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Everybody knows the forest. The forest that creaks and groans, the forest that has been known to ruin the minds of anyone who enters, the forest who demands sacrifices whenever life gets tough. Everybody knows that forest, and everybody knows that Tommy will be the next one entering it.
He’s always been expecting it, if he’s being honest. Ever since Tubbo and Ranboo, his best friends so many years ago, had been sacrificed (Tommy remembers it vividly- the way the village’s livestock had been struggling so badly, they had sent two offerings into the forest. Tommy had screamed at the mayor that day, shouting and sobbing at him for killing off his two best friends. All he had received was a sharp backhand to the face and even sharper words to never bother him again. Tommy learned his lesson about mercy that day, and about how there is none in his village. Especially not to kids like him). Tommy had been counting down the days until he could join them. Whether that be in death or insanity, he supposes that’s for the forest to decide and him to find out.
This year, the village is struggling with their wheat, and so obviously the boy with hair as golden as the crop itself would be the perfect sacrifice to the forest and the awful creatures that lurk within.
The villagers had told him the day before he was offered to the forest, and he would be loath to admit that he had seen horrible nightmares that night of dark shadows and malicious smiles- growling of creatures unknown and the inhuman screams of something deep within the forest. The scream had echoed in his ears for what felt like hours, and it still bounced throughout his head when he was woken from a cold sweat by a quick rap on his door. A voice had hollered through the wood to wear white to his ceremony before the crunching of leaves signalled his visitor’s leave.
The rest of the morning was quite frankly little more than a blur.
A little speech here, some forced hugs there, and before he knew it, a wicker basket filled with berries and breads alike was being shoved into his hands and rushed goodbyes were being shared. Which leads him to now, standing at the edge of the forest with the wicker basket being clutched tightly between pale knuckles and cold sweat dripping down his back. He knows he’s been looking forward to the day he’s the one being sacrificed to the forest, but imagining it and actually doing it are two very different concepts.
The sun is shining on his back but he can’t feel it over the chill radiating off the forest. It’s like in there, nothing warm and bright and pure manages to get in. Only evil things reside in that forest, and Tommy-
Tommy is about to become one of them.
His fingers are quickly going numb from the vice grip he has on the basket, but as of now, those are the least of his issues. He just needs to take one step to enter the boundaries of the forest. Just one step until he can join his friends. Just. One. Step.
And yet- Tommy hesitates. Despite his long lasting desire to meet his friends in whatever afterlife the forest chose for them, the primal instinct rooted deep within him, the instinct to stay alive , rears its head, sending a shock through Tommy’s system. He can’t go in there. What was he thinking? This is insane, absolutely insane-
And then the whistling of an arrow meets his ears, and when he turns around to find the source of the sound, he hears a dull thunk as the shining metal head plants itself in the ground only centimeters from his left foot, the fletching still quivering from its impact with the ground. Tommy slowly looks up from the arrow, noticing that in the distance towards the village, he can see about four different villagers, each armed with bows. Their strings are drawn back, bows pointed at the sky as they aim for Tommy, hoping to forcefully push him into the forest despite his hesitation.
It’s safe to say that his hesitation doesn’t last much longer when the next arrow narrowly misses his head. He darts into the forest then, the basket swinging along with his arms, and as soon as he steps beneath the shade of the trees, it’s almost like the wind has just been sucked out of his lungs and it forces him to a quick stop. It’s suffocating in here, and Tommy feels like he can do nothing other than wheeze helplessly. He already decides that he doesn’t like it here, but there’s nothing he can do but forge on. Going back to the village is a guaranteed death sentence, but at least he might have a chance braving the forest. Perhaps there’s even an end to the forest- other villages and castles that lay outside the dark trees like the storybooks say. They can’t be the only people on this earth… right?
He takes a tentative step forward, his shoes squelching on dead, wet leaves, the smell of must climbing up to his nose. It reeks in here, and it feels like all of his senses are on edge. His muscles are taut, ready to take off when needed, his eyes darting around to try and catch any sign of danger. His brain even feels like it’s running on hyperspeed, noticing the smallest details about everything all at once. It’s overwhelming, to put it slightly, and yet still Tommy presses on. After all, the villagers had given him specific instructions: never stop moving.
He can’t feel his fingers anymore despite the way the wood from the wicker basket seems to be digging into his skin, but he can’t say he particularly cares all too much. Survival is the number one focus right now.
But aren’t you supposed to die?
