He had a life before this. A mother, a father, a home. Sisters, and brothers. But what he had now was alright, too.
He stood alone in front of his bedroom mirror, combing his hair back from his face to braid it for the day, tucking it behind an ear where a sapphire earring hung, catching the sunlight. He paused when he saw it, leaned in close just to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, or the lingering traces of a dream. He blinked, once, twice, his mortal heart catching in his throat. There, nestled among the pink strands, delicate as a bird’s wing, was a single gray hair. If he listened carefully, he could hear his brother coming down the hallway, looking for him, but this moment was his alone.
Half-sobbing, half-laughing, he fell against his chair and closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. He could see, in his mind, a field of flowers under an open sky—a place made for waiting, where all the finished stories went, where he would go someday, too.
A knock came at his door.
Technoblade began to smile.