One Year Later

The Warrior sat beside the campfire. He could not feel the warmth coming off the flames, for the Void was a vacuum, where time stood still, but the fire comforted him nonetheless. It was silent, and unmoving, but it reminded him of a simpler time. A time long gone, back when it was just him and his blade, and his name being whispered amongst civilians. Back before he met...

No, he will not think of them. He will not think about the Angel of Death—his first—and seemingly only—friend, who fought alongside him until he had hung up his sword for a short while. He will not think of the three Children—who weren't children anymore—that changed him in more ways than he thought they would. He will not think of the Mad Musician, who he once considered a brother a lifetime ago.

No, he will not think of them.

It was quiet here. He wasn't used to the quiet, as strange as it may be. During his adventuring years, the forest was always bustling with life, regardless of the time of day. From the birds in the trees to the crickets hiding amongst the grass, there was always noise.

Not here though.

He didn't even have the Voices humming in his head. He missed them the most, he realized. The Voices had been there since he was a child, usually craving blood, but there were times where they made for good conversation. He had even named a few of the more distinct ones. He wondered what happened to the Voices, now that he's no longer around. Did they die when he did? Or were they like a parasite, and latched onto a new host?

There was no real way of telling, really. Both of those options were likely.

He missed the familiar weight of the crown that used to lay atop his head. It didn't come with him into the afterlife, which was to be expected. In fact, the only things that came with him were his shirt, pants, and boots. He wasn't surprised that he came here with nothing but the clothes on his back—he did enter the world with nothing, after all—but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't miss the warmth from his cape, or the familiar weight on his hip.

"This is your home now," Death had said when he first awoke here, "feel free to make it feel like such."

What she had meant was that the Void would shift. It'd look more like the Commune, if he let it. But he refused to let it shift into the last home he had known. He made it appear like a forest in the dead of night, and he was fine with that. Because if it looked like the Commune, he'd start to miss it. He'd start to miss the people that lived amongst them.

He was taught not to feel anything—not to express any emotion. Because emotions were a sign of weakness—a sign that shows that you weren't an invincible killing machine. That you were human. And even though he knew, deep down, that he was safe, he still wouldn't let himself feel that way. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

"He scares me, Wil," a blond child had said once, when he thought the Warrior was asleep. A foolish mistake, really. The Warrior never slept. "What if...what if he betrays us? Like Tubbo did?"

"Don't worry, Tommy." The Mad Musician had told the child—Gods, the kid couldn't have been much older than twelve. "I know him, he's basically like an older brother to me. He may seem like a hard-ass at first, but he'll warm up to you, trust me."

"And if he doesn't?" Asked the child.

"He will." The Mad Musician reaffirmed.

"Stop it." The Warrior grumbled to himself. "Quit thinkin' of them."

"Why?" Death asked. She was standing behind him, he knew that. He didn't have to look at her in order to feel her presence. "Why won't you let yourself miss them?"

"I can't." The Warrior mumbled. "It shows my weakness. I can't show any weakness."

"But you can." Death said as she stood in front of him. He was looking towards the ground, so all he could see was the bottom of her dress. "You're not in danger here, Techno. The war is over. You can rest. There's nothing lurking in the shadows."

"But..."

"Techno," Death said, kneeling in front of the Warrior. She gently held his chin, and made him look at her. Her ancient brown eyes gazed into his weary ones, and suddenly, he felt like a child. All he wanted to do was crawl into her lap, and be wrapped up in her arms. "It's okay."

And there, he broke. He sobbed into her shoulder, and let himself be held. When was the last time he had been held like this? He couldn't remember.

"We're like brothers, right, Techno?" Tommy asked him once. A lifetime ago, it seemed. Techno didn't say anything—what could he say?

No, now he knows what he should've said.

"Yeah, we are."

"Hey, Kristin?" Techno mumbled against her—now wet—shoulder after several minutes of crying.

"Yeah, Techno?"

"Do they miss me?"

Kristin smiled against his hair. "Of course they do."

Techno nodded. "Okay..."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"What do you mean by okay?"

Techno was silent for a few moments. "I'm just glad that they're not...rejoicing over my death."

Kristin pulled back, frowning at him. "Of course they're not! You might've not always seen eye-to-eye with them, but...but they never hated you. They never wished death upon you. How...how could you even think that!?"

Techno was silent once more. Then, he smiled softly. "I think I'm ready to rest."

"Are you sure?" Kristin asked.

Techno nodded. "Yeah...I've had a good run."

"Do you...want to see them one last time?" She asked.

Techno thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head. "Nah. They've probably moved onto better things anyway."

Kristin smiled softly. "Okay."

~<•>~

Phil stood above his friend's grave. Something inside of him just knew that Techno had finally moved on, just like the rest of them.

His blade looked duller, his crown looked aged, his cape looked darker, and the friendship emerald that hung off the hilt no longer shimmered the way it did before.

Phil was, once again, alone.

And this time, he was okay with that.

~<•>~

1087 words

And this is my final goodbye to the DSMP. And a final goodbye to Technoblade.

This oneshot took me a while to write—mostly bc of school—but yeah.

Happy belated birthday, Techno. I hope you're happy, wherever you are.