He quickly shuts down that train of thought, instead deciding to take a look around. The forest is just as creepy on the inside as it is on the outside, if not more. It’s ridiculously dark beneath its branches, and it’s eerily silent, the only sound being the occasional flutter of wings or the snapping of a twig beneath his feet. When he had read about forests in books, they had always seemed bright and colorful and beautiful and loud , whether that be with the chirping of birds or the babbling of brooks. Maybe those authors were just trying to imagine what a forest could be like instead of what it actually is. Either that or they’ve never been in a forest before.
The branches shift above his head, each tree moving simultaneously as a breeze passes through the trunks, a menacing hiss coming from each of the leaves as they shake. It sends a shiver down his spine, making the hair on his arms stick straight up. Was this how Ranboo and Tubbo had felt when they were sent into the forest? Or had it been better since they had been with each other?
Tommy misses his friends.
He doesn’t know how long he walks for. He only knows that the sun is high in the sky now and it had been just barely above the horizon when he left. How had he lost track of time so easily? Was it the constant stream of adrenaline forcing him to be as alert of his surroundings as he could so he hadn’t had time to see how long had passed? That had to be it, there’s no way the forest is fucking with the time now.
Right?
A sharp crack echoes throughout the forest from somewhere, startling him. A fresh wave of adrenaline shoots through his veins and he feels his muscles tighten, his eyes darting around wildly. He feels like an animal about to be slaughtered- terrified of the predators lurking around the corner, waiting for him to take one wrong step, make one wrong move. A trickle of sweat rolls down his forehead, but he hardly notices from the way he’s trying to get his feet to move from beneath him.
Another crack sounds through the trees, pulling a small whimper from Tommy’s mouth. Had that one sounded like it was closer? Who (or rather what) could be making those noises? And are they coming for him?
Suddenly it’s all too easy to move his feet, and before he even knows what he’s doing, his footsteps are pounding along the forest floor, carrying him as quickly as they can to- well, anywhere other than here. His breath is coming out in short gasps, and he has to stifle a scream as he hears one, two, multiple pairs of feet running right behind him. They’re accompanied by the snapping of jaws and deep rumbling of growls, hot breath appearing on his hands or ankles whenever he slows down just a margin. He needs to escape, he needs to leave-
But how? How is he supposed to leave with fucking wolves at his feet? He can’t turn around and go back to the village, and he’s already walked this far and there’s still no end to the forest in sight. Where can he even go?
He wants to cry, tears already welling up at his eyes and his throat beginning to close up from the panic, and so he does what anyone else in a forest would do (he thinks): he climbs a tree.
Tommy doesn’t think he’s even climbed this fast before, but in the blink of an eye, he’s clinging onto one of the taller branches, his chest heaving and his muscles shaking. Below him are multiple wolves, too many to count (not that his brain would let him count them anyways), and even from where he sits on the tree, he can see the fury burning in their bright eyes. Some of the bigger wolves even try jumping up onto the tree, their thick claws scraping on the tree branch and causing Tommy to cry out in fear when they get just a little too close.
He belatedly realizes that at some point he must have let go of the wicker basket because his hands are no longer holding it, instead gripping onto the tree branch in a life-or-death grip. Oh well, he’s not really sure what he needed the basket for anyways- it obviously wasn’t to feed him.
It takes a painfully long time for the wolves to finally get bored and trot away, and by the time they finally do, the sun is halfway below the horizon and his limbs are stiff and sore. He had been running all day, and he’s fucking exhausted for it. Bark is digging into his skin from everywhere it touches, and Tommy’s beginning to notice the wide array of scrapes and bruises he had acquired from one day alone. He hopes this goosechase doesn’t last for much longer. He’s not sure how long he can survive here. (Probably not long. That’s the whole point, isn't it?)
Shifting around to sit with his back to the tree trunk and one of his legs hanging off the branch, Tommy sighs. He hopes his friends had been given quick deaths rather than whatever the hell is happening to him. The adrenaline has never truly worn off, and he can still feel energy coursing through his muscles, ready to leap away from any danger or pounce at anything that Tommy deems fightable. It’s frustrating, because as the sun sinks below the horizon completely and is replaced by a shimmering blanket of stars, he still feels wide awake. He wants to sleep, he just wants to sleep and get this entire ordeal over with. Maybe he’ll even wake up and be back in his own bed because this is all a dream, or maybe he’ll wake up to his friends’ warm embraces because he died in his sleep.
Death doesn’t sound too bad right now, actually.
He curses. It’s only taken him one day to wish for death. How pathetic is he?
The night passes by slowly, and he doesn’t get a wink of sleep the entire time the moon and stars are high in the sky. Everytime he closes his eyes and is on the verge of sleep, a strange noise will sound in the forest, whether that be a high pitched yowl or a terrible screech. At one point, he thinks he can hear the shriek of an animal quickly followed by the crunching of bones.
He doesn’t try to fall asleep after that.
