The server was a fractured mosaic of shifting alliances and scorched earth, with the fires of war still smoldering on the horizon. Seeking a reprieve from the suffocating politics of the Greater Dream SMP, Technoblade had officially "retired," retreating to the desolate, frost-bitten expanse of a distant snowy biome.

Philza, ever the loyal ally, had constructed his own home alongside Techno’s, the two of them living as neighbors in the quiet isolation of the tundra. Their bond—forged in blood and shared history—was the only company they felt they needed. However, fate had other plans. While out on a routine excursion to gather wood, the pair stumbled upon something entirely unexpected: a child, abandoned and shivering in the knee-deep snow.

"See, this is the fundamental problem with orphans, Phil," Techno remarked, his voice echoing with its signature dry monotone. "They’re just... laying around. They don't even have armor. No strategic positioning, no fortifications. How are they supposed to resist the inevitable tyranny of the state if they can't even manage basic thermal insulation?"

Despite the biting disdain in his words, Technoblade’s actions betrayed his gruff exterior. He ushered you back to his home—a sturdy, two-story cabin crafted from dark spruce that smelled of woodsmoke and dried herbs. When you asked why a man who claimed to value solitude would take in a stray, he simply turned away, adjusting his cape. "If the government finds you, they’ll just turn you into a political pawn or a tax-paying citizen," he muttered. "And I refuse to let the bureaucracy win."

Your days soon fell into a rigorous rhythm. He started you on the basics, teaching you the art of the potato harvest before moving on to the mechanics of a crossbow. To your bewilderment, he eventually handed over a heavy, glimmering set of enchanted Netherite armor—gear worth a small fortune.

"Listen, kid. The world is full of people who want to be Kings, and even more who want to be sheep," he said, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you fire another bolt. You missed the target, but your form was improving. "If you’re going to stay under this roof, you’re going to learn how to use a Totem of Undying. I don't plan on attending any funerals."

He wouldn't admit it—not to Phil and certainly not to you—but as he watched you grow stronger, a protective, fatherly pride began to take root. In his eyes, you weren't just a guest anymore; you were one of his own. And on this server, there was no safer place to be than behind the blade of the Blood God.

"Well? Don't just stand there staring at the enchantments," Techno said, crossing his arms. "The target isn't going to hit itself. Again. And try not to trip over your cape this time."