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Eyes down. Hands clasped. Back straight. Slight smile. Wilbur inhales deeply. Today marks the annual celebration of the gods. His father, the king, stands before the podium, his voice booming through the microphone.
“I’d like to give my utmost gratitude and honor to the Angel of Death, for he has blessed this kingdom with prosperity and safety for as long as I’ve been king.”
The citizens stand in rows, uniformed. Before entering the palace the guards stripped them of any personal belongings besides clothing. In the presence of such powerful figures, there can be no imperfections or threats.
“Any words you would like to share, Prince Wilbur?” his father asks.
“Yes, thank you Father,” he carefully takes the microphone and plasters a smile on his face. “As you all know, today is the celebration of the gods. That’s the reason we’re all here,” he gives a small chuckle, and his father gives him a disapproving glance. His attempt at humor falls flat even to the audience. Wilbur presses his wings flatter before speaking again. “As my father has said, we thank the Angel of Death for his protection over this land.”
Wilbur steps away from the microphone, instinctively clasping his hands behind his back once more. His father steps back onto the podium.
“Thank you, Prince Wilbur,” the king says formally, “And now, I would like to announce that this year we have received a wonderful visit from the King of Theco.” He passes the microphone to another man who stands beside him.
The crowd claps in unison making it sound like a thousand soldiers marching throughout the room. The new speaker opens his mouth to talk, but suddenly the back doors fling open, and a man storms inside. He wears a black tunic lined with gold which adorns an ensemble of golden jewelry dangling off him. A sword hangs off his belt, the man’s hand dangerously close to the handle. A strikingly recognizable emerald earring hangs in contrast to the rest of the outfit.
The Blood God .
“Pirate!” someone shouts. Panic spreads throughout the room and everyone rushes towards the door.
Wilbur’s wings itch with the urge to fly away, but he can’t. His feet are glued to the floor as he watches the scene play out before him. Shouts and screams echo off the stained-glass windows creating a cacophony of terror that grinds against Wilbur’s ears. The glint of a blade catches his eye. Skillfully the pirate maneuvers the crowd countering any stray attacks. It’s enchanting the way the pirate fights. The man must’ve gone through this song and dance far too many times to count, and every movement holds precision and skill.
Wilbur watches on in awe. That is until he sees him coming his way. Alarm bells ring in Wilbur’s head telling him to run . When The Blood God gets closer Wilbur realizes it’s not him the pirate’s going after, it’s his father. Before he even has a chance to breathe the pirate stands over his father, sword pressed against his throat. The visiting king had long since run, as had the crowd. It was only him, his father, and the pirate. Not even the guards stuck around. So much for doing their job.
“W-wait!” he calls, but it’s too late. With a single slice, the king falls to the ground dead. A gruesome gurgling noise echoes in the large, empty room as his father chokes on his own blood. His lips move as though he’s trying to say something, but it only results in the wound on his neck flowing out a never ending stream of red as the light fades from his eyes. The cut itself looks nasty, gaping as it gushes out the thick substance. It stains the polished marble floors below him. Wilbur feels sick to his stomach.
The pirate turns to face him, and Wilbur’s blood runs cold. However, the pirate does not move. Instead, he stares at Wilbur with his cold, hard eyes. His gleaming sword shines red with the fresh fluid, but it doesn’t move in his direction. The pirate’s lips part as though to speak, but a sharp shout cuts him off.
“There he is!” a group of guards begin flooding into the room. Hands firmly grab Wilbur and begin pulling him away.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you hurt?”
“What happened to the king?”
“Did the pirate hurt you?”
Hundreds of questions get thrown in his direction making his head spin.
“I-I’m fine,” he manages to choke out. His ears ring and everything around him sounds muffled. He lets out a shuddering sigh, brain still not processing the last few moments.
“My father is dead,” he mumbles to himself. He breathes out a mix between a laugh and a sob. “My father is dead .”
oOooOo
Oh how the crown has fallen. Who will be the one to pick it up? Will the kingdom crumble alongside it?
oOooOo
The announcement of the king’s death comes just hours after the horrific tragedy. To say the kingdom fell in shambles would be an understatement. When the one they usually look to for guidance is gone, they follow the next best person. Unfortunately, this person happens to be Wilbur. Ever since his father’s death he’s been questioned nonstop. Every corner he turned, there was a reporter. Every room he entered, there was a journalist. Every window he looked out, there was a crowd of people. Gods, he wishes he wasn’t the prince, if only just for a little while. Maybe then he’d have the time to properly grieve . Alas, when you’re royalty you don’t get that luxury.
