Things That Need To Pass (passerine!Technoblade x OC) {COMPLETED}

A Fresh Start

(3rd person POV)

The shift was felt by every soul.

It was felt by every rock and every blade of grass, every flowing river and every tree looking over a lonely house at the end of a long road, its chimney overgrown with ivy. It was felt by every beast in the forest and every fish in the sea and every bird now grieving a fellow wanderer of the skies.

It was felt by those awake and those hunting and those deep in hibernation and those spinning their webs from branch to branch, creating connections where once there was only open air. It was felt by the deer caught between the wolf's jaw, its final moments extended into eternity as the entire world-the entire universe-held its breath.

It was felt by every warrior in combat, every monarch on their gilded thrones, every smith with their cheeks warm from the fire of their forges, every child stumbling through their mother's gardens, every painter seated at their easel, every sailor at sea, every traveler on their way home.

It was felt by an old neighbor looking after the shop of the kind girl who always had been so kind to him. A sign stood at the door. Closed indefinitely, it said, but the neighbor knew it would be closed forever. And still he'd come, day after day.

His wife was gone and so was the kind girl. But the flowers, oh, they still needed watering.

It was felt by a god in a valley. Beside him was a freshly-dug grave with only a sword of pure obsidian to mark its place among the dead. The god had always known that he would one day stand alone; once there were three, and now there was one.

He'd lost one of them to love and the other to fear, and some days, he wondered if there was any difference. When pain always came in the wake of love, when every devotion led to a burial ground, when every dream was a nightmare sleeping, would it be worth loving at all?

Yes, said the dirt underneath his fingernails, testimony to his lonely gravedigging. Yes, said the wind coming in from the north. Yes, said first drop of rain striking his cheek, like a cold reminder to seek shelter, like a gentle kiss from two lost friends. Yes, it would.

It was felt by a soldier knocking on the door of a home he could no longer recognize. When his sister opened the door, he swore she didn't recognize him, either. But then she threw her arms around him, sobbing into his dirty shirt, and they fell onto the wooden floors that carried the weight of their shared childhoods in its scratches and dents.

He held her and cried and was known.

It was felt by a young king standing on a belltower at the heart of a city of snow and ashes. A green stone gleamed at his throat, heavy with a history he would someday be told when its last storyteller was ready.

It was felt by the storyteller.

The wheel was broken at their feet.

They were free. They were free. They were free.

Wilbur leaned his weary head against Techno's shoulder.

"Let's go home," he whispered.

Techno nodded. "Home," he repeated, as if the word as a new discovery.

And as he watched, an aurora blazed to life above them, a symphony of reds and golds and greens twisting through the heavens, an impossibility of color, nothing short of divine magic.

The sky was singing.

Techno turned to the king, but his face was upturned and aglow. A child, truly, captivated by the pretty lights, the heaviness of his own heart momentarily forgotten as he looked up at the brilliance of their world. The world his father had saved.