She stood like an apparition of gold mist in the twilight sun, too ethereal to catch. Fundy had been going outside the walls to do – something. Write in his diary? Prank Tubbo again? Steal something? Even now, he couldn't remember. But the sight of her arrested him, as she gazed up at the black walls, the tired sunlight tangling in her shimmering hair, and he did not think he had ever seen anything more lovely in all his life – and for that moment, he almost forgot the ever-present ache in his chest.

"Hello," he managed to get out.

"Hello," she said, in a soft voice.

"Are you visiting?"

"Ich bin auf der Durchreise," she said.

How beautifully she spoke in what he assumed was her native language. It almost sounded like Dutch. Without thinking, he said, "Je kunt hier passeren."

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Dutch," she said in English.

"You can pass through here," he repeated. Was she really European, though? What if she only spoke German because she thought he was German? Rational thought came in spurts. Wilbur would not be happy if Fundy invited a German-speaking American into L'Manberg, however pretty or fluent she may be. "You're from Germany, right?"

She tilted her head, as if thinking. What a sweet gesture. How carefully she considered everything he said. "Yes."

His heart leapt. "You can spend the night here, if you want. We have food, and protection from the mobs."

The girl looked uncertain. She must not trust him. He didn't blame her. Most people didn't trust him when they first saw him and his stupid, freakish ears – certainly the reason, the only reason so few people liked him. That aside, though, she knew nothing about him or L'Manberg. He walked up to her, his steps stiff. How awkward she must think him.

But how much more beautiful she looked up close! Freckles dotted her cheeks like cinnamon. Her large brown eyes gazed at him from under thick lashes. Her hands – so tiny and white! – clutched the straps of her rucksack, revealing her discomfort.

"My name is Fundy," he said, and hoping to put her at ease, he smiled. The wide, confident grin he held before everyone at all times dissolved on his lips, and he gave her a smile of genuine, eager happiness. "Welcome to L'Manberg."

She backed away from him. Her voice became strained. "I'm Nihachu. That's an interesting name for a town."

Nihachu! What a lovely name! It fit her perfectly. "It's actually a country, though it's pretty small. And we're all men right now."

She frowned. No, of course she would be worried about a country full of men. "And European!" he amended. "That's the main reason we established this country. A place away from the Americans."

Nihachu nodded, but she didn't look appeased. What could he say to make her feel more comfortable? She was still worried about a country full of men...Then he knew what to say. "There's only four of us."

She looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yes. There's just me, Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. Please stay. You see, we just fought a war with the Americans and we're trying to rebuild. Any help would be appreciated."

Nihachu sighed. "You want me to join your little country of men while you're in the middle of a war?"

He was losing her. He couldn't bear to let her go. Why was he talking so much, playing his hand so wildly, revealing all? Whatever happened to the defenses he'd built up around himself after all these years? He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them steady. "We're not at war anymore. We signed a peace treaty. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, though..." He hesitated. "There aren't any other settlements around here for a long ways." He didn't mention the Dream SMP Community Hub, though it wasn't far, relatively speaking. He didn't like thinking of her with those scumbags.

"One night," she said at length. "And then I should move on." But she smiled, and he knew it would be all right.

"Understood."

Silence hung over the deserted plaza. Overturned chairs, torn decorations, blackened marks on the cobblestones told only part of the harrowing story from that afternoon. Bits of serviettes and refreshments lay scattered over the ground, mostly deviled eggs. Not even the insects touched those. The sky still shone blue, clouds drifting by in lazy piles. The oblivious October sun warmed the little country, and a chill breeze wove through the plaza, the ruse of life over impending death.

Three figures huddled behind the stage – President J. Schlatt, Vice President Quackity, and Fundy. The fox-boy felt an inordinate amount of satisfaction that the president had chosen him as his impromptu number-two in the absence of Tubbo. Schlatt, propped up in a chair, and Quackity, swaying on his feet from a concussion – or so he claimed – both sported bandages on various parts of their bodies. Hastily-cleaned gunpowder stained their faces and hair. Quackity's sunglasses hung on by a couple melted strands of plastic. Cracked flakes of what could only be concealer peeled around his cheeks, exposing dark green smudges on the ashy-brown skin. He and Fundy held crossbows, as befitted a president's bodyguards. The secretary of state wasn't the only office in need of a quick, temporary replacement, since Sapnap and Punz had gone after Technoblade and Tommy. Fundy still pressed the ice pack Niki had given him up to his face where Technoblade had punched him. One of the many places where Technoblade had punched him. Rather embarrassing, really, how all the years in those street gangs – so many fist-fights in empty lots and alleyways – had ended up with him getting nearly pulverized.

Schlatt, glaring from the midst of his bandages, shook with fury. "Why didn't one of you do something before he blew us up?" he seethed. "You just keep disappointing me, Quackface. The one time when you can actually do something…"

"He was executing Tubbo!" Quackity hollered. "I don't think he even meant for the fireworks to blow up in our faces! We were standing too close, that's all!"

"It all happened so fast," Fundy added, trying to keep his triumphant sneer under control. Tubbo had told him once that his smile scared him, and Fundy didn't want Schlatt to feel threatened. Not yet.

"Schlatt!" came Sam's voice from the plaza, echoing a little. "Where are you?"

