Chapter Text
Hardcore wasn’t a normal kingdom and Tommy despised it . Every inch that displayed their wealth, every square of land, that didn’t need locks and protections because no one apparently even stole here, he just hated it.
When the soldiers led him and the Minotaur out of the Labyrinth, he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. It felt like a cruel joke of the gods. The beast, the horrifying monster, was being let out. All of the death meant nothing, the fact that he- he ate people, meant nothing.
Tommy ran. He failed to kill the Minotaur, yes, but he has not lost his life. And he learned such important, crucial information, that even with no blood on his hands, he would still be welcomed back home. Dream wouldn’t think him a waste of effort spent.
But when he got to the docks, when he nearly reached the nearest ship, his back seized in pain. His own limbs betrayed him, forcing him to stay on land. The magic pulsed and sneered down at him, mocking his attempt. And then the people were circling him, like harpies waiting to see the wounded animal finally die.
Tommy didn’t give them that pleasure. Before they could call guards, or worse, Wilbur on him, he bolted and hid.
He spent a whole day running and hiding, in fact. Whatever Wilbur did, it blocked any attempts Tommy made of getting onto a boat. And since he couldn’t fucking fly , he had no way of reaching home.
And then the Princes came. Two bastards. Wilbur and Technoblade.
Tommy’s heart throbbed and he scowled even more. They were brothers, cursed brothers, who came out of the same womb. Apparently, Wilbur could look a whole lot more human, when he wanted and Technoblade could follow the scent like a war hound.
They were both the monster. Just split.
Old bastards, cursed offspring, left on the mortal plane as an ugly smear on humanities collective honor. They should be dead for centuries, not masquerading as people!
His heart throbbed again.
So Tommy ran and hid from them. Soldiers, for some reason, never pursued him. Some even threw food at him and he knew it was probably shameful but he snatched it. It was unbecoming of a prince of Esempi but Tommy didn’t feel like Theseus lately. He was again the lonely, starving, too angry, spiteful kid that Dream plucked from certain doom. And that stupid kid would never pass on free food.
And then Tommy found a good sword and running and hiding became even easier.
The blond crawled inside some shed once the night fell. He sniffled quietly and tried to think up any kind of plan for the next day.
He had a sword. He… couldn’t escape.
Maybe the bastards let Tommy out of the Labyrinth, but the boy was just as trapped on the island as he was under it.
Tommy ripped a piece of the bread the soldiers threw at him and put it down on the makeshift altar towards the gods. He clasped his hands and breathed shakily. It felt wrong to pray, when he failed so thoroughly.
“I’m… To you I bow, gods of Olympus and the Queen of All.” Tommy licked his lips nervously. He didn’t know what to say. “Take my offering and keep me in good fortune. I’m… I know I can’t kill these assholes. But…! I can- I will make it easier for the next. I will escape or cripple them, and then, then…!”
He let his hands fall down.
Well, that would be all for the prayer. The best prayer that the gods probably received from the island of Hardcore in ages so it’s still good.
Tommy huddled under the shitty altar and ripped into the bread with fervor. He was bloody hungry. Multiple days spent underground, coupled with eating only what Wilbur had- well, eating only the fruits that Wilbur had, since he didn’t trust the effing meat at all- cost him his strength.
And then Wilbur and Technoblade hunted him by day. They backed off before supper time and Tommy didn’t know why they would do that. Was it a messed up way of them playing ‘fair’?
If so, they could stuff it! Tommy was going to win against the two of them. Not in combat, maybe, since, mayhaps, he apparently wasn't able to, but game of cat and mouse? Tommy would become a fucking rat. No one would catch him, ever.
The boy curled around himself and closed his eyes. The night would last only so long and he desperately needed rest. Technoblade and Wilbur would surely pick up the hunt the next day and Tommy needed his brain and his legs working to their fullest.
"Maybe I'll send letters or shit. Dream would know what to do," the boy murmured sleepily to himself.
- ○●○●○●○
Sleep came to him easily. A mixture of exhaustion, constant overflowing anxiety and the comfortably warm night became just too much to resist. Not as if he tried to.
He needed all the rest he could steal.
Tommy woke up with the first rays of the sun. He ate the rest of the bread and clutched the sword in his hands. Yesterday cemented itself weirdly in his memory.