His fathe- his council has advised him to get a regent for the time being, and given it makes sense and would give him a break, he agreed. The regent is a tall, yet broad man named Schlatt . After meeting him, Wilbur’s not quite sure if he’s a good fit for ruler, but that decision lies beyond his control at this point. By agreeing to accept a regent, he’s agreed to let go of any power he holds until his eighteenth birthday. Wilbur can only pray Schlatt will be a fair ruler.
oOooOo
That does not seem to be the case. In Schlatt’s first speech as king he orders for all the docks to be closed off and for an eight o’clock curfew to be implemented. The docks used to be open for the fishermen and for trade deals, but the regent sees no need for them. Land-dwellers will stay land-dwellers. The sea is for pirates, and pirates create havoc and destruction. In the sea, there’s no rules, no guidelines, no structure . And having no structure can be a very dangerous thing.
Another rule has been put in place for any avians to be reported to the guards immediately so they can be contained and punished. It’s been so long since Wilbur’s let his wings properly unfold. They’ve begun to ache and cramp horribly from such an unhealthy position, but he cannot dare to stretch them. Everywhere he looks there’s watchful eyes, and as far as he’s aware, there’s nobody he can trust. At least with his father he had someone who could help him, even if a look of disgust covered his face at the mere sight of Wilbur. With this regent, Wilbur fears his future as a prince may be flickering away from him.
oOooOo
Over the course of the next few weeks, Schlatt's been working him incessantly. Every day he seems to have a never ending pile of errands. He begins to get dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep. As the days pass his wings become excruciatingly sore. Really, it was only a matter of time before he messed up. A deep secret and sleep deprivation are naturally a recipe for disaster.
Wilbur peels his shirt from his skin. He wrinkles his nose in disgust from the sweat sticking to him. Hesitantly he extends his wings, resulting in a sharp cry being pulled out of him as the movement. They’ve been folded for far too long.
Preen them , his instincts chirp. The idea tugs at his mind. It would be good to finally clean them up a bit, but are the risks worth it?
“Prince Wilbur, what is this?”
Wilbur freezes. He swears lightly and turns to see a guard standing in the hallway. He forgot to close the door. He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Any words he wants to say get stuck in his throat. The guard quickly gets over his shock and seizes Wilbur’s arms. The prince resigns, knowing there’s nothing he can do to get out of this. He messed up, and now he had to face the consequences. He had no power in this situation, which was stripped as soon as Schlatt became king.
“Wilbur,” Schlatt sneers when the guards drag him into his office. The boy in question keeps his gaze down. His heart thumps loudly, fear shooting through him like a jolt of electricity.
The guards keep a firm grip on his arms, their gloved hands digging into his bare flesh. His mangled dirty wings hang out in the open for all to see.
“Our very own prince, a disgusting avian ,” he spits the word like a curse. “Who would’ve thought?”
Wilbur bites his cheek to keep from saying something back. He’s not in the position to fight back right now.
“You know, avian feathers sell quite nice,” Schlatt ponders on the thought. Terror seeps into Wilbur’s blood at that. “Guards, take him to the dungeons. Make sure he’s chained as well.”
Metal shackles dig on his wrists as he’s dragged down the hall. It’s humiliating for him to pass everyone who used to take orders from him . Now he’s being pulled to the dungeons like he’s nothing but the scum of the Earth.
He doesn’t feel when they chain his arms above his head. He doesn’t feel when they take the locket around his neck, the only item he has left of his father. He doesn’t feel when they slam the cell closed leaving him in deafening silence. He can’t feel.
oOooOo
The sound of leather boots thumping against the floor makes Wilbur snap his head up. His wrists still sit chained above his head giving his little to no way to sit himself up comfortably without more agonizing pain in his arm.
The boots stop in front of the cell. A short boy with brown fluff hair surveys Wilbur’s situation.
The boy swears under his breath, “Uhm, I’m Tubbo and-”
“Are you here to take my feathers?” Wilbur asks bluntly. “Maybe my wings? I’m sure a pair of avian wings would sell on the market,” he laughs dryly.
Tubbo winces at that and starts shaking his head no frantically. “No! I would never do that. I’m, uh, here to help you.”
Wilbur raises an eyebrow in confusion and disbelief, “Right… and who exactly sent you?”
“The Angel.”
He lets out a laugh, “Alright kid, you don’t have to be lying.”
“I’m not.”
How delusional is this kid?
“The Angel is a god, why would he ever know you personally? And why would he ever send you here? I mean his kingdom is safe.”
