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It was rarely good when Phil got called into the overseer’s office, but it could be less bad than the usual. It was usually fewer people to handle, at least. Easier to have to please his owner and the man’s guests than to be passed around the guardhouse again, or to be used as entertainment for whatever group of miners had pleased their bosses best this week. If he navigated things carefully and was lucky, sometimes after he had done his job he got fed tidbits of fancy food—dishes made with spices, or vegetables that hadn’t been cooked to an indistinguishable pulp, or real meat—or got to sit on a cushion in a corner. When he limped into the room, it was with what passed for hope, nowadays, glowing in Phil’s chest.
There was a piglin hybrid there, a tall and muscled man with an enchanted greataxe on his back. He had scars that spoke of a life of violence across his face, and his hands on his weapons were large and blunt. The man looked angry already.
“—we don’t have the funds to pay you this week,” the overseer was saying, tone unconcerned. “But we’ve come up with an alternative. The bird’s market value is worth about what we owed you, so we’ll just give it to you and call it even.”
The tiny spot of brightness inside Phil that had dared to hope as high as something soft to sit on was utterly snuffed. He wasn’t being offered a chance to earn a reward, he was being pawned off on someone who’d been expecting to be paid cash. Someone who made their living from violence, none the less. Phil was very aware of what happened when people used to violence were given access to an avian hybrid.
The job options for hybrids were few, if they had managed to hang on to their freedom. Nothing where they commanded real humans, nothing where they owned property. Ordinary hybrid fighters ended up as low-level guards or labourers more often than not. To be an independent warrior this man had to be very good at killing. And Phil was being used to get out of paying him. Even aside from the usual, he couldn’t imagine this ended well for him.
The piglin glanced at him, taking in Phil from head to toe—the bruises on his skin, the flimsy clothes he was wearing, the way he stood favouring one side. The man turned to glare back at Phil’s owner behind the desk.
. “I—he’s hurt ,” the piglin said in a deep voice. He gestured. “I’m on foot, I’ve got a long way to go, this guy can’t keep up.”
The overseer didn’t look at Phil. “It’s an old injury,” he said lightly. “Birdie can manage.”
The man’s tusked jaw worked. “It’s nearly winter. What’s he wearing, scarves? Does he come with cold-weather gear?”
The overseer waved a hand. “Wrap it in a blanket or something.”
“Right,” the piglin said, hand tightening on a sword at his belt. “So to recap, you’re not payin’ me for my two weeks of work clearin’ nightdrops out of your mine, and instead you’re givin’ me this guy who looks like he’s on his last legs, and I’m gonna have to spend some money to get him geared out, after which he’ll slow me down. That’s what’s happening?”
“It knows how to be very entertaining when you’re slowed down,” the overseer said, an unconcerned smile on his face. He had all the power here, and he knew it. No one would hear a complaint about a hybrid going unpaid if the human involved had made even the slightest nod towards payment. He was getting rid of a tool at the end of its useful life and an inconvenient bill at the same time. The overseer’s smile grew. “If you’d rather go without payment, that’s also an option.” His eyes traveled to Phil, an amused tilt to his lips. “I think the bird’s useful, but if you disagree you don’t have to take it. It can make up for the inconvenience to me later.”
Phil was too experienced to flinch, but something inside of him still sunk. Apologizing for “inconvenience” or “embarrassment” he’d caused the overseer was never easy or fast.
“No, I’ll take him,” the piglin said. His voice was tight. He waved a hand towards the door. “We’re leavin’ now, alright?”
Phil’s eyes flicked between his old master and his new one. The overseer was already shuffling through papers at his desk. The piglin was gesturing him closer.
He had a good foot of height on Phil, and at least Phil’s weight over again, and he was armoured and armed. He looked angry. He thought Phil was damaged goods to start with, and damaged goods he was being kept from his rightful pay with.
“Yes, sir,” Phil said colourlessly, and limped after his new master as he headed for the door.
Bleakly, he decided to hope that if the piglin killed him he’d have the professional skill to do it quickly. If he decided to take out his frustrations on Phil in detail, this could get hard to bear before it all ended.
The air outside the fort was cold, a dusting of snow on the ground and a chill wind pulling at Phil’s clothes. His outfit was made to give people easy access, not protect him from the weather. He pulled his wings around himself as much as he could and tried not to shiver.
His new master was running a hand over his face. “Look,” he started, turning towards Phil, and then stopping. He stared at Phil.
Was he doing something wrong? Phil uncurled his wings and tried to stand straight, as unobtrusive as was possible with the man who owned him looking directly at him. “Yes, sir?” he said, keeping his voice quiet.
