The next several days passed slowly and uninterestingly. True to her word, Toriel kept Grandt within the confines of her home until she could be certain he'd recovered. She had, at least, given him permission to cook, which he had taken full advantage of. If he was going to be stuck inside for days on end, it only made sense that he taught himself some of the monsters' cuisine.
Unfortunately, Grandt was disappointed to discover that beyond their ingredients being made of magic, monsters ate food that was almost identical to that of humans. At least, Toriel did, but she could have very well been an outlier. Although the whole "snail pie" thing threw that into serious consideration.
When Grandt wasn't cooking, he found himself sitting in the living room and reading one of the hundreds of dog-eared books sitting on Toriel's shelf. Some of them were simple history books, but many were fascinating stories or novels that he couldn't help but devour. They wormed their way into his head, just as stories of the surface had once so long ago, and remained buried beneath his subconscious even past their initial reading.
The rest were all joke books. For whatever reason, they were just as worn as all the others, with certain passages circled in red and with notes and variations written in the margins. Grandt couldn't help but smile to himself whenever he read one of the awkward rewrites, or when he noticed the doodles in the corners (usually they were of snails, but occasionally a skeleton sneaked its way onto the pages).
It was when he was reading one such book, chuckling to himself beside the fireplace, that Toriel returned from her latest errand. Her arms were filled with paper bags that, in turn, were filled with groceries.
Grandt glanced up to her from his position and smiled under his beard. "Oh, you're back already?" he asked blithely. "Do you want me to cook tonight?"
Toriel stared at him for a long moment, seemingly considering something, before she smiled back and shook her head. "No, I should be fine. Besides, I cannot help but feel that you have earned a break."
"You make it sound like cooking isn't fun," Grandt replied, closing the book and standing up straight. "Honestly, it's no trouble at all if you need me to do anything around here." He laughed. "God knows I'll go mad if I have to sit still anymore."
"You can never be too sure," Toriel said, setting down her groceries on the nearby table. "I do not want you to risk straining yourself."
Grandt sighed and leaned his arm against the chair. "I hardly think standing in a kitchen'll be any worse for me than sitting here. Unless you have some ulterior motive, of course."
"I am absolutely shocked you would imagine such a thing," Toriel said, although she didn't sound or look particularly convincing.
"Mm, I suppose you're right," Grandt replied, turning his attention back toward the joke book. "After all, I am just a silly old man."
Toriel picked up the groceries again, chuckling to herself. "If you are silly for being old, I must be completely senile. Now, you are not allergic to anything, are you?"
Grandt paused, considering. "No, I don't believe so. Why, what are you thinking of making?"
"Oh, just something nice," Toriel said, avoiding his question as she started toward the kitchen. "I realized that I should really make you something for once." She stopped for a moment, her smile slowly falling. "Especially since there is something very important I have to speak with you about."
Grandt took a moment to answer. "And what is that?"
"It is…" Toriel trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. "I will tell you later, if you do not mind."
"Sure," Grandt said, attempting to hide his confusion. "But are you certain you don't need my help–?"
"I am baking," Toriel replied flatly.
Grandt blinked. "Oh. Well, then, carry on," he said as he sat back down and reopened the joke book. "Certainly wouldn't want to light anything else on fire in there."
Toriel chuckled. "Yes, that is about what I thought," she said before she stepped into the kitchen, leaving Grandt on his own.
After he was certain she was out of sight, Grandt let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. He shut the book slowly and set it on the chair's arm.
It was true that Toriel's home was lovely, and she was being far too kind to him for him to have any true complaints, but Grandt still could not deny that even the most comfortable prison was still a prison regardless. His chest no longer ached constantly, but still she requested he stay. And for what? So that he would not be slaughtered in the outside world? What did that matter to him?
He didn't have enough time to waste it away underground, drinking wine and cooking and reading silly books. One or two days of waiting was fine, but he had spent several days (he couldn't even guess the number, mostly because he was too scared to look at the calendar) confined to the same few rooms, unable to leave even to the safe (well, relatively safe) Ruins. At this rate, he would die well before he could reach the surface. Well before he could see his granddaughter. Well before he could make sure she was safe.
Now or never, never or now.
Grandt took a deep breath, glanced to the area around him – to the beautiful shelves, to the simple book at his side, to the wood-paneled floor, and to everything that simply screamed "home" –, and made up his mind.
Toriel was wonderful. But it was time for Grandt to bid her farewell.
He stood quickly, penning a quick note of both thanks and apology in one of the book's unmarked margins before placing it, open but facedown, on the kitchen table. Grandt adjusted his clothing, which Toriel had mended for him not a few days ago. She hadn't been able to fix up his jacket, but he doubted he'd need it. And with one last wistful glance toward the kitchen, he stepped out to the foyer.
Trepidation quickly caught him, and every step Grandt took felt leaden. Was he truly in the right to leave now? To simply abandon her with only a note for explanation?
No, Grandt decided, he was not in the right. She had taken him in, nursed him back to health, given him food… She had treated him wonderfully. But that didn't matter.
If she had a grandchild, or even just a child, he was certain that she would have done the same.
"Goodbye," he said softly, before turning his gaze toward the stairs reaching into the basement.
Toriel had told him not to go down, as the stairs led into the rest of the Underground. She'd told him that all who exited the Ruins would never be allowed back in. So be it. If that was the only price he had to pay, then he would pay it gladly. He had no possessions there, no items to claim.
Grandt breathed out a long, deep breath. He stepped forward to the top of the stairs. There were no more words. All that mattered now was that he took action. His steps still felt heavy, but they became progressively easier until he was practically running down the short flights to the long, dark tunnel leading out.
