Volume I: Forged

Chapter 30: Evil Like No Other

Ranboo kept his mask tight to his face, glasses firmly over his eyes. He hated being in crowds, he hated being around strangers. Too many eyes, staring at him, tearing him apart, judging him without ever speaking a word to him.

A light chirping in his ear kept him focused, kept him from checking out.

Tubbo had, so far, been the only one of the Minecraft avians to be able to access his Full form—after long months of practice and encouragement from his siblings. The little brown songbird perched on Ranboo's shoulder, little feet gripped tightly to the special ridge on Ranboo's cloak made just for him.

Ranboo forced himself to keep moving. Tommy was a solid presence at his left—Ranboo could feel his magic through their bond—bright and fiery, but scared.

They were all scared.

...

"We can't find them." The words were bitter on Techno's tongue.

"We checked town, the woods, the river—" Wilbur dragged a hand over his face.

"I can't feel their magic," Eret sighed roughly, and Charlie nodded morosely.

Phil exchanged a worried glance with his wife.

Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo had upped and disappeared in the dead of night, taking enough supplies with them to last them a month on the road. They had even taken weaponry and potions—enough to go to war.

And Phil and Kristen couldn't find them.

The boys had even somehow, somehow, managed to shield themselves from their parents' magic—it was if they had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Phil's wings rustled with nervousness. He couldn't sense his children—he couldn't feel Ranboo's dark void, Tommy's sun, and Tubbo's force.

He didn't know where they were.

Why would they run? What did I do wrong?

"Dad?"

He looked up Puffy. She was twisting her fingers, popping the knuckles and picking at a hangnail. "What'd do we do?"

Phil didn't know.

The kids had run—he didn't know why. If he chased after them, and they didn't want to be home, if they didn't feel safe anymore—

He sighed, deeply from the bottom of his soul. "Suit up. Find them." He paused, making sure his kids were paying attention with how serious he was. "Don't attempt to drag them home—you may have to let them go."

"What did we do?" Wilbur asked, voice so very small. The three boys had looked to him the most—he had been a second dad.

"I don't know," Phil said gravely. "But it may be time for them to go. They're old enough—responsible and mature. If they want to go—let them go."

...

"Sure we're going the right way?" Ranboo asked, looking over Tommy's shoulder to look at the map. Tommy's face was all screwed up as he looked at the road sign, then the map, back and forth, repeatedly. His muddy-brown curls, crudely dyed with ink they had stolen from Techno's stash, hung down over his eyes.

Tubbo tweeted, perched on the rim of the map, and pecked his beak on a small dot, poking holes in the paper.

Ranboo leaned forward. "Tristitia?"

Tommy's face was carefully blank. "Yeah, Tubbo, I know. Just trying to figure out how to get to there from here."

"We're here—" Ranboo pointed with one spindly finger, "which means we need to go through here," he dragged his fingernail about an inch down, "we've got at least a day's journey."