“Nah,” the man said, jolting into movement and shaking his head. “None of that. Call me Techno.” He shrugged out of his pack and put it on the ground, then untied the green cloak at his neck. He pulled it off and stepped forward, holding the ball of fabric out to Phil at arm’s length. “Put this on, you’ll freeze.”
That felt dangerous, but disobeying his master was an even worse idea. Phil took the cloak and draped it over his shoulders, the enchanted material warm and scratchy against his skin. He blinked up at his master. How was he supposed to respond to this? “Alright,” he said, keeping a wary eye on him. “Techno.”
The piglin swallowed, something complicated flashing across his face for a moment. “You wait here,” he said. He pointed to the side at a bunch of boulders, then rummaged in his pack and came out with a piece of bread. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Phil. “I’ll be back in a bit, you eat something. Alright?”
This was not going how he’d expected, but Phil wasn’t going to turn down free food. He took the bread. “Okay,” he said. He held it as the piglin nodded at him and then strode off towards the small market down the road.
Phil had been—left alone? And warm? He didn’t know how to handle that. He blinked, watching the man’s departing back.
Was his new master just abandoning him? The man hadn’t been excited about having Phil follow him, but then why take him in the first place? And even slow, once they were in camp an avian slave had obvious uses. Phil was trying not to think too much about that fact alongside his new master’s size and strength, to be honest. Why would someone walk away from a conveniently available body?
And how long would Phil have, if he was being left behind, before someone noticed the slave mark on his neck and dragged him in to be punished? Phil straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, and then took a bite out of the bread. Worrying about that was borrowing trouble, and there was enough trouble to go around already. He’d give it at least an hour to wait before he started looking for somewhere to hide. For right now, he would eat the bread and enjoy the chance to sit down. Survival meant taking the wins where he got them.
The cloak was long enough that he could sneak his feet up onto the fabric too, and he got to take the weight off his knee, and the bread wasn’t even stale. Phil sat in the sunshine as he ate, watching sparrows worry the last few berries off a leafless bush. He tossed them a few crumbs and they hopped a couple steps closer and considered him, tiny feathered heads tilting to the side.
“No more,” Phil told them, warm inside the cloak. He ate the last scrap of bread and brushed crumbs from his mouth. “You’d be better off flyin’ away.”
The sparrows ignored him, pecking up the crumbs and then going back to their bush, and Phil pulled the cloak tighter around him and waited. He would learn more of how it all went soon enough.
It was only half an hour later that his master returned, wrapped in a new red cloak and face closing when he looked at Phil. Phil gripped the edges of the cloak closed and waited. His master swung his pack off his back and knelt down next to it, stacking things on the ground next to Phil as he started rattling off a list. “New clothes for you. Might be big, but they’ll keep you warm. Pack for your things, you can keep the cloak. Bedroll and blanket. Bowl and some stuff for eatin’, and mittens for when it gets colder. Cane, tell me if it’s too long and I’ll take it back and get ‘em to trim it. Some boots, and a wrap for your knee, the lady said it should help if it’s an old injury.” He held out a roll of fabric and some wire pins in big hands. “I can help you put it on, if you want? She showed me how.”
The sight of his master kneeling at his feet did something unsettling to Phil’s stomach. Things weren’t right. This was dangerous. There was no way that all of these gifts came without expectation of heavy payment and or punishment for being insufficiently grateful. Phil lowered himself to his knees, hands shaking a little as he gathered up the items. “Thank you, sir,” he managed, not looking up. The boots were felt, with leather soles and a warmth-charm embroidery of a sunburst on the toe, and they looked like they would fit him just right. “I’m very grateful,” Phil said. He needed to get ahead of things, start placating his master before the payment for this bounty came due with a vengeance. “I would show my gratitude,” he said, reaching for his master’s belt. “Anything you need–”
He cut himself off as the piglin grabbed his wrists. Phil’s eyes snapped up to his face, avoiding his eyes, and his master was tense with—anger?
“None of that,” the piglin said, voice a little strangled. “I don’t want—any of that. Don’t—that’s not part of your job now. You don’t have a job—I’m not your master, we’re goin’ to SkyBlock. I’m not a sir, don’t—“ He sucked in a breath, then swallowed. “That’s not somethin’ you have to do, not somethin’ I want. You just—take your things, and then we can go.” He looked down, seeming to realize he was holding Phil’s wrists as if for the first time, and dropped them like they’d burned him.
There was one obvious use for an avian slave, and Phil knew that very well. He was realistic about it. He didn’t want it, but he knew how the world worked. If he wasn’t being used for that, what would his life even look like? Everything the piglin was saying was—not how the world worked. He tucked his arms back inside the cloak, holding it around him. “But you gave me shit? For fuckin’ free?” He swallowed, realizing his voice had slipped into the informal register some masters didn’t like.
