still obeying. Still being good. He goes to sleep, breathing in the dust and the grime and thinking about the rooms downstairs. The emptiness of them all settle heavily in his chest.

The third day, Techno cleans the attic.

He drags his dusty blankets outside and scrubs at the faded fabric until his fingers feel raw. Then, he hangs them on the clothesline to dry and refills his bucket, dragging it carefully upstairs. It takes him hours and several buckets to get the attic clean, the floor and rafters full of more dust than Techno had realized, but he gets it done.

Techno also gets the window open, cleaning the hinges with oil he found in the storage room. Just so it won't stick and creak, so it can open easily and quietly. It's not disobedient. What if there's a fire? Techno's only being safe. Besides, the Angel hadn't wanted to clean the attic, even though he was supposed to. Techno's helping. He's being good.

As the sun starts to set, he brings his dry, soft blankets inside, nose no longer itching when he settles down. He keeps the window open, the attic airy and cool. It's less silent, full of wind and the distant sound of the trees around him. It helps him sleep, imagining that he's not completely alone.

By the fourth day, Techno is sick of golden carrots.

They're perfectly filling, and he's glad that the gods left him any food at all, but even looking at them makes him nauseous. He can hardly take food from the gods- he can't steal. But... they didn't tell him to stay at the house. With that thought in mind, Techno borrows a dagger from the storage room and heads out into the woods.

He wanders north, further into the trees. The forest is sunny and fairly quiet outside of the occasional chirping bird. There are no paths, no neighbors. It's just Techno. Just Techno, all alone in miles and miles of forest. It's terrifying. It makes him want to cry. It doesn't matter.

Techno climbs up into a tree, perched on a low branch and waits. Eventually, something will creep by. Eventually, the wildlife will forget that he's here. Eventually, Techno will finally be able to fight and to kill. The very thing that he was made for. Maybe if he kills enough things, the gods will let him come with them. He can hope.

It doesn't take long before a stray rabbit falls prey to him.

He falls from the branch and onto the animal, stabbing with his dagger as it squeaks, fighting to get away. Techno wraps his hands around its neck and cuts deep, knife feeling odd in his hands. It isn't a clean kill, isn't quick or easy or any of the things that he's been taught. His head is spinning a bit too much for that, he thinks, too desperate to do something. To do anything at all other than wait.

The rabbit has far too many stab wounds to really be good for eating, but Techno starts preparing it anyway. It takes him a while to properly skin the animal, and even longer to build a sufficient fire and gather a few herbs to spice it, but he finally gets it cooking. Techno watches the flames, stomach grumbling and complaining. He wants to tell it to be quiet, but it wouldn't be. His stomach is always disobedient. Isn't it the reason he's out here in the first place?

Techno feels bad for the rabbit, especially when he sees its bloody, mutilated coat still discarded on the ground, but it's far too delicious for him to regret killing it. He sets up a few traps around the woods to catch other rabbits. If the gods keep leaving him, he'll need to be prepared to keep catching meat. He heads home far too late, the moon already rising by the time he gets home. He tells himself that he's not being bad. He still ate today. That's what they wanted, right?

The fifth day is darker, clouds gathering in the sky.

Techno stares up at them anxiously. Will a storm keep the gods away for longer? Techno has enough food to last him if it does, but the thought still makes him nervous. What if he runs out? The thought makes him check his traps first, though he hasn't managed to catch anything yet. Then, Techno explores the woods. He discovers a stream running east of the house. He could set a trap up there, too, catch some fish to eat. He's almost tempted to do it now, but he leaves the thought. If this continues, he'll have more than enough time to do that later.

The deeper into the woods he goes, the more wild it gets. Is there a town anywhere close, or is it truly just Techno and the gods out here? That thought is slightly terrifying. The thought that even if he wanted to leave, he couldn't. Techno tries to push the discomfort aside. He doesn't want to leave. He has a duty to perform and leaving would be bad. It doesn't matter that he's completely alone.