A chorus of other voices joined Sam's. "Schlatt! Schlatt! Come here!" Not cheering voices. More like an angry mob than anything else.

"Carry me out there," Schlatt ordered. Quackity and Fundy didn't move, unsure if their president meant for them to carry just him or to carry out the chair with him in it. "Get me out there!" Schlatt snapped when neither of them did anything. They each grasped a side of the chair and scraped it through the curtains, onto the charred stage, avoiding the broken slats. Fundy's delirium of success faded fast. What is he doing? Is he going to have us take all the hits? Even after everything I've done for him?

The citizens and guests of Manberg stood gathered in the shredded plaza below, anger flaring in their eyes, hands poised on weapons. Fundy noted that Punz had returned – without either Technoblade or Tommy. Really, one would think that a man paid to fight and guard would have more to show for his supposed talents.

Schlatt, smiling, hissed, "Ready your crossbows."

Fundy hesitated, the ice pack weighing down in his hand, his crossbow pulling on the other. He glanced at Quackity, to see what he did. The vice president slowly loaded his crossbow, head bent over the weapon, bandaged fingers fumbling with the arrow – but who knew what he was looking at behind those sunglasses. Fundy gazed at the small crowd. They probably all hate you, Frederik. Hanging around Schlatt like this.

He set the ice pack on the floor and straightened, loaded his own weapon. He tried not to meet anyone's eyes as he trained the bow over their heads. Especially not Nihachu's. Oh, how pretty she looked that day, in her blue pinafore and lace-up sandals. Her pale pink hair, a little tousled from her dip in the dunk tank, glowed. He felt her staring at him with those beautiful brown eyes of hers, accusing, disappointed. Why, though? Had she figured it out it was him who had requested she be brought back to Manberg? Or was it because of the dunk tank incident with Technoblade? Sometimes she was too sweet. Who cared about Technoblade. Who knew what that pig would do in the future. Fundy felt justified, seeing how Techno had nearly killed him in the ring. Not to mention killed Tubbo.

Fundy knew the answer, though, why Niki looked at him with such revulsion. It was because, in the end, after everything that had happened, he stood up here beside President Schlatt, and not down there with her.

L, for liar.

Maybe he should have told her, about his scheme, about the burning of the flag – her flag – and everything else. But he didn't trust her sweet nature. She might have told someone. Later he would tell her. Later – and she would be so proud of him when he revealed he'd been a spy the whole time.

Surprising absolutely no one, Nihachu stepped forward from the midst of the crowd. Fundy could see her trembling, but she raised her head, a defiant look on her face. "You're a tyrant, Schlatt!" she cried in a wavering voice. "Tubbo has been nothing but loyal to you and to Manberg! How could you? How could you have him executed? He was just a child. He was everyone's friend. Your cruelty is beyond measure."

Schlatt flared. "You know, ever since I assumed this office, you have been a big, ugly thorn in my side!"

Nihachu raised her voice above his. "I don't – I don't even want to be here in your Manberg!" She spat out the word like it burned her mouth. "What are you going to do about it, Schlatt?"

Niki...?

"Stop wasting my taxes," Schlatt snapped. He chewed on his bottom lip. "You know what? No. I'm done with her." He nodded to Fundy's crossbow. "Aim for her."

Fundy glanced at the president, feeling numb. You can't be found out yet, Frederik. "Schlatt..." But without thinking, every muscle quivering, Fundy leveled the crossbow on Niki. Their eyes met, and Fundy never felt more ashamed in his life.

"Do you care for me? You say you love me, but do you even know what that means?"

He shook her voice out of his head.

Keep smiling.

Nihachu lifted her chin. Tears ran down her cheeks. "You won't kill me, too, Schlatt?" she cried, but her gaze remained on Fundy.

"I will do whatever necessary to protect Manberg." Schlatt poked Fundy's side. "Take her out."

Fundy's arms shook harder. His vision blurred. He could no longer see Nihachu standing before him, defiant, brave, even as she stared up at him in fear.

"What's the matter, Fondue? Take her out!"

Fundy tried forcing his limbs to steady, stiffen them into submission. Nihachu didn't move. What would Schlatt do if Fundy didn't follow his order? Would Schlatt give him another brand? Would he kill him next? Even after Fundy had helped him? Three executions in one day? A day of festival?

He's using you, Frederik, just like Wilbur used you.

I know. That's why I'm doing this.

But you can't kill Niki.

Maybe I can fire just past her and say that I slipped or the wind took the arrow.

He'll see right through that.

A hollow voice he had not heard in weeks pierced through his thoughts and echoed throughout the plaza: "So, Schlatt. This is how you treat my citizens in my absence."

The air hushed. All eyes turned to the back of the plaza, where stood none other than Wilbur Soot – back from the dead, not a ghost, very much alive – trench coat billowing about him. His wild face did not look that much different from Karl's crazed drawing of him in the wanted posters. The crowd stared at him, shocked. Fundy wasn't shocked; he'd been almost certain that Wilbur had survived for weeks, but the sight of him still made Fundy clutch the crossbow tighter.

"So you are alive," murmured Schlatt, glaring down on him. "I knew it."

Hate replaced grief and clear thinking at the sight of Wilbur. Wrath rose in Fundy's aching chest, and consciously or not, aimed the crossbow at the exile now. You're supposed to be dead. Wilbur glanced at him, and Fundy could tell Wilbur knew how much Fundy hated him. But Fundy didn't care. Wilbur stood in plain sight, not moving, a perfect easy target. With Wilbur gone – really gone, gone for good – Fundy would no longer have to worry about his rival.

