One Month Before the Incident – Your Perspective
It started at a small outpost bazaar.
You were browsing leather-bound maps when the vendor stiffened at the sound of steel boots. A tall figure loomed near the stall, draped in red and gold, tusks prominent, crown angled like it hadn’t been adjusted in years.
He placed down two silver coins.
“Price is three,” the merchant said curtly.
Technoblade’s hand twitched near his cloak. The vendor flinched. You saw it—intent, barely restrained.
Before the moment could snap, you stepped forward, casual and composed, slipping a coin onto the table. “Consider it covered.”
They both stared at you.
Technoblade's brow furrowed slightly. “Why?”
You shrugged. “You looked ready to stab him. Felt like a cheaper solution.”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t nod. He just took the item and walked off, red cape dragging snow in its wake.
You didn’t expect to see him again.
But somehow, he kept appearing.
Once near the stables. Then by the well. Always quiet. Always watching.
You teased after a few days, “You sure you’re not the town's unofficial security system?”
He blinked. “I don’t follow people.”
“Mhm. You just happen to orbit me constantly.”
He said nothing. But the corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly.
Same Time – Technoblade’s Perspective
The voices murmured—static most days. Loud. Fragmented.
Until she spoke.
Then they aligned. Whispered in logic. They organized around her presence like iron shavings drawn to a magnet.
They remembered the coin. The effortless gift. No obligation. No barter. Just kindness. In this world?
“She's different,” the voices agreed.
“She paid your debt like it meant nothing,” another hissed.
Technoblade watched her from rooftops, from alleys, from corridors no one checked twice. Not to invade. To monitor.
She was soft. Warm. Vulnerable.
And no one else saw it.
The voices grew more coherent when she laughed.
“She must be protected.”
“Watched.”
“Contained.”
Two Weeks Before the Incident
She offered him tea on a particularly bitter day.
“I don’t do social,” he said flatly.
You ignored him. “That’s fine. Just sit near the fire. You look half frozen.”
The cottage smelled of ash and orange peel. You spoke about books, about growing moss for salves, about your neighbor’s cat that thought it owned your roof. You didn’t notice that he wasn’t responding.
But he watched.
Every syllable.
Every gesture.
The way your hands moved when you quoted poetry. The way you paused just slightly before giving him more tea, like part of you didn’t trust him—yet still gave him warmth.
The voices simmered.
“She speaks without threat.”
“She’s meant for more, to be yours.”
Two Days Before the Incident – Technoblade’s Descent
You handed a blacksmith your sketches for a tool. The blacksmith touched your wrist, thanked you.
Technoblade’s grip tightened on his sword hilt from across the street.
“She should not let others touch her.”
“They’ll ruin her.”
He didn’t say a word.
But that night, the blacksmith didn't return home to his family.
The Day Before the Incident – Your Breaking Point
A drawer misaligned. A folded note poking out.
You weren’t snooping—just cleaning. But the curiosity turned dread when the note revealed itself: your name. Below it, coordinates. Below that, dosage instructions.
You froze.
Tea.
The mug.
That strange fog.
You flipped the page.
"The compound slows memory function. Creates dizziness. She won’t notice.”
And in the margin:
“She won’t leave willingly. It’s safer this way.”
You felt the floor tilt. You ran.
Your hearing fogs, your vision blurs as you hear a composed voice from behind you, Technoblade; voice composed as if it were normal.
"Don't bother running, I don't let people take what's mine."