Getting out of the Labyrinth dimmed everything out in comparison but now, after first, truly proper rest in a month, Tommy could admit, Hardcore was… weird. Weirder than he initially assumed. How else could he explain a effing netherite sword, seemingly abandoned in a random field? Soldiers who didn't care that tw- ugh - princes ran after some teenager?
Tommy stabbed the effers, they bled! And yet no one besides those two chased after him. Normally, he'd assume that the people of Hardcore wanted the Minotaur- Minotaurs?- to die and that's why they silently let him. But then their cheering at the sight of those didn't make sense! Laughing and pushing gifts their way neither!
Tommy frowned and silently skulked out of the shed and went back to the fields. He hoped to hide between the wheat as he planned his actions further- his hair was a shade wrong but it'd be better than going somewhere where people could rat him out.
For a second or two, he considered going to a temple and asking for sanctuary. Just as fast he remembered that Hardcore was how it is because they rejected gods and probably had little to no temples or didn't care for sanctuaries and divine punishments.
Tommy reached to his back and scratched at the risen lines of the runes. He still had no idea what kind of enchant or a curse Wilbur put on him. Was it something that blocked him only from boarding ships? Would he be fine if he swam?
Tommy grumbled. He was a big man but that was ridiculous even for him. He couldn't swim across the sea back to Dream.
Sending a letter would be tricky as well. Hardcore didn't care for the trade, their cursed island seemingly self sufficient. And if not, they just went and got what they needed through conquest. The only time that a vessel would go back to Tommy's homeland would be…
A sharp pain shot through his chest.
It would be to get another bunch of people for Wilbur to eat.
Tommy gritted his teeth and forced himself to cross the road between two fields.
As gruesome as it was, that'd be his next chance. And it'd be roughly… How long did they travel? He could round it up to a month and to add up the month he spent in the Labyrinth, plus their own travel time to get to all the islands… Tommy would have eight months to figure out a way to either get rid of the curse or chummy up with a soldier enough that they would carry a letter outside.
Totally doable.
Tommy dropped low and looked around before he ran ahead and swiped at the low hanging fruit. His eyes kept snapping from side to side, looking for danger or any witnesses. The last thing he'd need is some busybody alerting the guards, so those could tattle to the monsters chasing him.
Hiding in the fields wasn't an exactly long term strategy. He needed to get a feel of the island, of the city but everything felt way too harrowing. Tommy needed a day or two to just. Take everything in.
Distant screams made him tense and look towards the horizon. It sounded like anguish. Terror. Despair.
A sound that urged Tommy's heart to get up and run, and help.
But Tommy was in no shape to go help anyone. He had to force himself to remember that, remember just how ineffective his help was till this point of time-
He had to survive and tell others what he learned if he wanted to save anyone at all.
There was smoke on the horizon. Tommy’s heart clenched and his mouth dried up. This- it couldn’t be the city, right? Or a pier?
No, Tommy travelled quite far from those, if he were to see and hear the effects of the fire, then-
“Eff!”
The fields were burning. The fields were burning and it was a bright, sunny, dry day, and the fields were burning and Tommy was in the fields.
He had to go, he had to go and be gone effing yesterday . He knew where exit to the fields was, roughly. He would be out in the open for a few minutes as he dashed towards the rich forests but it was way better than burning to death. And from the tallest trees he could try and gauge what in the Styx happened, and where to go next.
Tommy raced through the field, blades of wheat smacking his face. The fire travelled way too fast, he could smell the smoke and he was still too vulnerable. He had to be faster-! He could swear that he felt the heat licking the back of his feet. The cries of farmers and villagers were getting louder too. This fire was inhumanly fast.
The forest finally breached the horizon line and Tommy pumped his legs faster. He had to be safe.
He jumped to the road, flecks of golden grains following him like smoke. He rushed to the forest, barely looking around, checking for witnesses. The few people who could see him though were occupied by the tragedy that struck them.
Tommy’s heart climbed his throat. He knew those people lived and profited from all the crimes Hardcore did. They lived off the spoils of war, they cheered as the effing Minotaur got released but still! They were people. The simple folk who now suffered a great tragedy to their livelihood and would suffer so much more after the initial fire goes out. Tommy has seen fires. They were all so horrible.
Tommy skidded on the rough, dusty road. The fire roared, the wheat disappearing like a distant memory under the hungry, smouldering maws.
He was out. He was free.
He was in the forest.
Tommy finally turned and looked back at the fields.
