#heccwriting

Most mage guilds had a pocket dimension that they called “home.” Some of these dimensions were large, exquisite, sometimes with their own cultures and animals and cities. Others were small places meant purely for the guild members. The Rebel’s Guild was a mix of both.

Stepping into the guild portal led straight into a large gray room. There were chairs, tables, a bar tucked into the corner with the shelves behind it empty. Large crates were pushed up against the tall walls. There were several doors leading out, but none of these led to open air. The dimension was made of thousands upon thousands of halls, some breaking into each other, some breaking up and ending in the void. Rooms both big and small branched off of these hallways. A few doors had signs hanging on them, others had been taken down. All of the hallways were painted the same sad gray color. In some places there were attempts to brighten the atmosphere--all of these attempts had been abandoned.

Older guild members would tell stories of back when the guild was first formed. There were no bleak gray halls, no dead ends leading into the void. Back when the guild still had hope that their rebellion would go through. Back when Izz didn’t have half as many runes running up and down their body. Back when Luke’s hair was still brown. Back when Eli was still alive.

Then the experience of stepping through the portal was completely different. The portal entrance was outside, for one; stuck to the bark of an elderly, leaned-over tree. The garden surrounding the entrance was vibrant, lively; flowers facing up towards the forever-bright sky, grass that swayed in the light wind. There was the sound of birds that were never spotted. A white picket fence surrounded the entrance area, keeping visitors from falling off the steep edge of the garden and into the blue void surrounding it. The only seeable exit was a friendly-looking cabin on the other end of the garden. And that was where the hallways started. But they didn’t go quite as far as the halls did now and they weren’t the dull gray color they seemed to always bleed back to. They were warm, bright; blues, greens, pinks. Every door had a decorated sign on it--Izz’s room, Beck’s room, Luke’s room, etcetera. Everything was alive. Everything was vibrant. Everyone had hope.

Not anymore.

The portal entrance eventually moved. The room it was in now used to be the old cafeteria. As more and more people streamed in it became evident that the garden just wasn’t a good entrance; besides, it started all the way at the edge of the halls. As more people streamed in and out the dimension got bigger, the halls longer and longer. It wasn’t until after Eli died that the color disappeared.

But Izz didn’t let the garden die. They knew they probably should; keeping it alive was a huge drain on their magic. Unlike most guild dimensions this dimension wasn’t made by Corp; Izz made it themself. Normally a golem would be created as the “heart” of a dimension, but Izz couldn’t make golems. So they were the golem. They were the one who took on every little hit the dimension took. In the beginning, it was manageable--just adding a few more runes to the plethora on their body--but now that the dimension was bigger and Izz had more to do it was getting… difficult.

Olujimi told them to start getting rid of parts of the dimension they didn’t use. They never went south of the entrance room; all of the hallways there were probably collecting dust. And nowadays everyone had moved their rooms closer to the middle of the dimension, so the part where Izz was now--near the garden--was useless, as well. Cut it all off. Make the job easier.

But Izz couldn’t let the garden die.

Owen understood. When Owen found Izz kneeling in the middle of the garden, staring at the edge of the dimension that relied on them, Owen didn’t tell Izz to get rid of it. Owen sat next to them and listened. When Izz told it about Eli it listened. It didn’t tell them to get over it, it didn’t tell them to stop worrying, it didn’t tell them they were overreacting. It just listened.

Owen understood.

But when Owen held Izz’s hand they felt a deep pain in their stomach. They felt tired around Owen, like Owen’s presence was a drain on their aura. They fell asleep in Owen’s lap so many times they probably left an indent there. Owen didn’t mind; Owen didn’t notice. Owen would sit with Izz in it’s lap for hours at a time, stroking their hair, and when they woke up it would smile and Izz would feel like they belonged.

Izz knew why Owen hurt them. Everyone but Owen knew. Izz knew why the instant they saw Owen standing on the sidewalk in front of Corp, a job application in its hands, a solemn look on its face. Owen was different. If Owen walked through the doors of Corp it would never walk back out.

Owen’s aura was dark blue. The darkest of blues. Izz’s aura was a light blue, the color of the sky during the afternoon; Owen’s aura was the color of the sky at midnight, when the sun was long gone, when the moon was hidden behind a cloud, when the only light left was the stars. Izz’s aura was life. Owen’s aura was death.