“I didn’t want you to be cold,” his master said. He didn’t react to Phil’s slip of talking to him like a peer. He put the wrap of fabric next to Phil and pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off. “You just—get dressed, and then we can leave.”
Phil had met hybrids before who felt complex things about being free when other hybrids were not. The reminder that if things had gone differently they would also have a mark on their neck was not something some free people liked to consider. Some of them were particularly cruel because of it, and some of them wanted to be treated as though they were equals. It looked like the piglin was one of the latter, if Phil was reading this correctly. He wanted to act like they were friends, and Phil was here because he wanted to be. Phil gripped handfuls of his cloak, eyes darting from his new master to the pile of things he’d just been given.
This situation would take careful management, but he could do it. It was so far from what he’d expected, he almost couldn’t believe it was happening. This was a stroke of luck like Phil hadn’t had in years.
Phil pulled the tunic off the top of the pile. “Alright,” he said. It was green, with the embroidery of charms for warmth on the hems, and the fabric was soft under his hand. “I’ll get ready.”
“I don’t want–” His master started and then cut himself off. He looked at Phil hopefully. “We can just travel together—like friends?”
Phil nodded. It would be stressful, to navigate the right line between friendly and too far, but it was by far better than what he’d expected. “Sure,” he said, and managed a grin at his master. “Friends.”
His master smiled back. Behind his back, the sparrows took to the sky.
Phil’s new master turned out to be funny, and it was easy to laugh at his jokes. He made enough at meals to split it between them both, and Phil got to sleep in his own bedroll, belly full of food, warm under cloak and blankets. His master kept not grabbing him in the night.
He never made any moves towards Phil, actually. He would eye Phil sometimes when Phil sat close, but he would never close the difference. He took Phil to get his cane adjusted, and he walked slow enough for Phil to keep up. He asked Phil for his name and he used it instead of calling him dismissive diminutives. Phil’s bruises healed, and there were no more new injuries.
Phil kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it kept not happening. He got stronger and got sick less, and no one’s hands crawled over his body. It felt positively decadent, living like this.
He had figured out that his master wanted him to want sex, to come to him and ask as though they were friends, but the piglin seemed in no hurry for that to happen. In a small defiance, living on the edge because of all the things he kept being given, Phil was in no hurry for that to happen either.
He didn’t hate sex, because hating something that his life consisted of was a waste of time and energy, but he didn’t enjoy it, either. He’d never looked at someone and wanted them inside him, only known with grim certainty that it would happen whether or not he wanted it. He was sure that his master would expect him to service him eventually, but until then, he was enjoying being left alone. He got to sleep with his cloak pulled up to his chin and know that no one would wake him with hands in private places.
He got to enjoy having company that didn’t hit him, that seemed to want him to have a good time, or at least act like he was enjoying it, that never held him down and used him. Acting like he was having a good time was the easiest job Phil had had in a long time. He didn’t even think he was faking.
As they travelled, Phil laughed more than he had in years.
Phil had had to break ice on the stream to get water for the meal, and there was a crispness in the air when he inhaled. His master glanced up at the sky as he packed away the cooking pot and bowl. “Looks like it’ll be cold tonight.”
“Oh good,” Phil said, sitting on the other side of the fire from him. “I’ve been tired of the hot fuckin’ weather.”
His master glanced at him, the corner of his mouth turning up around his tusks. “Yeah, I thought by goin’ north we’d avoid it, but the heat wave’s been really drainin’.”
Phil laughed, and the piglin’s smile grew. Phil hadn’t made that quip on purpose, he realized, it had just happened. It was really incredibly easy to act comfortable with this man. His master sighed as he dug through his pack. “I’ll see if I can get some extra warmin’ charms for the tent, but not sure if it’ll be enough. Normally I have a full kit when I get this close to SkyBlock.”
Phil made an agreeable noise and poked the fire. He’d never been this far north before, but his master clearly knew what he was doing. The piglin was already pulling things out of his pack and muttering under his breath. They would deal with the cold when it got there.
Phil woke up freezing. The sound of the world had sharpened, and he was so cold his skin felt slippery. Pulling his blankets around himself didn’t fix the chill. Sleep-muddled in the dark, he sat up and tried to figure out what had happened.
His blanket was normally warm, but now it wasn’t working. When he breathed out, he saw the shadow of his breath in the tent in front of him. He had to clamp his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.
The temperature had dropped precipitously, and it was bitter cold in the tent. It was bitter cold on—this side of the tent.
