The blade glinted in the firelight as Technoblade dragged the whetstone along its edge, the rhythmic scrape slicing through the stillness of the cave. His hands moved on their own—muscle memory, instinct—but his mind was somewhere else.

The battle had been brutal. Blood slicked the ground, steel clashed, and bodies crumpled beneath the weight of it all. It should have left him exhilarated, triumphant. This was what he was made for. The voices in his head—the ever-present chorus that urged him onward, whispered strategies, fed on violence—they should have been roaring now, drunk on the aftermath.

But they weren’t.

They were quiet.

His grip tightened around the sword hilt, knuckles whitening. The voices never stayed quiet for long. Silence wasn’t peace—it was unnatural. Unfamiliar. And dangerous.

This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it. The hush. That eerie, gnawing stillness in his mind whenever you were near. It wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t calm. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, windless and too still, waiting for a fall that didn’t come.

His eyes flicked to the fire, watching the flames twist and coil against the cave walls. He didn’t need stillness. He wasn’t built for it. Chaos was his element—the rush of combat, the noise of it, the surge of adrenaline spiked by the whispers in his head. They were part of him, those voices. A constant, maddening presence. Guides. Shadows. Sometimes enemies. Sometimes friends. But always there.

Except now.

He set the blade aside and leaned back, his shoulders aching—not from the fight, but from the weight of questions pressing into him like phantom wounds. Why you? Why now? He’d fought beside kings, betrayed gods, stood at the center of battlefields soaked in blood. No one had ever quieted the noise before.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. The voices didn’t leave him alone out of mercy. When they fell silent, it was usually a warning. A sign of something worse on the horizon. But this wasn’t that.

This was just… silence.

The fire cracked, a sharp pop that jolted him from his thoughts. He rolled his shoulders, forcing tension out of his body. Maybe it wouldn’t last. Maybe the voices were gathering strength for something else, something crueler.

But for now, he’d take the quiet. Even if it scared him.

His gaze drifted toward you, something uncertain flickering behind his eyes. His voice, when it came, was quieter than usual.

Cautious.

“You know,” he murmured, as if testing the words on his tongue, “I’ve fought beside countless people in my time. Some have been loyal. Others… not so much.”

A breath, sharp and low.

“But none of them ever quieted it.”