The terrifying noises continue all through the night, though Tommy can’t find it within himself to be grateful when he sees the first rays of sun peek out over the horizon. Those terrifying noises will only be replaced with less terrifying noises. How nice.
It’s easy to stay in the tree for the day. His joints are so stiff from the chill of the forest and the lack of movement that he’s afraid of what will happen when he does move those joints. So he remains frozen atop of his branch. Luckily no more wolf packs come and try to reach him, and only more common noises fill the forest like birds and leaves. He does get a good fright out of a huge boar lumbering past his hiding spot a little after midday, having to force his teeth together so as to not let a terrified whine escape past his lips.
The sun sets rather slowly (just like all time seems to pass now that he’s not running for his life), and before he would like, it’s night once more. There are more yowls and screeches, and each one that meets his ears sends another wave of adrenaline through his body. It’s exhausting, and yet he can’t sleep. He’s also quite hungry, though he’s used to not being able to eat for a few days at a time. This can’t be any worse… right?
His eyes feel droopy and his brain fuzzy when the sun rises again. It’s almost like everything is moving in slow motion and yet too quickly at the same time. The lights are too bright, the smells too strong, the sounds too loud- even the gentle breeze is irritating his skin. It’s hell, and yet he can do nothing to stop it.
However, he thinks the voices are the worst part about it all.
Somewhere in the mid morning, heavy clouds had covered the sky, blotting out the sun and dipping the forest in darkness even thicker than when he had first arrived. It seemed like a situation that Tommy should be scared in, but he couldn’t manage to gather the energy to even care. Rain would be one of the better things he’s experienced in this forest.
Sure enough, it doesn’t take long for thunder to boom and roll around the clouds, making the air thick and the leaves shake. Tommy used to hate thunder when he was in the village- it was loud and shook the window panes and made something in his chest vibrate. Now though, he clings to it like a lifeline, because goddammit it’s familiar . He hates it, but it’s the one thing he’s seen in this forest that hasn’t tried to kill or maim him. Yet.
He lets his eyelids fall shut when a quiet wave of thunder passes through the sky, the lightning still remaining above the clouds. It’s actually kind of peaceful, if he doesn’t think about it too hard. Or it’s just the lack of sleep getting to him.
“Tommy? What are you doing out here?” His eyes shoot open, the fastest he’s moved in days, at the sound of the voice. Why would there be a voice in here? He hasn’t seen anyone in days, so why would there be someone else in here?
“Tommy?” The voice tries again, and Tommy desperately wishes he could find the strength to move his head. The voice sounds so familiar, so achingly familiar that it tugs on something deep within his chest and almost brings him to tears. Why does he recognize this voice? And where is it coming from?
“You can’t stay here, you know. You’ll die.” A second voice, one that sounds as familiar as the first. Where are these voices coming from? His eyes dart around the section of the forest he’s been inhabiting for the last three days, trying to find the source of the sound, when he hears it again.
“Tommy, you need to go back,” the first voice says, concern evident in their tone. “It’s dangerous here.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Tommy slurs, too tired to keep his lips moving properly.
“So then why don’t you leave?” The second voice asks, curious.
“Cause the village will kill me if I do,” Tommy replies, stifling a yawn. The first voice hums, their concern gone.
“Then why don’t we play a game to pass the time?”
“A game?” Tommy asks, still trying to find the source of the sound.
“Yeah, a game sounds fun!” The second voice agrees, excitement coating their tone.
“I’ll pick, then!” The first voice cheers. “How about I Spy?” Tommy can practically hear the way the second voice nods its head, obviously encouraging the first. “Okay, I spy with my little eye…” The voice pauses. “Someone wearing white.”
Tommy stifles a chuckle, hardly having to spare a glance at the white tunic he’s wearing. “Is it me?” He asks tiredly, and the first voice giggles.
“You got it! You’re so good at this, Tommy! Now, it’s Ranboo’s turn!”
Wait.
Ranboo’s turn?
Oh Prime. He thinks he’s found his best friends.
“Tubbo? Ranboo?” He asks tentatively only to get a questioning noise back.
“Yeah?” Tubbo asks, and suddenly Tommy understands why he couldn’t recognize his friend’s voices. They sound like how they did when they were little children. But if he can hear their voices, where are they?
Another clap of thunder rips through the sky, but Tommy can hardly hear it anymore, too focused on trying to find out just what kind of trickery is going on- but that’s when he sees it. There, directly in the tree in front of him, buried deep within the bark, is a face. Tommy blinks. That- that hadn’t always been there, had it? No, he would have seen it! Tommy blinks again, and suddenly there are two faces now.