"If you hate Wilbur, you don't actually love me."

Nihachu took a half-step toward Wilbur, then ran to him, and he caught her in a deep embrace, her face buried in his chest. Wilbur kissed the top of her head. Hot tears filled Fundy's eyes, and he almost fired the crossbow then. Only Nihachu, his beloved, traitorous Nihachu – too close to his target for a clean shot – kept Wilbur alive in that moment. Wilbur drew his gaze to the stage, and his voice filled the plaza, loud but calm: "I have remained in the shadows long enough, Schlatt, watching you corrupt your authority, twisting the very thing entrusted to your care. I can no longer sit idly by – you have not only hurt me and Tommy, but you have hurt my friends." He made a sweeping gesture with an arm, including them all in it – and Fundy felt the hate vanish in a flood of guilt. He lowered the crossbow and Wilbur kept talking. "You killed Tubbo, you're threatening Niki, you're turning people against their friends – not to mention disregarding the livelihoods and well-being of all my fellow L'Manbergians."

"It's Manberg, you – you – entrepreneur!" Schlatt shouted. Then he laughed and smacked Quackity on the back, between the curled wings. Quackity almost toppled off the stage. Schlatt was apparently not as incapacitated as he seemed. He quickly regained his composure. "I mean, that was pretty uncool of what your little bee boi did. I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty upset. Tubbo was a good friend of mine, or so I thought." He sighed, and Fundy glanced at him. The president almost looked remorseful. Of what? That he killed Tubbo? Or that Tubbo was a traitor? "To know what he'd been doing behind my back…" Schlatt's voice drifted off, and his face reassembled into a hard mask.

Wilbur gently removed Nihachu from him, and drew his sword. Fundy didn't even know Wilbur owned a weapon. Punz strode in front of the rebel, his own crystal longsword bared. Wilbur ignored him, his gaze locked on Schlatt. "If you're going to kill someone, kill me," he said. "Only me. Leave my people in peace."

Schlatt laughed. "I'm not going to kill anyone. I'm not a bad guy." His voice pitched higher, becoming almost squeaky, and he seemed to be trying to skew his face into probably what he imagined innocent people looked like, achieving something almost pitiable, but mostly just creepy. The bandages and smeared gunpowder didn't help. "Do I look like a bad guy to you?"

"I mean – kind of," someone muttered.

"Shut up." Schlatt grinned. "Wilbur Soot...how about you leave and we'll forget any of this ever happened, hm?"

Wilbur's eyes brightened. "Fight me."

Schlatt snarled. "Tubbo, give me my – Oh, I killed him." He searched himself as if he could have stuck a crossbow or a sword somewhere in his suit. "I don't have any arrows…" he mumbled. He turned to Fundy. "Can I have, uh –?"

Fundy handed him the crossbow without thinking.

"Thank you, Fondue." Schlatt looked it over, though everyone had seen him flawlessly firing Dream's netherite crossbow not a month earlier.

Fundy watched Wilbur whisper in Nihachu's ear, saw the way Wilbur's hand cradled the side of her head, the way she nodded, her eyebrows drawing together in distress.

Schlatt suddenly raised the loaded crossbow, wincing as he did so. "ALL RIGHT! HERE WE GO!" He fired at Wilbur with a strength belying his outward frailty. "Kill him!" he shrieked, almost toppling out of the chair. "Kill him or I'm executing the lot of you!"

Nihachu tore from Wilbur and ran.

In spite of the threat, neither Fundy nor Quackity moved – not that Fundy could have done much at that point without a weapon. Fundy watched Nihachu go, flying like a little pink dove over the hills, and part of him went with her. Bad Boy Halo and Skeppy split from the others and pursued her.

If you lay a finger on her… But Fundy did not leave Schlatt's side.

Those in the plaza below erupted into action, so similar to that day when they had chased Wilbur out of the country before. Wilbur dodged the arrows, almost getting decapitated by Antfrost's swinging halberd. He pulled a potion from his pocket and downed it in one go, then turned on his assailants: Sam, Antfrost, and Punz, darting about and jabbing at them with his sword before spinning around and jabbing again, like some wild dance for life. Fundy had never seen Wilbur fight in the past, not even during the war. None of the others had ever crossed blades with him before, and were taken off-guard by his light style of combat – and of course, he was faster than all of them on account of what was probably a speed potion, not to mention his strange lightness in comparison to his size.

"Shoot him! Shoot him!" Schlatt screamed, firing Fundy's crossbow until he ran out of arrows. Quackity still didn't move. Fundy almost covered his ears, his hypersensitive eardrums burning from Schlatt's vocal exertions.

"You'll not get me again, Punz!" Wilbur cried, and Fundy could see his feral eyes, the psychotic grin splitting his face as he lunged at the mercenary with his sword.

But they closed in around him: spear, halberd, and longsword against Wilbur's blade. Sam kicked Wilbur's feet from under him, and the other two bore down on him with their weapons.

He's not going to make it. And now Fundy didn't know if he felt happy or sad about that. He thought of those warm nights in the Camarvan long ago, laughing, talking, singing to Wilbur's guitar. He left you out of the anthem, remember?