Well, maybe alone, Techno thinks, staring blankly at an old, spiraling tree before him.

There's a little house up in the tree. The wood is old and stained, and the structure is leaning a little. There's no glass in the windows, just a hole in the floor and boards nailed crookedly into the trunk that serves as a ladder. Techno squints up at the house. Why is it out here? Does someone live up there?

“Hello?” Techno calls, voice cracking slightly. No one answers. “Is anyone up there?” Again, there isn't a response. Hesitantly, Techno pulls his dagger out of his belt and starts to climb the ladder. What if someone died in there? Will there be a body? A skeleton, maybe? Techno's heart hammers in his throat, and he peers into the little house.

It's almost disappointing.

The little house is one room, completely empty and very, very dirty. Abandoned, then. Techno sighs as he pulls himself into the house, loosening his grip on the dagger. Of course there's no one else out here. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

The sky rumbles somewhere, far away, and Techno flinches.

The storm is coming. He shouldn't get caught out in it, the gods might get angry if he gets sick. Techno starts back to the house, reaching the garden as the first drops of rain start to fall. He starts running, and he barely makes it inside before the sky shatters apart with a boom and the clouds start pouring.

Techno spends the rest of the day watching water fall quickly down the panes of glass in the kitchen door and hoping none of the bending trees snap and fall on the house. The house is already cold enough- dark and silent, leaving him shivering from where he's curled up on the kitchen floor, staring outside. The rain is very loud in the silence, hammering on the roof of the attic when he finally makes his way upstairs.

It sounds like people running around on the ceiling, knocking on the roof with their fists. Like they're angry and want to get in, want to get to him. Techno curls up in his box and covers his head with his blankets, but it doesn't do much to block out the noise. The rain is still there. The people still want to get him. If they get in, he can't do anything. He'll be all alone.

The sixth day, Techno cleans the little house in the tree.

The rain has stopped, though the clouds are still hanging menacingly above. The forest is muddy, water dripping from the trees, but Techno treks out into the woods clutching his bucket regardless. It's a bit of work, but fortunately, the stream isn't too far from the treehouse. The water is running faster today than it was yesterday, so Techno is careful not to slip down the bank and fall into the water.

It doesn't take him too long to clean the treehouse. It's much smaller than the attic, and he manages to get all the mud, leaves, and sticks scraped out without too much effort. It takes a good hour of scrubbing to get the floor cleaned, but when he sits back, he's pleased with it. The floors are still scratched and stained, but they're clean.

Techno stands and brushes off his pants, glancing down.

He's... covered in mud.

His heart spikes a little. They hadn't said he couldn't go outside. They hadn't said anything about it, but the gods had seemed to want him to stay clean and presentable. More than that, they gave him these clothes, and now they're dirty. Techno's breath hitches, and then he's gathering the bucket and racing through the woods back to the house.

He can fix this. They won't have to know that he got his nice clothes all muddy. He'll fix it. The water he draws in the bathtub is just a little too hot, burning his hands when he plunges them in, but he doesn't care as he scrubs frantically at the fabric. He'll fix it. He'll fix it and then he'll be good.

The panic stays locked in his throat even when his clothes are clean and dry, looking as good as new. He fixed it. It should be better.

It isn't.

The seventh day, Techno stays frozen in his spot in the attic.

The gods are coming back. He's not sure if they're supposed to be back today or tomorrow. Techno shouldn't be worried. He's been good! He's been so good, and he hasn't really broken any rules. Still, the thought of them finding out that he left his attic makes his throat close and his lungs squeeze tightly. What if that was bad? What if that was against the rules? What would they do to him? What if they get rid of him? What if they leave and never come back?