“You found us!” Tubbo’s voice cries out with excitement, but Tommy isn’t focusing on that anymore, because as Tubbo speaks, the bark moves. The bark is moving with Tubbo’s mouth. That is Tubbo’s face. Which means-
“It took you long enough!” Ranboo jokes, and sure enough, his mouth moves within the tree similar to how Tubbo’s had. A choked out gasp rips from his throat, and suddenly he’s breathing faster. His hands are shaking, his throat closing, and if he’s breathing fast then why can’t he breathe-
His chest is so tight as he wheezes for air, trying to ignore how the two tree faces are giving him concerned looks in between harsh coughs. He feels like he’s dying, but hey, that’s what he came here to do, right? So why is he even trying to stop himself? This whole nightmare could end right here and now if he just lets himself suffocate-
“Tommy, please!”
“Tommy, you have to breathe!”
“Tommy!”
“ Tommy !”
A huge crack of thunder muffles his terrified shriek and he throws his hands over his ears, the fastest he’s been able to move his arms in days, though he instantly regrets it when his joints scream in protest. He thinks he’s crying, his brain just unable to take everything this forest is throwing at him as he violently shivers in the tree, harsh sobs making his throat hurt. Rain is beginning to fall now, just what he needs, and it quickly soaks through his clothes and freezes him to the bone. But what can he even do? It’s either stay up here or get eaten by something else. Either way he’s going to die, and Tommy would rather die by his own terms, he's decided.
You’re just a coward, his brain sneers, and Tommy doesn’t even try to stop it.
Yeah, I am, he responds wearily, slowly bringing his hands down from his ears to instead wrap around himself in a poor attempt to conserve his body heat. As the rain falls, though, he notices that the faces on the trees are gone. That’s good, he thinks to himself, leaning his head back against the tree.
But is it really?
Somehow, another day manages to pass, and he feels significantly weaker on the fourth day than he ever has. His muscles feel achy and cold, and his eyes burn. Everything around him is too much, but he can’t do anything to stop it. It’s terrible, and he thinks he cries at some point of the day, but honestly the entire thing is such a blur that he’s not even sure if some things happened. He thinks he remembers more talking trees, and maybe some talking birds too. He thinks he threw up at some point too, the smell alone almost knocking him out. It hadn’t unfortunately, but it had come very close.
The fourth day goes faster than the rest, and in what feels like the blink of an eye, the sun has gone down and the moon is high in the sky. Huh. He’s not sure when that happened.
His breathing sounds wheezy, he randomly notices. What a funny sound! It’s like there’s a flute in his lungs. Wouldn’t that be a sight!
The sound of his breathing keeps him amused for far longer than it should, long grown accustomed to the shrieks and growls the night has to offer. He even hears feet walking along the leaves at one point. The sound is rare, but not completely unheard of. It could be a bear this time, or maybe more wolves. Could it be a deer? Or maybe-
“Well, hello there.” Tommy sighs. It’s just another tree or bird or something. Well, at least he’ll have company for the night.
“Mm, hi,” Tommy slurs out, his tongue feeling far too large for his mouth. He can’t even think of the proper words at the moment, so he’s not sure how fruitful this conversation is. Hopefully this is one of the more chatty spirits, as Tommy likes to call them.
“What are you doing up there?” The spirit asks again, obviously intrigued, but Tommy only tries to shrug. He fails.
“D’nno,” he says slowly, giggling a little. His voice sounds stupid right now. How is the other voice not laughing? Hearing himself talk is hilarious!
“Oh dear,” He hears the spirit mutter, before they clear their throat. “Would you like to come down?” Tommy hums, giggling again at the vibration it makes in his throat, wincing when he laughs just a little too hard.
“No,” he answers simply. “Too m’ny s’c’ry th’ngs.” He blinks sluggishly. Why would he come down? None of the other spirits had asked him to come down- they had rather just sat at the top of the tree with him. They were nice. There had been a couple weird ones who talked about “beware of the crows,” or some bullshit like that, but that was a while ago and Tommy is still here, so it couldn’t have been that big of a deal.
“Ah, I see,” The spirit continues, copying his hum. “What if I could promise you somewhere safe to stay?”
Somewhere safe to stay? That sounds delightful. Maybe he can sleep in a nice, warm bed and eat some pies. Ooo! Pie sounds amazing! He wonders what kind of pie will be there… apple maybe? Cherry? He doesn’t remember many other pie flavors. When was the last time he had even eaten pie? Or seen it?