But, as before, some greater force was with Wilbur that day, and as he avoided the blows and swung at his assailants, he edged to the back of the plaza before streaking off across the green like a wind-sent feather. Punz fired a bullet after him, though it almost looked to Fundy as if he'd purposefully aimed awry. Still, Wilbur only missed the shots by mere centimeters. He disappeared over the hill, back to wherever he had been hiding this whole time.

"All right, now that that's out of the way, how about we go on with the party?" said Schlatt as he sat, his voice normal once more, his tone light. Too light.

Everyone stared at him, shocked, disgusted, or maybe considering lodging a halberd in Schlatt's face, as in a certain cat-boy's case.

"I think we should discuss this in the White House," whispered Fundy, wondering how Nihachu was faring. He rubbed his left ear.

Schlatt frowned upon the crowd, but nodded. "Let's meet in the White House." In a louder voice, he said, "Go on with the party, peeps! There might still be some deviled eggs for all of you!"

No one looked thrilled at this statement, but now Schlatt, Quackity, and Fundy – with his ice pack again – left the stage and disappeared inside the Off-White House. Meeting or not, Fundy felt as though they were hiding, cowering from their own subjects. How might things have been different had only Coconut 2020 been elected. Or even POG 2020.

"We could form our own party," he said as they prepared refreshments for the election rally. "One based around our bakery. We could ship our goods all around the world."

"Or...we could ask Wilbur if we could do that under POG 2020," said Nihachu.

Fundy almost crushed the profiterole he was filling. Wilbur again. No, she would come around eventually. Please, Niki. Please do this with me.

"Don't you see where Wilbur's policies are getting us, though?" he said. "This is all just a show. He doesn't actually care about democracy. He just wants to stay in charge."

She looked uncomfortable, frowning at the tray of macarons. "I know. Maybe..."

"We'll make our own party. We'll show everyone how strong and influential we can be. Show them all that we're more than just little citizens under Wilbur's thumb. And-and we don't even need to win. This is more to make a point for Wilbur. Maybe afterwards he'll come through, even be a better president after all this. Let's do this, you and me. Like it's always been." He took her hand, so small it disappeared in his, and he squeezed it.

She didn't answer. Why did she hesitate? Her fingers did not close around his. "I...I don't really want to go against Wilbur, though..."

He sighed. "Well, then I'll run by myself, but it won't be the same without you. And while I don't care about winning, I don't know if I'd have a chance without you, even if I did manage to find another running mate in time..."

"Oh, Fundy, you would – do – have a chance. You're an amazing baker, you're kind, and generous..."

He shook his head. "But you're an even more amazing baker. And you're the good one."

Her face reddened and she looked away. "No, Fundy, I'm not..."

He took her other hand, but her fingers still did not close. "You are. We're the two best bakers in the land. Everyone will have a better chance at peace if we focus on things people love. Right?"

She smiled at that. "I suppose..." Her fingers curled around his palm. "I guess you're right. Pastries are much more peaceable than politics. And Wilbur has been bothering me lately. Maybe he will want to join us later. I think – I think we can do it."

Had it not been for his immense self-control, Fundy might have kissed her cheek then, but he settled for squeezing her hand again instead.

Thank you, Niki.

Please have fun.

Please love doing this with me.

Please love me.

"Well, that could have gone a lot better," Schlatt muttered. He and Fundy sat at the table in the otherwise huge empty dining hall of the Off-White House. Fundy wondered what had happened to all the furnishings he, Karl, and Tubbo had supplied the place with. Karl himself scurried in with a bottle of wine and some glasses – as well as a cheese board – and then scurried back out.

Quackity checked the windows to ensure no one had followed them, then sat opposite Fundy, tense. "Yeah, what the heck just happened?"

Schlatt stood and poured the wine. Quackity watched, looking a little sick. "I don't know," said the president, not sounding in the least bit concerned.

Fundy almost blew up. "Two people were almost –!"

Schlatt swirled the wine around in his glass. "We took care of the problem, fellas. We did what we needed to do."

"Yeah, but it was a festival…" Quackity said softly. "We were supposed to be happy…"

Schlatt shook his head and held the glass up to the light, staring into it like a crystal ball. "The festival was organized by Tubbo. By a traitor. So it deserved to get ruined."

Fundy frowned. "But the people – the – the cabbages and such – and the speech, man…! You didn't mean any of it?"

Schlatt swung on him, spilling half the contents of the glass on the floor and the other half on Fundy. "It's lettuce, Fondue! It's lettuce, all right?! It's lettuce!"

Fundy curled into his coat, brushing off the stray drops. The smell of the wine sent his brain reeling, reminding him of his last encounter with alcohol, and he almost threw up. Instead, he buried his nose in the ice pack. "I'm sorry…"

Schlatt paced, waving the empty glass like a baton. "And Tubbo planted that lettuce, which means it's tainted! I'm not gonna have it anymore. He's gone. That's it."

Fundy and Quackity remained silent. Schlatt poured more wine into his glass, swirled it. "Wilbur's alive. And now that woman is with him. He got a follower, and we lost one. Though, I mean, we can all agree, she was getting a little annoying."

Quackity laughed nervously.

You were going to execute her anyway, Fundy thought.