Phil felt around himself, realizing that the warming charms on his bedroll had failed in the temperature drop. His master had placed a few charms against the sides of the tent, but they were barely more than lukewarm against this cold snap. His master was still breathing slowly in the semi-dark, though, and his side of the tent was summery. His bedroll was still working.
Higher quality charms, maybe, or whoever had sold him those things hadn’t under-cut a hybrid on purpose. Phil’s blankets felt as thin as gauze around him.
He curled up and tried to pull his wings around himself, but the cold still got in. He couldn’t feel his feet anymore. He didn’t have enough body fat for this, and his wings being clipped wasn’t helping. Dimly, Phil realized that he had stopped shivering. He was so sleepy.
That was bad.
Winter killed people, and he was pretty sure it went exactly like this. He wasn’t going to make it through the night huddled in these blankets. This might actually be how it ended, unless he did something.
And there was an obvious thing to do to warm up, but it came with repercussions.
Tucking himself into his master’s bedroll would make sure he survived, but it would also be an obvious sign that he was open for sex. Phil didn’t want to do that. But he didn’t want to die, either.
Phil clenched his fists together under the thin shadow of his wings, taking a breath that poured cold down his throat as he inhaled. He’d lived through periods of having been forced before, he could do it again. He’d just gotten squeamish because of the luxury of not having been touched for weeks.
It might not even be that bad, his master seemed like he might be gentle.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to do this.
He didn’t want the man he’d been treating as a friend to look at him like that, or touch him like that, or hold him down and push into him. He wanted to keep going like they had been, where they joked together and he knew that the piglin wouldn’t touch him unless he asked. He wanted to keep being friends.
But he wanted to keep living, too, and as long as he was alive, he could endure almost anything.
Phil turned and wiggled under the edge of his master’s bedroll. It was toasty warm immediately, and he breathed out. No regrets. He’d done worse things to survive.
His master made a sleepy noise, blinking at him in the moonlight. “Ph’l?” His voice was raspy.
“Fuckin’ cold,” Phil said by way of explanation. He could feel the body heat rolling off the piglin, and he was gradually thawing out. Next his master’s hands would travel intimate places.
“Mmmm.” The piglin made a noise of assent and shifted to sling an arm around Phil. He tucked him under his chin and subsided, breathing smoothing out.
Phil stayed stiff and watchful, but nothing happened. As he waited, his master’s touch never became grasping. Phil was just being held, safe and warm.
He must be waiting for morning.
Phil let himself relax, and tucked his face into the side of the piglin’s neck. The hybrid’s fur was fluffy and warm. Phil had been given a reprieve. He didn’t have to face the reality of what being an avian meant right now. He snuggled close and went back to sleep.
Phil woke up warm and cozy. He was alone in the bedroll. He pushed himself upright, looking around. There was no one else in the tent, and when he poked his head out of the flap, his master was crouched by the fire like usual, making porridge.
“Mornin’, Phil,” the piglin said, nodding to him. “Breakfast’s about ready. How’d you sleep?”
“Got fuckin’ cold there for a bit, but came through alright,” Phil replied on reflex. He didn’t know what was happening. “You’re makin’ breakfast?”
His master nodded, poking the cooking pot. “Probably done by the time you get your bowl.”
Phil withdrew and dug his bowl out of his pack, stuffing his feet into his boots and wrapping himself in all of his clothes. He came out of the tent and wordlessly accepted a serving of breakfast, then sat down on the log across from his master.
Was he waiting for Phil to say something? Was he just not going to mention it? Was he waiting for later? When did the sex happen? Phil’s master sat back on his own log and ate a couple spoonfuls of porridge, hiding his hand and breathing with his mouth open to cool it when it turned out to be hot. “Oh jeez,” he said. “Doin’ great this mornin’. Porridge one, Technoblade zero.” He glanced up at Phil. “We’re only a few days away from SkyBlock, should be able to get some space in an inn there. Be nice to be indoors. Gotta deal with people, but it’s sure nice to have a bed and a roof.”
“Yeah,” Phil said, holding his bowl in mittened hands. He stared across the fire. “Are we goin’ to be havin’ sex once we’re inside, then? You waitin’ for a bed?”
His master choked and coughed, hitting himself in the chest a few times. He stared at Phil, eyes watering a little. “I—what?”
“I got into fuckin’ bed with you,” Phil told him. “I said it was okay. We’re like friends, so you’ll want to fuck me, right, now that I want it?”
