passerine

vii. the echoing hymn of my fellow passerine (they took to it)

The arrow whistled through the air, steady and sure—just like Techno taught him.

Techno rolled into the snow at the last moment, shaking himself out of his frozen shock before the arrow could punch through his heart. It thudded into the ground somewhere behind him, but Wilbur was already nocking another, aiming before Techno could get to his feet.

"Wilbur!" Techno called out, reaching for him, but there was nothing behind Wilbur's brown eyes, no clarity or kindness.

Wilbur shot again, and this time it found its mark in Techno's shoulder. And it hurt. It hurt.

Biting back a scream, Techno pulled the arrow free and flipped onto his feet, his shoulder a bloody mess. He stared across the way at his student, his king, his brother, who was climbing over the window, his expression remaining blank and painless even as the broken glass cut his palms open.

Techno could hear the Green God laughing somewhere behind him, but he kept his eyes on Wilbur as he slung his bow over his shoulder and unsheathed his rapier instead—a mindless marionette. All the strings lead back to me, Dream had said. That was how he'd led the cityfolk outside to their deaths with everything else untouched. With a bitter taste in his mouth, Techno wondered how many of the Green Army, too, had been under the Green God's influence, acting on his orders without any choice? His mind raced as he scoured his memories for any blank faces on the battlefield that day at the Blue Valley, any movements that were too unnatural, too controlled. How many innocents had been thrown in his path, and how many had he killed without even knowing it?

And now Wilbur was stalking towards him, graceful in his hunt. Another casualty. Another brother whose blood will be on Technoblade's hands. He'd killed his family once before, the Green God had said. And now he was fated to kill another.

Fate. Such a small word for such a big thing.

There was only one way for this to end.

With trembling hands, Techno raised his trident, and was ready.

----------------------

Philza turned at the sound of the Green God's laughter. He still had the bastard trapped under the tip of his sword, but they both knew who had truly won.

Dream grinned triumphantly up at him, flashing bloody palms in some sort of placating gesture. As if anything can save him from Philza's wrath now.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Philza demanded, digging the heel of his boot into the Green God's ribs. "What have you done to my son?"

"He's sleepwalking," the Green God said. "Or dreaming. Or acting. Choose whichever explanation hurts least for you. Or whichever will excuse him from the mistakes he is about to commit."

"You've done this before." Philza pressed harder. He would crush him like a twig beneath his foot. He would kick him open like the godsdamned insect he was. "You've—You've controlled him before."

"A few times, here and there." Dream shrugged nonchalantly. "But I avoid it as much as I can. It's not very fun inside your son's head, you know. There's a lot of heaviness here." He considered Philza with a small smile. "Most of it concerns you, though I suppose you already know that."

"I could kill you," Philza drawled, a strange calm settling into him. All his anger and grief had fled to a universe far from where he was, leaving nothing in their wake. Philza was the void between stars and the pitch black of the earth's final night. He was the silence after curtain call and the stillness of a home abandoned. The day I lost my sons would be the day I destroyed the world, he'd promised Techno.