Schlatt kept going. "I mean, whenever she's here, she's always complaining. Can't stop running that mouth of hers. What do you think of the girl, Fondue?"

"She's a traitor," said Fundy, thinking only of Niki with her arms around Wilbur, Wilbur's arms around her, his lips touching her hair.

The president raised his glass in a half-hearted toast. "Bone-apple-tea." He took a deep draught from the glass, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "And yet...you wouldn't kill her. Or that entrepreneur. Even though they were sitting ducks." He elbowed Quackity, his scowl changing to a manic grin in an instant. "Get it?"

Quackity didn't seem to hear him.

Fundy wanted to throw the ice pack at Schlatt, but he kept his words cool and deliberate. "I'm – I was – still in a lot of pain from my fight with Technoblade. That man is inhuman." Then he wished he hadn't said that last part.

Schlatt seemed to enjoy it, though, smiling and nodding as he swirled the wine around in the glass. "Inhuman. Funny. You know, we should have branded that little girl as well. You obviously learned your lesson. Everyone knows I don't tolerate two-faced traitors here." Fundy hardened his jaw around his stiff smile. "Why do you care?" asked Schlatt. "You gave up on Wilbur and Tommy so easily." Then his eyes widened, and he burst into raucous laughter, banging on the table with his fist. Fundy and Quackity waited in silence, leaning away from the table. The other two glasses shivered, and the bottle almost toppled over. "No way!" Schlatt wheezed. "Don't – don't tell me you actually – you're actually in LOVE with that girl?"

Fundy reddened and stared at the floor. He felt Quackity's gaze on him from behind the sunglasses.

"Is it true?" Quackity whispered.

Fundy forced out a laugh. Keep smiling. "Of course not. Niki's a traitor, like you said. Like I said." Stop blushing, you idiot.

Schlatt narrowed his eyes, as if not quite believing him. Quackity cleared his throat. "Uh, Pres, so –"

Schlatt drained the glass, set it down, then slammed both hands on the table, making it quake. The bottle shattered on the tiling below. Fundy and Quackity sat upright.

"You want to know how I figured out Tubbo was a spy?"

From the pained smile on Quackity's face, he must not want to hear either.

"Okay," said Fundy. He eased the ice pack off his now-frozen nose and returned it to his eye. He could barely smell anything now, though he was sure the room reeked of wine at this point.

"Sure, Pres," said Quackity.

Schlatt flashed his wild grin, punctuating his words with grand arm motions. "It was really quite genius of me. You know how Tubbo always leaves, going off on some errand, some secret mission no one – not even me – the emperor of Manberg! – knows about? Well, it only makes sense that that little bee boi was conspiring with rebels. That's why he made them their own little escape bunker and didn't say a word about it until I caught him there. Then suddenly it's a 'great library' complete with the rebel Tommy Innit himself! The treachery's right there, plain as – as – duck wings or fox ears!" Schlatt banged on the table again, his laughter approaching a shriek. Fundy didn't know how much more abuse that poor table could take. As he now often did when he felt uncomfortable, he reached up behind his neck and felt the ridged lines at the top of his spine. Schlatt's hysteria abruptly stopped, and he straightened, back cracking, glowering on the other two until they slid down in their chairs. "Enough of that. We shouldn't dwell so much on stupid stuff. We need to get back to expanding Manberg."

Fundy struggled to not sigh. "I think everyone's too tire–"

"No, plans. Plans for expanding." Schlatt grinned. "Let's meet back outside. First of all, though, I want to, uh – I have something I need to tell Bird-Brain here. In private. Alone."

Quackity glanced at Fundy, a silent, desperate plea on his lips. Fundy wondered at this, but he didn't know what to do, not with Schlatt right there. He felt some vague sympathy for the vice president – not enough to help him out, though. The duck-boy had publicly humiliated both him and Niki, had been the one holding the branding iron when it seared his skin. The little vice president would have to get out of this one on his own. Schlatt motioned to one of the untouched wine glasses. "Want some before you go?"

Fundy's throat constricted, and he gagged, but managed to keep his stomach down. "No, I'll have some later."

Schlatt shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Fundy returned to the almost insulting brightness of the late afternoon. The three members of the Badlands stood in the plaza. Bad Boy Halo and Skeppy, who had returned from chasing Nihachu, looked a little less murderous than earlier.

"Hey, Fundy," said Bad, but Fundy didn't miss the way they edged away from him, didn't miss the distrust in their eyes. Or at least Skeppy and Antfrost's eyes. Bad's always looked the same, whenever light found them in the depths of his hood. Fundy wished he hadn't come out here, where he didn't belong, only aggravating the pain in his chest, but like every other time, he couldn't stay away from people.

"How's Nihachu?" Fundy said through his teeth.

"Hm? Oh, Niki. Yeah, she's fine. I think. And very fast." Bad let out a little laugh. "Skeps and I turned back after she ran into the woods."

The woods…where Wilbur is.

"I'm ready to go home," said Skeppy, and he stretched, the diamond plating on his skin crackling a little. "Parties always wear me out."

"It's too bad it had to end like this," said Bad, gazing up at the limp bunting hanging from the buildings. He sounded more disappointed the party ended, not that Tubbo was executed. Not that Niki was almost killed. If he thought it so unfortunate, why did he help bring it all down?

