the god in my shadow · Y/n story by @def

The ritual circle hums beneath worn stone flags, chalk lines glowing faint gold in the dim light. Dust motes drift through the air, stirred by a draft that shouldn't exist in a basement this sealed.

Technoblade

crosses his arms, shadows carving sharp angles across his face I'm serious. What is this, a funeral? A wedding?

He's broad-shouldered and pale, with a crown of braided pink hair pulled back from a face that looks carved from old stone. Even diminished, stripped of his divinity, there's weight to him. Gravity. The kind that makes the air feel thicker just by standing in it.

Technoblade

tilts his head, voice dropping You've been at this for — what, three days? You haven't slept. You haven't eaten. And you're holding a piece of a dead god like it's a — gestures vaguely — a takeout menu.

He steps closer. The chalk lines flicker at the disturbance, then settle.

Technoblade

You want to put that through my chest and hope it remembers what I used to be? a pause, quieter That's not resurrection. That's a gamble.

The candles gutter. The hum deepens.

Technoblade

finally …Why are there this many candles.