“I hate to say that I don’t have any pie at my home, I’m sorry,” the spirit says, perhaps reading Tommy’s thoughts. Or maybe he had said it outloud. That’s the only way he had been able to somewhat focus saying things. Obviously it hadn’t worked if he can hardly remember how this conversation started. “I can still bring you back though. Maybe give you a hot meal and somewhere to sleep. You look like you need it.” The spirit laughs, and instantly Tommy decides that he likes this spirit. Their voice isn’t echo-y like the others had been, and his laugh doesn’t sound as scary. It sounds warm, safe. So he just nods, letting his head slump forward onto his chest.
“Okay.”
“What’s your name?” The spirit says, but his voice is getting muffled and foggy. It’s weird sounding, so Tommy decides to indulge. Only so he can hear that voice more.
“T’mmy,” he murmurs, and the spirit hums.
“Tommy, huh? That’s a lovely name.”
He doesn’t remember much after that- only the spirit somehow telepathically lifting him out of the tree and into his awaiting arms (which is a new one, he didn’t know spirits had arms), almost lulling him to sleep with his gentle pace and rhythmic rocking back and forth with each step the spirit takes. At some point, he thinks he remembers seeing a flash of green fabric and blond hair, but it’s quickly replaced by the warmth of a pillow and a warmer hand on his head followed by a quiet curse. But Tommy doesn’t care what happens now. He’s in a bed, and he can finally sleep.
So he does.
The next couple days are foggy. The first time he wakes up, he instantly knows something was wrong. His muscles are achy, he feels too hot and yet is shivering fiercely, and he doesn’t even think he can open his eyes. Not to mention how sore his throat is and the amount of sweat dripping down his forehead. He must be sick. How did that happen? Usually he has a fantastic immune system.
Above him he can hear muffled murmurs before something cool and wet touches his forehead. It feels divine, and he instinctively sighs at the action. He still can’t open his eyes yet, nor does he really want to, but he can hear the murmuring again as well as being able to feel what he thinks might be a blanket moving around him. It doesn’t register to him at the time that he doesn’t live with anyone else, nor would anyone in his village take care of him like this, but he falls asleep again rather quickly.
The next time he wakes up, he can feel nausea rolling in his stomach. His immediate reaction is displeasure as his stomach twists and turns, followed instantly by panic as bile begins crawling up his throat. He tries to instinctively turn himself over onto his side, but he can’t physically move, his muscles are too weak, he’s going to choke-
But before he has time to panic for too long, gentle hands grab him by his shoulders and turn him over, running their hand through his hair and pushing back his fringe as he pukes. It’s like a dream, the way he can’t open his eyes and how everything around him seems too good to be true. Sure, he feels like shit, but dammit someone is actually taking care of him.
Maybe he died. That’s the only reasonable thing he can think of happening. Maybe he got sick in his house at the village and died without anyone knowing it. Well, he can’t say this is the best afterlife, but he’s certainly not complaining.
He falls asleep again.
The third time he wakes up, he feels more lucid than he has in a while, but in return, he feels like actual garbage. Everything aches, his throat hurts, his mouth is dry, his lips are cracked, and overall he just feels like he wants to cry. He’s warm though, he notices. And he’s lying against something soft. When was the last time he had rested in something as comfortable as this?
Tommy squeezes his eyes tightly together and groans, that simple action making his throat feel like it’s on fire. Something warm gently touches his hand, and he distantly registers it as a hand. Someone is touching him. Someone is touching him. Who would be touching him? Where had he been when he fell asleep? It feels like he’s in his home, but wait, that’s not where it ended. He pushes his brain as far as it can go, trying to remember just what happened. He had been woken up that morning, told to wear white, then forced into the forest-
The forest. That’s where he had been. So why is he here now? Why does he ache so badly? Where is he?
A surge of panic wells up in Tommy’s chest and shoots up his throat, forcing his eyes to shoot open and his torso to jerk up. His eyes burn from the bright light and instantly the warm thing on his head is gone, which he instantly laments. He can’t mourn for too long though, because he’s no longer in the forest but rather a nice little cottage. He’s obviously in a bed, and around him are different herbs and salves, as well as a bowl of water and a rag. But all of those things are practically infinitesimal compared to the whole-ass man sitting beside him, a shocked look on his face.
“Whoa, easy, mate, it’s only me,” he tries to soothe, but Tommy isn’t having any of it. If this man is like any of the other people he’s met so far, now that Tommy’s awake, this man will want him out of his house as quickly as possible. He doesn’t particularly feel like getting hit today, so he’ll just jump the gun a little bit and leave while he’s still ahead. Well, as soon as he can breathe.
After shooting up out of bed, he feels like he can’t catch his breath, his throat burning and harsh coughs forcing their way past his lips. They’re heavy coughs, not the dry one’s he’s used to, and before he knows it he’s practically hunched over himself, trying to catch his breath and ultimately failing between gasps. The man’s hand has moved from his forehead to instead rubbing gentle circles into his back, his voice quiet as he speaks reassurances.