"I thought it was fun," said Skeppy. "I liked the part where we all tried to kill Wilbur, even though Bad and I got a bit sidetracked. Do you think Schlatt would have rewarded us if we actually did it?"

Uneasy silence.

"Heeeeey!"

They turned and saw Schlatt exiting the Off-White House, a wide smile on his face, followed by a more sober Quackity and Punz.

Skeppy frowned. "What?"

"Don't look so sad." Schlatt came up and ruffled Antfrost's hair, skewing his headband in the process. Antfrost endured the treatment without reaction, but Fundy could hear the low rumble in the cat-boy's throat, and he backed away. Schlatt continued, oblivious or just stupid. "This is supposed to be a happy occasion, after all. We need to do something. Lighten the mood." He dropped his hand and gazed up at the tops of the buildings. Antfrost straightened his headband and said nothing. "I think we should take down that old RV-thing. It's such an eyesore. We should build a monument to my greatness there instead." Schlatt turned and winked at Quackity. "That oughta make you feel better." He laughed. Quackity giggled, though he didn't look like he felt better.

Fundy stiffened and glanced at the vice president. The tension in the air wound tighter. "The Camarvan is where L'Man – Manberg started. A historical monument." His voice dropped. "Also, I live there..."

Schlatt frowned, but Bad spoke up. "I agree. It's cool. A place where you can see where this all began."

Why does Bad care?

Schlatt bristled. "I'm the president. What I say goes."

Antfrost let out a tiny sound that Fundy would have described as a scoff. Maybe no one else heard it, but Schlatt certainly did. He turned, and made a sharp motion to Punz. The mercenary strode up to Antfrost and struck him across the face. The cat-boy stumbled to the ground, dropping the halberd and blinking in surprise. Then Schlatt came forward. He kicked the weapon aside and without warning, straddled Antfrost, grabbed the boy's right arm, and twisted it behind his back, forcing him further into the ground. For all his martial art skills as demonstrated earlier, Antfrost didn't even struggle beneath Schlatt's hands. "Dumb Kitty thinks he's so smart!" Schlatt hissed. "Dumb Kitty thinks he can bad-mouth the president and get away with it!" Maybe Antfrost was biding his time. Maybe he didn't think Schlatt would actually hurt him. Maybe he knew if he fought back, he could get worse than a slap from Punz.

But Skeppy drew out his scimitar, and Bad stepped forward. "Hey, Schlatt, what –" Schlatt bared his teeth and twisted Antfrost's arm back further. A crack snapped the air, and Antfrost let out a barely-controlled gasp of pain. The headband fell off altogether this time. "Hey, Schlatt, stop that!" Bad's voice took on a dangerous note, and he pulled out a throwing knife and sent it just past Schlatt's ear. Schlatt stopped, eyes wide, but no longer wild, only stunned. Antfrost looked up at them, silent as always, but tears swam in his eyes.

"You can stay here. You're still a citizen, but next time you wonder what that means, think about that mark on the back of your neck. You know, how much that hurt."

"You're being ridiculous, Schlatt," said Bad, for once the voice of reason. He motioned to Antfrost with another knife. "Get off of him."

Schlatt complied after a moment, but he glared round at them all. "The van is coming down!"

Singing to Wilbur's guitar on hot summer nights. Playing truth or dare. Telling stories. What we most want in all the world.

Bad helped Antfrost to his feet and examined his right forearm. Antfrost sucked in his breath, wiped at his eyes. Bad glared at Schlatt. "You broke his arm!"

Schlatt laughed. "You gonna cry about it? Along with your historical monument? Guess what, everyone, I'll build you a monument – The Monument to Crying About It!" Everyone winced. Schlatt's laughter reverted to pained hacking. "If you got anything else to complain about," he wheezed after a moment, "tell it to Fondue. He's my main man."

Fundy started.

"Why?" Nihachu cried, just hours before the festival. She stabbed the batter for the angel food cake with a spoon. "Why would you support him? He has done nothing but hurt us. He even branded you!"

L, for liar.

This is for you, Niki. You'll love me when I tell you I was a spy. That I hate Schlatt. I do hate Schlatt.

But right now, no one could know. Not even Niki, though he had already lost her once.

When she spoke again, her voice softened, wavered. "And Wilbur could be dead because of him."

Blood stains, jumbled furniture, strange noises in the bunker. Tommy threatening to blow up Manberg, acting stranger than usual. Wilbur was probably alive, somewhere, waiting to come take Manberg and Nihachu back.

Still the spy, but his traitorous words were only half-deceits."Trust me, Niki. Schlatt – he's not as bad as you think. Wilbur probably would have been just as dictatorial as him. Maybe even worse. He was always so egotistical, so controlling." He reached out and gently turned her toward him, and he wiped away her tears with a finger. She twisted out of his hands.

"How can I trust you? You manipulated me into Coconut 2020, you burned our flag, you think everything is a joke – you're supporting our enemy, the one who is changing the very fabric of our country. And now you're slandering Wilbur? Our president, our leader...he could be dead. Do you even care?" She shook her head. "Do you care for me? You say you love me, but do you even know what that means? If you hate Wilbur, you don't actually love me."

The pain in his chest deepened, pulling all thought down with it. He didn't know how to respond. He felt unsaid words beneath her weeping, words which cut and hurt as deep as any blade.