He won't do it again, Techno decides. He'll be so good, just as long as they come back. He won't leave his attic or go hunting or read or talk or anything. He'll just wait for them like a good weapon should. The day passes slowly, every small noise making him twitch and bolt up back into awareness. It starts raining again in the afternoon. It's just as loud as it was before. The people hammering on the roof know that he's been bad. He tries to keep his sobs quiet. A weapon shouldn't cry.

The eighth day, Techno just stares at the clock.

Why aren't the gods home yet? Did the storm really delay them? What if they got hurt? What if they never come home? What would Techno even do? Go back to his trainers? Wait here for the gods forever?

His stomach hurts.

Still, Techno's good. He waits by the hatch, eats breakfast, waits more, and eats lunch. Then, he just waits and waits and waits. His legs want to run around in the forest. His mind keeps jumping to all the books in the Angel's office. But he's good. He waits- still and silent. The sun starts to sink, on his clock and in the window.

Finally, finally, the front door clicks, and voices fill the empty house. Techno could cry. They're home. They came home! Footsteps echo up the stairs and into the hallway. The hatch swings open.

“Mate? You up there?” The Angel calls. “Come on down.” Techno scrambles to his feet and down the steps, keeping his head low. The Angel hums, gesturing at him. “See? It was fine.”

“Oh, good,” the Lady of Death says from the stairwell. “I was worried it would be half-starved.”

“I know,” the Angel admits. “But it's fine. Come on, mate.” He starts down the stairs and Techno follows on stiff legs, still sore from sitting all day. They... don't seem to know what he did while they were gone, Techno realizes. That, or they just don't care. They're gods, Techno reminds himself, of course they know what he did! So they just don't care. Techno really didn't break any rules!

The gods make dinner without mentioning it, and Techno's certainly not about to bring it up and ask. He's not able to. Honestly, he's not even sure that he would if he could tell them. The thought settles somewhat uncomfortably in his chest. Is that disobedient? He's not sure.

Techno focuses on eating dinner instead of thinking about it. The food is a thousand times better than anything he ate that week. Maybe the gods will teach him how to cook? The thought is silly- what use would a weapon have with cooking? Still, he entertains the idea. It would be nice, he thinks. He could help them instead of just sitting uselessly at the table.

“Sorry we got back so late, mate,” the Angel says. “There were some strong winds over the forest. It rained while we were gone, didn't it?” Techno doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge the question. The Angel wasn't really asking, anyway. It was just a comment.

It did, Techno still silently answers as the Angel moves on, focusing on the Lady of Death instead. It rained a lot and it was loud and I was scared. They wouldn't care about that, of course. A weapon shouldn't be scared of something as trivial as rain.

Techno still pretends that they would care.

It's easy when the house is warm for the first time in days and it isn't silent anymore. When it starts raining again and the gods don't make him go up to the attic. They just take his plate and let him sit with them in the warm, bright kitchen and listen. The Angel gives him a new plate with a slice of cake on it, ruffling his hair.

“You were very good while we were gone, mate,” the Angel says cheerfully, and Techno's heart stutters. So they must know! They know what he was up to and they're fine with it. He was good. Techno was good. He digs into the cake happily, cheerfully listening to the rain and the chatter of the gods. He was good.

When he's done, the Angel brings him back to the attic. The space still makes his heart jump a little, but even when the hatch closes and Techno's alone again, stuck, his chest is warm. He'll be so good, so perfect so that they keep coming back. So that one day he can go with them. So that he never, ever has to go back to his trainers. It doesn't matter if he's alone. They'll come back as long as he's good.

Techno curls up in his clean blankets and stares out the dark window, listening to the rain pounding on the roof. It isn't scary anymore. Now when he can hear the gods talking in the kitchen, laughter drifting up the stairs.

Tomorrow, he'll be still and silent. Tomorrow, he'll be obedient. Tomorrow, he'll serve his purpose dutifully and do whatever he needs to do to please the gods. Because today, Techno thinks, curling up further and stifling a yawn, was one of the best evenings that he can remember.

He'll do whatever he needs to do to keep it that way.