It takes far too long to regain his breath, and when he finally does, he hardly has the energy to hold himself up anymore. The man quickly readjusts the pillows behind Tommy’s back enough where he can lean back on them but still be somewhat sitting up, and when Tommy finally does, he finds himself finally able to take everything in about the man. He has blonde hair that goes down to his shoulders and bright blue eyes, similar to Tommy’s own. He has all sorts of necklaces and charms hanging around his neck and wrists, matching with the loose green robes he’s wearing. He looks concerned, his brows furrowed as his eyes search Tommy up and down.
“How are you feeling?” He asks quietly, sitting down silently in the chair placed beside the bed and folding his hands neatly in his lap. Tommy attempts to huff out a laugh, but it’s cut off by another cough and he groans.
“What do you think?” Tommy croaks out, wincing at the burning feeling again. The man quickly hands him a glass of water and Tommy chugs it down, sighing in relief when the cool liquid soothes his fiery throat. “So who are you anyways?”
The man’s demeanor seems to completely change, his nervous look being replaced with a proud, yet calm, grin. “My name is Philza, and I am the witch of the forest.”
Tommy blinks. Then blinks again.
“What?” He stupidly asks, and the witch’s smile falters.
“Your village never told you about me?” He asks, his voice quiet. Tommy shakes his head and he scowls, turning to look out the window. “Go figure…” Then his smile returns. “But I suppose that just means I’ll have to teach you about me, eh?” Tommy- Tommy doesn’t even know what to do, how to react. These last couple days have felt like a dream, so he’s not even honestly sure if he’s awake. He pinches himself for good measure (it hurts).
Phil stands up and walks over to the bucket and rag, soaking the rag with the cool water and gently placing it onto Tommy’s forehead. Tommy tries to stifle a sigh of relief as Phil begins to speak. “Well, when they send someone to the forest because times get hard as a sacrifice, they’re really sacrificing that person to me. This is my forest, my land. Their wellbeing rests on my shoulders, and let me be clear- I hate your village.” Phil grimaces. “They’ve ruined my land for far too long, not to mention how cruel they are to one of my own. The way they kick and scream and punch. Any terrible thing that’s ever happened to them, they deserve. I’m just speeding things along a tad.”
Tommy hums. “So you’ve been the one making the crops rot and the animals die?” Phil nods.
“Occasionally, yes. Though I’m not the only one making things die- your farmers don’t know how to properly take care of crops and animals,” Phil says, obviously trying to joke, but Tommy has another question in mind.
“So what do you do with the people they sacrifice then?” His voice has suddenly gone quiet, his stomach rolling in knots as he waits for the answer. “Do you kill them all?” Phil gives him a sympathetic look, and suddenly he feels a thick wave of nausea roll over him. Phil’s blue eyes search all over him rather slowly, his lips still achingly closed. He longs for an answer, but at the same time he absolutely dreads it. Either way though, he needs to know what happened to his friends.
“No, I don’t kill them all, do not fear,” Phil says softly, and the coil of dread in Tommy’s gut loosens ever so slightly. “Most of the time the village sends out the only good people that reside there, so most of them survive.”
“And what about two boys a little younger than me? They both had brown hair, and one of them was really tall. Do you remember what happened to them?” Tommy asks, his voice desperate as he leans forward a little. He can feel his throat tightening ever so slightly as he waits for an answer, his panic and grief from so many years ago creeping back up. Phil hums, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers on his chin with a thoughtful look.
“I think I remember them. They were good boys. Very polite.” Phil gives him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I led them out of the forest. As far as I know they’ve made a new life for themselves somewhere in the castle town, or perhaps in another small village somewhere.” Tommy breathes out a sigh of relief, letting his body slump on the pillows once more. That’s good. That’s really good. Ranboo and Tubbo made it out of the forest (which he didn’t even know could happen) and sound like they’re living a good life. They’re not dead.
He hopes they’re happy.
Tommy closes his eyes, the weight of the relief seeming to suck the energy out of his body as quickly as it had arrived, and suddenly his muscles are aching again. “You should probably get some more rest. You’re still running a fever, you know,” Phil informs him, standing up from the chair. “You weren’t doing so well when I found you in that tree. It looked like the hallucination spells I have in place were getting to you hard, not to mention the rain.” Phil puts the back of his hand on Tommy’s cheek, frowning when he pulls it back (Tommy almost wants to catch his hand and make it stay on his face. When had the last time been that someone had touched him without the intention of hurting him?). “Your temperature is still quite warm. You’re doing better than you have in the past few days, so maybe we’re making progress.”