Nihachu ran, still crying, and a little while later, Tubbo – Tubbo of all people! – confronted him, a dark look he had never seen before on the teenager's face.

"You made Nihachu cry! What is wrong with you?"

What is wrong with you, Frederik?

I wish I knew.

Bad held Antfrost's arm as if about to jar the broken bones together like a dislocated joint, but Fundy – without really knowing why – stepped in before he made matters worse. Fundy pulled the sleeve of Antfrost's coat up, revealing a thin, bony arm, blindingly white in comparison to the warm tan of the rest of Antfrost's exposed skin.

"Ow, it hurts!" cried Skeppy, shielding his eyes.

Antfrost smacked him with his good hand.

Fundy placed his ice pack on Antfrost's forearm, and Antfrost took it, a fleeting look of gratefulness in his solemn turquoise eyes. And for that one little insignificant moment in time when their eyes grazed each other, a moment so brief it passed almost before Fundy became aware of it, and he could never quite recall it exactly afterwards – but in that tiny blink of space, Fundy understood in some small way what was wrong with himself.

"As I was saying," said Schlatt, glaring at Fundy, but making no move to stop his helping the cat-boy, "we do not need any more signs of the time before. Traitors lived in the Camarvan –" Fundy paled "– and we will not keep monuments to them!" A sticky smile spread across Schlatt's face and he lowered his voice. "Anybody else want to remember the traitors of our nation?"

No one said anything. Fundy rubbed a hand behind his neck. Keep smiling. I guess I'll move into one of those new tenement buildings. Does Ponk have a roommate?

Quackity cleared his throat. He looked like he was making a tremendous effort to appear unafraid, which resulted in the opposite effect. "It's been a long day, Pres. We're all tired and – and a little toasted. Now may not be the best time to make big decisions like this. Why don't we go back to the White House and –"

Schlatt laughed again. Quackity sagged; his battered sunglasses almost slipped off, except he held them on. "Not the best time?" scoffed Schlatt. "We'll see about that." He spun on Fundy. "And don't worry, Fondue. I'll find you another place to stay. Hey, Smackity, how do you feel about the basement?"

It took everyone a moment to realize Schlatt had directed this question at Quackity. The startled vice president looked like he wanted to speak, but Schlatt cut him off. "Well, since you all seem to want the party to be over, fine, it's over. No more party. Ever."

"Awww," Skeppy whined.

Fundy raised an eyebrow. Like, no parties, ever?

Schlatt took up his vice president's request after all. Because he turned on his heel and walked down the plaza to the Off-White House, Quackity close behind him. "I'm going to go work out," said Schlatt. "Gotta keep these muscles toned." No one questioned how he planned on doing this with a third of his body in bandages; though again, he probably wasn't as hurt as he seemed, considering, well, everything that had happened prior. Punz followed. "You can take a break, Rapunzel, or loot all the apartments, I don't care. You coming, Fondue?"

"Uh, I don't feel so good. I think I'm going to go to bed early." Fundy hoped Schlatt wouldn't take offense.

But Schlatt only shrugged. "You wanna be a loser, that's fine by me."

Bad picked up Antfrost's halberd. "Let's get you a splint," he told the cat-boy, and the Badlands left as well, the sun setting in front of them like an old western movie, pulling their shadows behind them. Only Bad turned around and waved goodbye to Fundy. Fundy waved back, half-hearted, though no one watching would be able to tell.

He made his way to the lonely little vine-covered bakery down by the sea cliffs. He opened the door and stood there, soaking in the darkness, feeling it penetrate his skin, poison his blood, tear into his heart. He lit a lamp. It made a harsh glow in the quiet room, so quiet he could easily imagine that it made up the entire world, and he its only inhabitant. He began cleaning. Nihachu had kept the place spotless, back when she still lived here, but she didn't have enough time to clean up before they started baking and cooking almost non-stop for the past three days in preparation for the festival. And then, of course, there had been no time afterwards, either. He had been delighted to see her again, thought she would share in his joy, but she had been enraged that she had to serve Schlatt once more, make food for his festival. Fundy had decided not to tell her that he was the reason she was back in Manberg. He recalled the day Sapnap, poisoned and drenched after a run-in with Technoblade, reported how he'd found Nihachu taking refuge in Tommy's holiday home. Schlatt didn't care, and probably would have forgotten all about her had Fundy not petitioned her return. So she had come and remained next to Fundy in the bakery, silent and sad. He could still see her spooning melted chocolate over the profiteroles, carefully assembling the caprese skewers. Would she come back after today? Would he ever see her again?

"Now I don't even know you."

Night settled over Manberg. Fundy felt as though ghosts watched him from the pale squares of moonlight in the windows. He returned outside and locked the door. Whatever traces of summer had remained in the day earlier had disappeared, and the autumn wind had returned to death, reminding of winter. Though it embarrassed him, Fundy was grateful for his extra fluffy winter fur and hair, which trapped more heat on his head than most people. He wandered the empty streets of Manberg, down to the plaza devoid of life. The lanterns which hadn't gone out yet flickered in their casings like giant captured fireflies.

He sat in the seat he had occupied during Tubbo's ill-fated speech, and took out his diary. He tried to write. He had to write. Had to document everything, prove that he wasn't being used against his will, prove that he was more than the decrying flames on his head and the curse he carried in his heart. But his pen wouldn't move that night. He kept thinking of Nihachu staring up at him from the plaza, enveloped in Wilbur's embrace, brave, afraid, disappointed. Without thinking, he reached up behind his neck and traced the letter "L" forever scorched into his skin.