The piglin blinked wordlessly at him, the tips of his ears turning red. “I—no. I don’t—want that. I don’t want that from anybody, I don’t—have sex.” He ran a hand over his mouth for a moment. “And even if I did want that—I think I technically own you right now? So that would be weird as a thing. I—no?” He looked back down at the bowl of food he was holding, speaking into his lap. “Sorry if you were uh, lookin’ forward to that, but I’m not—playin’ that game. That’s not a thing I’m into. For a couple of reasons.”
Phil stared at him. There was a lot of information that had just happened, but he needed clarification on one point. “Technically?” he asked. If this was about his master being a hybrid, Phil knew very well that free hybrids could still own slaves. “Nobody’s gonna take me away from you if you show them my mark,” he said by way of explanation. “Don’t worry about that.”
His master stared at him. “Worry?” His voice canted higher-pitched. “Phil, I’m takin’ you to SkyBlock, I don’t want to own you. I’m—did you not know what that means?”
What was happening? “It’s where we’re goin?” Phil ventured. Judging by the piglin’s expression, that was wrong. “It’s fuckin’—north?”
“It’s—they don’t have slavery.” His master said. Not his master? Techno put his bowl on the ground and fumbled at the collar of his shirt. “I jumped ship there, I—Phil, you thought I owned you this whole time?” He pulled aside cloth, showing something on his collarbone that Phil had only heard of in theory. He had a slave mark with a manumission slash cutting through it, the enchantment burned into his skin.
“What the fuck ,” Phil said. This was too much information at once. He was still dealing with the fact that he wasn’t going to be expected to provide sex, and now he was apparently free, or on his way there? His master had also been a slave, and that was why he was freeing Phil? He didn’t have a master at all?
“Bruh, I’m sorry,” Techno said. “I thought you knew. I don’t want—I took you cause you looked like they were hurtin’ you and I thought I could get you somewhere safe. I don’t wanna own anybody.” He gripped his hands in front of himself. “And if you thought I was expectin’ things from you—that way, cause I owned you—I’m—no. I don’t think anybody should do that.”
“Met a couple people who don’t fuckin’ agree with you,” Phil told him, a bit blankly. He could still feel the warmth of the porridge Techno had made him radiating through the sides of the bowl he was holding. “Feel like you might be in the minority, actually.”
“Let’s say it doesn’t make me feel better to be lumped in with the majority with this, Phil,” Techno said, tone a little desperate. “That’s not the vibe I was goin’ for at all!”
Phil laughed, then passed a hand over his face. “Alright, if you wanna be special, then.” All that time, when Techno had been treating him like a friend, it hadn’t been something fake, put on to make him feel better. He’d actually seen Phil as a peer. He was on his way to free him. It was the sort of thing that people dreamed about, not something that actually happened.
“I would, Phil, I would really like to be special in this,” Techno told him. He bent back over and picked up his bowl again, and then looked across the fire at Phil. “And uh, I was gonna offer we could stick together if you wanted, cause we’ve been gettin’ along pretty well, but it turns out there was some major miscommunications there, so I’ll just set you up with some money, once I make some, and then you can go live your life, okay?” He stirred his porridge and glanced at Phil. “You don’t have to have me be a part of your life at all. You can move on.”
“No,” Phil said, making a decision. “Nah.” He ate some of his porridge and smiled across the fire.
Techno did not appear reassured by the smile. He raised furry eyebrows. “Uh—no? Not tryin’ to tell you how to live your life, but I hear that movin’ on from the bad stuff is kinda recommended. The smart people are kinda into that as a thing.”
“No, I’m not livin’ my life without you,” Phil informed him. “I’m stickin’ with you. You don’t know how to cook, I can start with that.”
Techno looked at him for a moment. “I thought the stew was quite good, Phil,” he said plaintively.
“You stewed the dumplin’s too long,” Phil said. “Let me do it.” He wasn’t even afraid of talking back to the other man, he realized, and he hadn’t been afraid before this revelation either. The man he was travelling with just felt safe. He felt like a friend. He had seen Phil as a person when literally no one else had, and now Phil got to see him as a person back. The world was full of possibility and colour in a way Phil had given up on dreaming for years ago.
“Everyone’s a critic,” Techno said. He heaved a sigh. “I guess if you really want to, I could possibly be bullied enough to allow you to do cookin’. If we wanted to form a mutually beneficial partnership, I’d be okay with that.”
“Damn straight,” Phil said. “You’re lucky to have me.” His cheeks hurt a little from how hard he was grinning.
Across the fire, Techno smiled back. “I am.” His expression fell. “I meant have as a friend, as a free person, not as a havin’, just so you know,” he hurried to say. “I’m entirely set on takin’ you to go get free–”
Phil tipped back his head and laughed, and then he ate his breakfast alongside his friend.