Phil takes the rag off Tommy’s head, ignoring his whines, and places it into the bucket of water again before replacing it on his head. It’s so nice, the cool liquid dripping down his face and cooling off his neck. Phil gives him one last smile before he begins to leave the room, but with a quick “Wait!” from Tommy, he slows down and quirks his brow. “What do you do with the bad people that come into the forest?” Tommy’s voice is quieter than he would like, but even the thought that some of the people that have entered the forest are living their lives elsewhere gives him shivers.
Phil looks down at the ground, contemplating his answer, before he looks back up at Tommy. “They’re gone now, no need to worry about them.” He shoots another smile at Tommy before tilting his head a tad, almost like a bird. “Is there anything else? You look like you want to ask another question.”
Tommy nods, hardly even wanting to wonder how the witch knew that as more relief washes over him. Good, those bad people need to be gone. They’ve needed to be gone for a long time (Flashes of bloody knuckles and broken bones dance within his mind, but he quickly shoves them away). “Yes. When you said the village was hurting one of your own a little while ago, what did you mean?” Now it’s Phil’s turn to look surprised, his eyebrows shooting up and his jaw dropping slightly, but he seems to catch his surprise quickly and instead school it to one of happiness.
“Well, I suppose it was silly of me to assume you knew, but I’m not the only witch that lives in this forest,” He pauses, a mischievous grin on his face, “Little witchling.”
Things change from then on out. Tommy fights his fever rather quickly, and within days he’s up and about, poking through everything Phil owns and then some. And Phil just lets him. At first Tommy had tried being wary around the man, but his constant stream of terrible jokes and calming touches quickly dashed those efforts. Now, more than ever, Tommy finds himself gravitating towards the man. Sometimes he’ll just touch shoulders with him when Phil is teaching him how to cook, or leaning into him ever so slightly when they’re both reading on the couch. Not to mention how much he cherishes the little touches Phil gives whenever he’s fixing Tommy’s spell casting form, gently moving his wrist here or nudging his leg there.
The first time Phil had offered to teach Tommy spell casting, it had seemed like a dream. All his life he had grown up thinking that magic was only something that were in fairy tales, though he had quickly remembered that his world had been flipped entirely upside down in the last few days (finding out his friends are alive, finding out he’s not going to die, finding out that there’s more world out there than just the forest- his world just keeps on growing).
He caught onto spells much faster than he would have thought, and Phil repeatedly reminds him that it’s because he has the blood of a witch, therefore magic comes easily to him. He often mourns the fact that Tommy had been forced to wait until he was sixteen to begin using said magic, but Tommy is still in awe that he can make things float with nothing but words. How insane is that?
Phil not only teaches him spells, but potions and herbs as well. He teaches Tommy which herbs can be used to cause which effects, as well as other objects with magical properties like spider eyes and blaze powder. The first time Tommy had made his own potion, it had exploded in his face and gotten into his mouth, and Tommy remembers it tasted terrible . Phil says it was because he added blaze powder instead of phantom membrane, which is what caused it to explode, but he had been wary of making another potion for a few days after.
It’s nice though. The two of them have fallen into a nice routine: Wake up at sunrise, make breakfast together, work on spell casting, eat lunch, work on potions, eat dinner, then wind down at night. The days sound busy, but Tommy is enjoying himself so much that it feels like in the blink of an eye, the sun has already set and the moon is high in the sky. Before he knows it, he’s already seventeen and is already able to rival Phil’s own magic.
Tommy has absolutely adored getting to be on par with Phil, but whenever Tommy makes Phil chase the sugar around in the mornings when making his coffee or attempts to trip the witch with a stray tree root, Phil says he regrets every second he’s ever spent teaching Tommy magic (though he makes it obvious that he’s only joking).
Things all come screeching to a halt one morning when Phil sits up straight from where he had been reading a book at the breakfast table, idly eating his toast. He’s alert, his pointed ears twitching wildly. “There’s someone else here,” he murmurs, and a feeling of dread settles into Tommy’s stomach.
“Who?” He nervously asks, placing his own toast back on the table and bookmarking the page he had been reading in his book. Phil blinks, the alert look he had been sporting moments ago now gone. He must have been Seeing through one of the crows, then.
“I’m not sure, but it’s probably time we go and find them.” Phil stands up from the table, his chair screeching behind him, and Tommy mirrors the action, his hands wringing together in front of him. He’s never had to do this before. He had thought about it sometimes, deep into the night when he couldn’t fall asleep- wondered if the village would keep sacrificing people after him. He figured that Phil would continue taking people even after he joined the witch, but he hadn’t expected it to be this soon.