Tubbo sighs heavily, as though he’s been expecting this. “Look, I can explain lat-”
More footsteps enter the room. Wilbur hitches his breath, and Tubbo swears quietly. In a mere second Tubbo disappears like a shadow. Wilbur barely has any time to proceed the last few minutes before his cell slams open and a guard shoves him onto his stomach. He grunts, not appreciating the violence.
“Give me the clippers,” the one pushing him down says to another.
Clippers? Oh that’s not-
“Don’t scream too loudly,” the guard smirks. That’s the only warning he gets before an agonizing pain fills his back. Squeezing his eyes shut, Wilbur tries to focus on anything but the clips of his wings. He can feel warm blood seeping down, soaking into his torn clothing. Clip. Clip. Clip. It feels like it goes on for hours, yet the guard doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. Eventually it becomes too unbearable and he passes out.
When Wilbur wakes up, he’s laying in a mess of blood and feathers, and his body is excruciatingly sore. The weight on his back feels unnaturally lighter, and he’s glad there’s nothing reflective in the room. He’s not sure he could stomach the sight of his now-ruined wings.
“I see the little pigeon has awoken,” Schlatt’s voice calls.
Wilbur bristles at that. He’s a nighthawk, not a pigeon.
“You know,” Schlatt continues, “I was going to take your wings in full, maybe hang them up on the wall. However they’re just so terrible looking I don’t think anyone would want them, the individual feathers gathered will sell nicely though.”
He doesn’t know why the regent is telling him this, and quite frankly he doesn’t care. “Get to the point, Schlatt.”
Schlatt huffs, “If you’re going to be like that, fine. Because there is no use for an avian like you in this kingdom, I hereby declare you exiled. The title of “Prince” shall be revoked, and if you even so as to breathe next to this land, well it won’t just be a few feathers I’ll take.”
And just like that, Wilbur’s world comes crashing down before him. His whole life here, his father’s life here, all for nothing. Their legacy, gone . Their influence, gone . Their power, gone .
As soon as Schlatt releases him from the confines of the cell, he runs. As much as he wants to, he doesn’t look back.
oOooOo
“Wilbur!” a familiar voice calls out. He looks up to see Tubbo and a few others sprinting at him, only he looks different. The casual clothing he wore last time are replaced with an outfit that looks like-
Wilbur freezes. That’s not Tubbo, that’s The Stinger. Third most infamous pirate of all time, along with The Crowfather, The Blood God, and Theseus. And it just so happens, all four of them stand within his vicinity running at him.
His wings instinctively try to flap in an attempt to escape, but even that small motion causes him immense pain.
“Are you alright?” Tubbo asks, concern lacing his voice.
Wilbur sputters, “Y-you’re-”
Tubbo shushes him, “I know, I was going to tell you but then I had to leave and-”
The Crowfather cuts him off, extending a hand to Wilbur.
“Excuse me for such terrible circumstances, but I’m The Crowfather, though I’m sure you knew that. I’m also The Angel.”
Wilbur’s heart stops.
“That’s- you can’t possibly be,” he says in disbelief. A sudden realization hits him. “W-wait! Please don’t send me back, I can’t go back, I can’t I-”
The Angel hushes him, “Don’t worry, you’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you.” His face crinkles as though the thought of doing such a thing hurt him . “I’m not going to hurt my own son,” he whispers.
Wilbur whips his head up, “What?”
The Blood God laughs from behind The Angel, “Great going, Phil. Now he’s going to be confused.”
The Angel huffs. “I’m sorry for springing such… news to you. I found you when you were a child, but then your… father,” he says the word with disgust, “took you from me. I’ve wanted to return you home ever since you were taken, but alas the policy for any avians or pirates to be killed immediately was put in place.”
“I-” Wilbur doesn’t even know what to say.
They make eye contact, the pirate’s light blue eyes looking at him with a softness Wilbur’s not used to seeing in a criminal. “Please, let me bring you home.”
The waves crash against his ankles, the undertow tugging at him to join the depths, join them . And well, it is tempting. There’s no doubt Schlatt will have him hanged if he sticks around any longer.
The Angel extends his hand.
Wilbur takes it.
oOooOo
His first day on the ship goes well. He gets to know the crew, and surprisingly he fits in with them. At night The Angel helps him preen and clean up his wings, and his instincts chirp with delight.
“Call me Phil,” the pirate had said, carding a hand through his monochrome feathers.
By the time the preening was done, the usually uncomfortable weight on his back felt lighter. Phil helped him apply healing cream for the clips parts, so they’ve been growing back nicely. The wings he’d been born with no longer felt like a burden, and for the first time in years, he smiled.
Now he’s strumming a guitar The Blood God gifted him on the deck and holding small talk with the crew. The Blood God also told him to call him by his first name, Techno, but he didn’t feel too comfortable with that yet. They’re still pirates.