“I love you,” Owen whispered to Izz one night. “I’m sorry if that bothers you. I mean--you don’t have to say it back, I guess. I just--I just thought--”

Tommy sat in front of Techno’s fireplace, one of Techno’s old capes around his shoulders and hot chocolate warming his hands. He sipped it, put it down, sipped at it again. Then he sighed. He pressed the side of his face into the fur lining of the cape, closed his eyes. His clothes were still tattered. His knees were still bruised. There were still bandages wrapped around his arms. But he was warm, at least.

That was ruined when Techno’s front door burst open, snow swirling in with it. Techno stomped into the room and kicked his boots at the ground, putting snow everywhere. He closed the door behind him and hung his cape on the coat rack next to the door. He took off his mask, put it on his work bench. It seemed like he was ignoring the boy sitting in front of his fireplace. Tommy was okay with that.

“It’s freezin’ out there,” Techno said. He walked to the wall closet and opened it, digging inside. “Dunno how you managed to make it all the way here in those clothes.”

Tommy didn’t know either. He buried his face deeper in the soft fur on the cape. The fire was warm.

“I’ll be right back.” Techno disappeared upstairs. Tommy didn’t care. There was something on his leg. Tommy didn’t want to look. He did.

A cockroach. Tommy didn’t know cockroaches could survive in this weather. He brushed it away with his hand and it scuttled off somewhere. He wished he’d killed it. But it was gone now. Disgusting. Nasty. Fu--

“Here.”

Tommy flinched. Techno was standing next to him, holding out a set of clothes. Beige pants, a red turtleneck. Tommy stared at the clothes for a moment before putting down his hot chocolate and taking them. They were soft. Incredibly soft.

“You an’ Phil look about the same size,” Techno sighed, crossing his arms. “I’ll have to make ya a new pair of pants. Those’ll have to do for now.”

“Thanks,” Tommy whispered, setting the clothes in his lap. “These are Phil’s?”

“Yup. The pants’ll be too short. Your legs’re longer than his.” Techno turned away. “You hungry? I think I’ve probably got somethin’ to eat.”

Tommy pressed the shirt to his face. It smelled weird. Sweet. Homey. It didn’t really feel like something Phil would wear; covered too much skin.

“Carrots… steak…” Techno looked at Tommy. “Do you like potatoes? I’m good at makin’ those.”

“That’s fine,” Tommy whispered. “Where can I change?”

Techno poked his thumb over his shoulder to the ladder leading up into the loft. Tommy stood up, letting Techno’s cape fall to the floor. As Techno pulled potatoes out of one of his many little hiding holes around his house Tommy climbed the ladder. There was a cockroach there, too; this one he smashed with his shoe.

Techno burst into the tunnel. Dream was standing there, holding Carl’s lead; he transferred it to Techno immediately. Instead of saying anything Dream just wordlessly pointed to a chest ahead in the dark room the tunnel led into. Techno nodded and pulled Carl along with him. When he turned around to ask Dream where to go next, Dream was gone.

“Dramatic,” Techno said to himself, propping open the chest. Inside was an unused set of iron armor and a Netherite pickaxe. Techno tied Carl’s lead to his wrist as he put on his new armor and attached the pickaxe to his back. He stood up, armed.

“Where to next?” he asked as he crossed the room. The room was made of blackstone and lined with chests; Techno checked these, as well, but they were all empty. The wall directly across from the tunnel Techno entered through seemed weak; an exit, perhaps? “Definitely can’t go back the way we came,” Techno said, looking back at Carl. “If I work on this wall will ya stay still? No, probably not. Useless.”

Carl huffed.

“Let me tie ya to somethin’,” Techno mumbled, looking around the room. He finally sighed and tied Carl’s lead to the hook of one of the chests. “There ya go,” he said, standing. “Stay there.”

Techno walked to the wall again. He pulled the pickaxe out, twirling it around as he got ready. Then he remembered they might be sending people after him and he actually got to work knocking out the wall.

“Don’t worry, chat,” he panted. The wall was getting weaker, weaker. “We’ll… knock this out… in… no…”

“TECHNOBLADE.”

“Come on,” Techno sighed, whipping around. Standing in the tunnel Techno entered through was Quackity, decked to the nines in Netherite armor, a butcher’s apron, and a Netherite axe. Techno went to grab Carl’s lead before...