They travel through the forest swiftly, the flapping of wings or shrill shriek of a crow following their movements. The forest isn’t nearly as scary as he thought it had been oh so long ago, the hissing in the trees now turned to a gentle whispering, the screams turning into only wind. Phil said it’s because he had made Tommy immune to the hallucinogenic fog he had placed all around the forest, which only makes sense. Phil is, after all, one of the most powerful mages Tommy knows.
The man isn’t hard to find, babbling like a toddler and walking like one too. There are tears streaming down his face, and his limbs are shaking so terribly that Tommy’s not sure how he hasn’t fallen over yet. “What do you think?” Tommy whispers to Phil, but judging by the scowl on his face, Tommy knows the answer.
“Bad one, definitely.” Phil blinks, his eyes glowing momentarily. “Abuses his wife. Hasn’t touched the kids yet, but any more time and he would have.” Tommy winces.
“So what are we going to do?” He asks, hating how timid he sounds. He’s been studying magic for over a year now and is an all powerful mage- and yet the prospect of someone paying for their crimes is what gets his heart pounding in his chest. Phil looks at him with an almost sympathetic look.
“You can go home, if you’d like,” he offers, but Tommy only swallows and shakes his head.
“No, this is my responsibility now too.” Phil nods, the concerned look lingering as his eyes remain on Tommy, but as soon as he faces back towards the man, a steely look replaces it and Tommy tenses at the sudden change.
“Just let me do the talking. You’ll just watch for this one,” Phil mutters before stepping out of the bushes. “Hello there,” he greets, though far more rough than he had greeted Tommy for the first time. “What might you be doing here?”
The man startles so badly he falls onto the wet leaves, shrieking at the sound of Phil’s voice. “W-who are you?” He stutters out, bringing one of his hands up to shield his face. Please, as if Phil would go for the face first.
“I am the witch of this forest, and you’re currently intruding on my property.” Phil’s stern voice gives Tommy the chills despite knowing that his cool rage isn’t directed at him.
“I’m sorry, my village, they sent me in here-” The man says between harsh breaths. “There was a fire, and-”
“I don’t care,” Phil says, effectively cutting him off. “You’re here in my forest for a reason, and judging from what I’ve seen, not a very good reason.” The witch takes a couple steps closer to the man and Tommy finds himself holding his breath. “I’ve seen what you’ve done, Jeremy, and I know that what’s coming to you will be well deserved.” Phil crouches down and sits face to face with him, so close that he’s sure Phil can feel the man’s breath on his face. The witch slowly brings one single finger up to the man’s chest, pressing it down. “Bye bye.”
A shock of magic travels through his finger and directly into the man’s heart, instantly killing him. Tommy can see the moment he dies- the way his jaw falls open and how his eyes become glassy, how he crumples to the ground in a way where Tommy can just tell that he’s dead. He swallows again, his eyes trained on the body. His death was so fast, he feels like if he had blinked he would have missed it.
He marvels at the amount of power Phil has, and realizes just how his mentor is still leagues ahead of him, despite thinking they were on par only hours before, but he also finds his hands shaking uncontrollably beneath him. If he hadn’t been from witch decent, that could have been him last year. He could have sat face to face, eye to eye with his killer and would not have even known. The thought is terrifying.
But would he have died? He likes to think he’s a good person, and Phil had let Ranboo and Tubbo leave the forest scot free. Would he have been one of the lucky few to survive coming in here?
“Tommy?” His eyes dart back up to where Phil is now standing, staring at him with a worried look. “Are you alright?” Tommy looks back down at the body and remembers what Phil had said about him beating his wife. Suddenly all the fear fades away, almost like it had never been there in the first place. So he nods, rushing over to Phil.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” He bumps shoulders with his mentor, and Phil even goes as far as to attempt to wrap his arm around Tommy’s shoulder, though his height proves difficult. He manages though, and Tommy leans into his touch.
“Good, I’m glad.” Phil sounds so sincere when he says those words that Tommy can’t help but grin. This will be him doing this someday- killing the bad people of his village and making sure the good ones escape this hell hole. It’s an incredible system, and suddenly he’s giddy for when he’ll get to do this on his own. “Now, would you like to help me bring him back to the cabin? I think his bones would make fine bone meal, and we’ve been needing to get more nails all day…”
Phil’s voice drowns into the background as the two of them grab a different part of his body and hoist him up. Tommy is just completely overwhelmed with the amount of gratitude that he has for the witch, as well as the admiration. Phil had taken him in when no one did, taught him how to be brave and strong, kept him fed- even let him get a dog! (He had named her Clem and loved her dearly). Phil had given him the care that he had so desperately needed, and he wants to be the one to do the same sometime in the future. And Prime he can’t wait for that day.