Why did you have to mess everything up, Frederik?

"Niki, please don't be sad. We're together again, back to baking together. Like before." He kept his back to her, rolling the dough for the crab puffs. The festival would begin in a few days, and he and Nihachu worked as they had never worked before. Fundy wondered if Schlatt would banish them if he didn't find the refreshments up to par – not that Fundy had any reason to think that they wouldn't be. "Niki?"

She didn't answer.

He kept rolling the dough, supposing she was just thinking, until he heard her sniff. Now he turned toward her. She leaned over the counter, concentrating on tempering the chocolate. She paused once to smear her arm across her face, leaving a smudge of cocoa powder across it. Fundy licked his lips, came up beside her, placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, and he noticed her red-rimmed eyes.

"Niki?" he whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "What's the matter? You're safe, we're together."

She shook her head, wiped her eyes, smudging more cocoa powder on her face. Fundy rubbed the marks away. Nihachu drew in a shallow, trembling breath, and released it slowly, eyes glistening with tears. She spoke, her voice softer than usual, weakened by emotion. "I don't want to be here. And – I miss Wilbur."

Fundy stiffened. He tightened his grip on her arm without realizing it, and she pulled away from him, her tears disappearing into a concerned frown mixed with confusion.

"Fundy?"

"Wilbur's dead," he said flatly.

The frown deepened. "He might not be. I can't give up hope. And neither should you..."

No. No.

He spoke carefully. His neck ached from the exertion of maintaining a stoic disposition. "Even if he was still alive, he'd be our enemy...there's still a price on his head."

"I know, but...we didn't make that decision, Schlatt did..."

She's mine. You can't have her, Will. You had your chance. She's mine.

"And we were friends before it all happened..." she added.

"Niki, what is going on?" He winced; he hadn't meant to shout.

But Niki's expression had changed from concerned to distrustful in an instant. Even she was against him.

He lowered his voice. "Niki..."

"Did you not realize –"

She was going to say it. A hollow coldness wove around his heart, compounding the ache, though he had already known it. His voice rose again, but he didn't check it. "Niki, I –"

"– we were in love, Fundy."

She said it. He could no longer pretend, no longer lie to himself about the truth he'd known since that first day. The hollowness spread to his stomach, becoming hot. But everything else felt frozen. The myriad of thoughts always churning in his brain remained, but now locked off, unimportant, unable to connect to any actions.

In the ugliest parts of his being, Fundy knew that Niki would always be Wilbur's, no matter where either of them were, and that he should just bury his feelings in the darkness of his soul, where they would stew and embitter and forget. But Wilbur was gone, whether dead or disappeared, and Fundy had thought at the beginning that perhaps, somehow, Nihachu would love him, love him as he wanted her to love him. There was still hope, the hope that she would come around after seeing how he had been helping her and everyone else all along.

But even that felt futile now. Thought no longer preceded decisions, and the words which he thought he had guarded so carefully for the perfect moment suddenly fell from his mouth, too bright so as to be ugly:

"But I love you."

Her eyes squared with his. She didn't look surprised, but her lips quivered. "What?"

Heat washed through his face and he turned away, holding his hands over his eyes as if that would make the foolish words disappear. "No, forget that."

"Fundy...how...how long has it been?"

Her words slipped around his barriers, and he faced her. Nothing held him back. "I've loved you as long as I've known you, Niki. You're the most beautiful and talented and amazing girl I've ever met, and...I know no one can ever love me, and I know I'm not worthy of you, but I thought...that..." The truth hurt, as usual, but he made himself go on. He took a step toward Nihachu and caught her hand. "But now you know. I love you, Niki." He swallowed, and the bile in his throat mixed with his words. "Keep hanging onto your dead rebel. Though you really should just get over him and come to me." A strange hysterical anger birthed from the heat boiling inside him rose, and he hissed, "But I know what you really think of me."

Nihachu set her jaw, fire burning behind her eyes. "Fundy, it's been one thing after another with you. If I have a low view of you, you did that to yourself, and you know it. You've been my best friend since the beginning, but now –" her voice cracked, and he couldn't help smirking that she did care after all "– now I don't even know you."

His smile disappeared. The long-guarded love he had held for her so long was quickly twisting into something dark in the painful light beyond the confines of his heart. He pulled on her hand, and she stumbled half a step toward him, then caught herself and pulled back.

"Fundy, let me go."

He did not answer her, but pulled on her hand again. This time, she resisted, but still could not escape his grasp. Her tone became desperate.

"Fundy, please." Fresh tears brimmed behind her eyes. "You're hurting me."

The pain in her face and voice washed over him in a releasing coolness that put out the fire. He froze, horrified as he realized what he had said, what he had done. He felt the delicate bones of her hand crushed together within his palm, and he jerked away from her, letting go of her hand and fleeing out the bakery door.

What have I done?

I'm sorry I'm late with this chapter; I've been very busy!

A bit of a different format with this one, I hope you all like it! Also, in case anyone forgot, VAERYS and I have a head canon that Fundy's real name is "Frederik," and "Fundy" is a nickname.

Until next time, and God bless,

Unicadia and VAERYS