Wilbur Soot wakes up with blue-stained bandages crawling up his shoulders, still stinging with the aftereffects of instant potions, and a saturation patch on his neck.
His father’s hair is longer than the last time he saw it.
“Hi mate,” Philza breathes.
“EYAS!” Techno unfurls the burrito blanket that is Wilbur Soot. “Get into a bath, we’re sparring today!”
If Tommy had been the one shouting, Wilbur would have hissed at him.
With The Blade, though?
“Yes, sir,” Wilbur meekly says, tiredly shoving his glasses on.
Wilbur stares confusedly at the maze of clay and braided wood scaffolding covering the walkways of the ravine.
“Techno,” Wilbur loudly says, “did you just build dirt railings so I don’t fall again?”
I don’t think about you at all. The only thing I’m concerned with nowadays is fixing my buildings. Blah﹐ blah﹐ blah. Look at me﹐ I’m Wilbur﹗ I like using fancy words to make me look smart﹗
You think 𝘐 need 𝘺𝘰𝘶 to be obsessed with me to be interesting﹖ It’s crazy how you don’t even cross my mind. Your name brings more misery than comfort﹐ honestly.