The sky was dark with ash and the clouds heavy with smoke. People were screaming, crying, on their knees, begging for the terrible tragedy to stop. The fields themselves were a blazing inferno, with the fire spreading faster than a racing horse. The flames went white as they devoured the work and future of the people.
No one was trying to douse it.
Another fear squeezed Tommy’s heart. Why would no one try to kill the fire? Why would everyone just watch and despair? It couldn’t possibly be-
No. No it couldn’t.
Tommy turned to the trees and fastened the sword to his belt frantically. He had to see, he had to confirm- because if he was right, he’d have another reason to blame himself. He’d have another reason to hate. Tommy climbed the tree, the bark biting into his hands to the point of drawing blood. He just had to get a bit higher, a bit closer to the sky and see.
The fire spread for ages. The whole field was ablaze. And the next one, and the next one. And the next-
There they were.
Tommy was right.
He hated being right.
Prince Wilbur and Prince Technoblade were raining fire upon the fields and patrolling the edges of them like overly focused blood hounds.
They had hounds with them.
Tommy hastily came down, jumping from the last branches, barely sparing a thought to the sting in his palms and on his knees. The princes didn’t give up in their pursuit of him, they just went for a gods damned good night rest and now they were back, and even more insane. Tommy had to evade those bastards. Maybe going into some river would be enough to throw the scent off of him, long enough to make the cursed princes lose their interest in him.
But how long would that take? Tommy had to figure out how to pass a message, he didn’t know how to get close to the port if the people there would just sell him out.
And he was sure he was sold out. Someone told those effers that he went into the fields. And instead of sifting through the fields, they decided to flush him out. People would see what happened when they don’t stop Tommy from now on. They will try to grab him, they will tattle, they won’t turn their gazes away. Not when lack of compliance in the hunt means so much ruin.
Tommy grit his teeth and ran, deep, deep into the forest.
*
Sam was summoned to the palace in the early morning. Very early morning.
Summoned from his bed, from his sleep, kind of morning.
Suffice to say, he felt like he left his brain in the bed, between Ponk and Fran, as he frantically dressed himself and pulled the mask on his face. Summons were never ignored, and best answered swiftly. Especially since Sam suspected why he was being summoned.
He grabbed his latest project with a heavy heart. He pitied the child who was going to be forced into those, of course he did.
But his own safety, his and Ponk’s, would always be more important.
Awesam entered the palace flanked by a dozen soldiers, with a second dozen escorting all of his contraptions that he had to make for the king in the past two days.
The only reassurance he held onto was that his work would hold. The child was a normal mortal, not even Hardcore bred. Awesam could create things that held demigods, however briefly. The boy would not break away, would stay, as long as the king and the prices decided to play with him.
They entered the throne room and Sam’s eyes automatically went to the said throne but it was empty. And wasn’t that a chilling sight? If Philza, husband of the Queen of All, decided on a hands on approach, no one and nothing could stop what was to happen. Gods damn him, Sam felt sorry for the kid.
Not enough to not hand over the fruits of his labour.
But he would have to see what will become of said child for years to come. Maybe one day his guilt will do something useful.
Philza approached from the side room, cladded in sensible, flight ready clothing, a myriad of hunters trailing after him. All were equipped with nets, big ones, for human prey. Gods.
“Are those ready then?” Philza asked.
Sam grimaced under his mask. Still, he nodded and gestured to the soldier to come closer and let their king inspect what they were holding.
Chains of iron and netherite. Sam spent hours perfecting each link, using redstone and runes to create inescapable bonds. He trailed a finger over the thick collar, handcuffs and anklecuffs.
“They are. Once locked, only you or a god will be able to unlock them, my liege.” Sam tried not to think of godly interventions. “They will resize themselves to fit whoever you bestow them upon.” Sam’s breath whirred through the air filters of his mask. “They will shrink and lengthen along to your wishes.”
Philza nodded with satisfaction. Then his eyes skipped to the other things. “And those?”
Sam bowed. “Wards are ready, same as bars. If you’ll allow me, I’ll go and install them in the room. No one without authorization will be able to leave or enter.”
“Perfect. Well done, Awesam.” Philza took the chains from the soldier. “You go do that.” The king looked at the surrounding them soldiers and hunters. “I will be back in a few hours with someone to test these lovelies out.”
Sam bowed.
He watched the king and the hunters go, without uttering a single protest. And then he went to prepare a perfect prison for the unlucky child that caught the eyes of the cursed princes of Hardcore.