The group fell into a routine of sorts. Theseus would go wake everyone up while The Angel prepared breakfast. Wilbur would go help him with the cooking, and then the rest of the day they’d play games and hangout til the sun set.
“Ha! Checkmate!” Wilbur declares, intensely watching to see what The Angel’s next move will be.
The pirate carefully moves his rook a few spaces, taking his hand off. He quickly realizes his mistake as Wilbur’s grin grows wider.
“Ah, you got me,” The Angel chuckles, resigning.
“I’m simply too good for your old man brain, Phil,” Wilbur sasses.
Phil smiles widely when he realizes he used his actual name. Wilbur doesn’t seem to notice, but Phil feels elated nonetheless.
Wilbur’s wings extend from his back, the ocean breeze flowing through the feathers like a breath of fresh air. Ever since he’s joined the ship there’s been a constant smile on his face. He may not be on land, but he’s never felt more grounded . The soothing lull of the waves rocking the ship and the salty air provide a constant reminder that he’s here, he’s alive. He realizes that for the first time in his life, he feels free .
oOooOo
Happiness does not last forever, nor can it last forever. When you’ve reached the top, there’s nowhere else to go but to fall.
oOooOo
People start whispering rumors of a new pirate joining the Syndicate. Siren is what they call him. Beautiful monochrome wings accompany him, reminiscent of The Crowfather’s. It’s only a matter of time before Schlatt hears of this. The rumors sound far too similar for them to not be Wilbur, and so the army gets sent out to catch him.
The Syndicate hears of such a search, and they swear they’ll never let him be taken again. However, the crew ends up making one crucial mistake. When they stop for a supply restock, they choose the wrong port. Upon sight of the ship, soldiers are quick to isolate the former prince, quick to capture him.
Wilbur panics when rough hands grip his arms. They hold him in a position that’s far too familiar. A blindfold slips over his eyes as the soldiers march him back to the kingdom he’d been exiled from. As he gets farther and farther away from the people he began to see as family, so does the chance of his freedom. There’s no doubt in his mind Phil and Techno will tear apart the world to find him, but the question of will they be fast enough? lingers in his mind.
When they finally stop, the blindfold lifts from his view allowing him to finally see his surroundings. The light burns his eyes for a second, and the voice that greets him isn’t surprising.
“Hanging out with pirates? I should’ve expected that from you,” Schlatt says. The man stands with a condescending smirk on his face.
“Let me go,” Wilbur firmly demands. His throat feels parched from not being given water.
Schlatt tsks and shakes his head no, “The people are curious as to what happened to their precious Prince. They need to see who you really are.”
The regent trails his fingers along Wilbur’s neck, and the boy flinches back. A camera is shoved in his face, broadcasting the ordeal to the rest of the kingdom. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s pulled onto a platform. His knees dig into the rough wood. Schlatt stands in front of him, holding a sword.
“Perhaps you should suffer the same fate as your father, it would be only fitting.”
Wilbur gulps, knowing there’s no possible way this could end well for him. He can see his reflection in the flat end of the blade. The ties around his wrists mock him, reminding him of the freedom he’s lost. Maybe his fate’s been sealed from the beginning. For lying to the kingdom about being an avian, for not intervening during the king’s murder, for leaving his kingdom with such a horrible regent, this was inevitable. He closes his eyes, accepting what his past actions have come to.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispers to himself. He imagines Phil’s screams of agony when his corpse is found, dead at the hands of the man who exiled him.
He takes a deep breath, soaking in the feeling of life for just one more moment. When the pain blossoms, he exhales.
oOooOo
If you live through the victories of a hero, you have to live through the tragedies as well.
oOooOo
They say there was a god known for his brutality, leaving death in his wake. They say he found a child abandoned at sea, so he took it upon himself to raise him. They say the revengeful ruler of the god’s kingdom took this child, leaving the god to grieve. The god could not go after his son. His life belonged to the sea, and stepping upon land would curse him to be bound there forever. They say he reunited with the child, only for him to be taken away again and this time killed. The civilians took to anger when that happened, resulting in the death of the ruler which provided the god with a little bit of solace. They say a new child was seen with the god. He had the same smile, the same laugh, the same brown curls as the old one had. If anything he was an exact replica. Some say the first boy had a twin. Others say the god’s wife, the Goddess of Death, granted him a new life. A life where he was finally allowed to live. Him and the god were said to have been seen flying in the summer skies as the salty air breezed through their feathers. They say the sea parted for them, and the sun would glow brighter in their wake. If you asked for a description of the boy, you would be told he flew alive and free.