Now was his choice. Never could rot.
He had been at the bottom of those stairs before, but every time there seemed to be some sort of magical barrier keeping him from moving too far. It seemed to only be active whenever Toriel was out of the house or sleeping, presumably just to make sure he never traversed the basement. But now that she was doing neither of those things, he could exit with ease.
He practically sprinted through the darkness. When the path suddenly turned sharply to the left, he did as well. Grandt's breath was quick, but not labored; he had run more than this in his life. A simple sprint would hopefully not kill him.
Grandt came upon a tall door, which jutted from the ground in such a way that he was certain it was the Ruins' exit. Without a second thought, he pushed it open and stepped through, coming to a stop as soon as it clicked shut behind him.
His heart didn't ache. His legs didn't shake. Instead, Grandt stood resolutely, every bone and tendon in his body operating as though he were young again from the sheer and sudden rush of adrenaline.
He looked into the darkness before him and gave a small smile. "I'll be there soon, Frisk," he said quietly. "I promise."
Then he began walking again, but this time his steps were slower. They were filled with more conviction and determination than before, as Grandt stepped forward into what he hoped would be his eventual freedom.
Toriel stepped from the kitchen, carrying a large butterscotch-cinnamon pie in her hands. It was to be her gift to Grandt, as thanks for all the cooking he had done recently – and, secretly, as thanks for giving her someone to speak with again.
She was somewhat surprised to find that he was no longer sitting in the armchair, but she quickly brushed it off as him having simply gone back to his room or something so innocent. In the past few days, he had often wandered around the house when not reading or sleeping. It was not a surprise that he would go and wander off.
In fact, that was part of why Toriel had been so desperate – and, admittedly, nervous – to speak with him. She figured it was a good time for him to branch out to at least the main part of the Ruins. It'd be better than just sitting around or cooking all day, at least.
"Grandt!" she called, setting the pie down on the kitchen table. "It is ready!"
It was then that Toriel noticed the open joke book lying facedown on the kitchen table. "What is this…?" she murmured, picking it up. It was unlike Grandt to leave books out. Usually, he would at least make sure to get it back on the shelf, if not in the exact spot he'd taken it from.
The fact that he'd just left it there sitting out in the open piqued her curiosity. Toriel picked it up, making sure not to turn the page, and glanced over it slowly. She stared at it for a while, not quite understanding whether or not there was anything important (beyond a few jokes she snickered at, of course), when she noticed the small, neat writing in a large margin on the page's side.
Dear Toriel,
I'm sorry that I have to tell you about my departure this way, but there's nothing else I could've done. Suffice to say, I don't have the time to sit around anymore. If I wait any longer, I'll never escape.
There's someone waiting for me on the surface. My granddaughter. I hope you understand.
I'm sorry that I never got the chance to truly thank you for your kindness. If we meet again, I'll try to make it up to you as best I can. I don't know what could possibly make up for my need to run away, but believe me, I will do whatever I can.
Thank you for everything you've done for me.
Goodbye,
Grandt Journa
The book slipped from Toriel's fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. She leaned against the table. Her mind swam. Her breath quickened.
He had left. Grandt had run away.
How could she have let that happen? He was supposed to be in her care! How could she be so irresponsible that–?
No. No! There was still time!
Toriel broke out into a sprint, racing out to the foyer and down the stairs to the Ruins' exit as though her legs were alight.
An old man like him would never last in the Underground. Asgore would tear him to shreds. Could he even fight? The Royal Guard would murder him in mere seconds!
He doesn't stand a chance.
He's going to die.
These thoughts pounded against Toriel's skull as she ran, faster and faster, desperate to find and save Grandt before he did something monumentally stupid. Her every step felt light yet compounded by heaviness, her breath caught in her throat. She was terrified but determined but despairing.
She came to a sudden stop as the door to the Ruins' exit came in sight. "What… What is the meaning of this?!" she cried, staring at it in complete shock.
The door was covered in vines. Long, green, thorny tendrils of plant matter encircled it, holding it closed. They shot up from the ground, from the walls, from the ceiling – from everywhere that could have even the smallest amount of dirt.
Toriel grit her teeth and took a step back, channeling fire magic to burn the vines away. The flames struck the door, searing it with blue and red and yellow, and the vines turned to ashes in seconds.
Then they regrew.
Toriel stared in shock, unable to fully comprehend what had just occurred. This was not Grandt's work, surely. He wasn't a sorcerer or a magician by any means, so why was this happening?
She shook her head and shot another blast of fire, followed by another and another still. Every time, however, the vines simply grew back in place. It was almost as though they were mocking her attempts to break through.
But every time they came back, Toriel felt her mind wander to more gruesome fates that Grandt could face if she did not save him. Asgore came to mind first, of course, but then she thought of Sans and how dangerous he could be if he truly cared to try.
If she had even a moment longer, Toriel would have warned him about Grandt. If he had only consulted with her before he left…!
Fire after fire, ashes after ashes, vines after vines. It was a seemingly endless cycle, and Toriel felt exhaustion soon take hold of her. Her breathing became heavier, her eyes grew heavier. Everything just seemed… heavy. The weights of fear and despair grew on Toriel's mind, burning through her determination slowly but surely.
Unfortunately, unlike the vines, it did not grow back.
Flowey watched from his perch in the darkness as the human went sprinting past. He could have killed him then quite easily, but something in the back of his mind told him not to.
There was something that was just fascinating about this human. It seemed there was a great weight upon his heart, and Flowey wanted to know just what it truly was. He wanted to take this weight and make it more, breaking down this human with his own brokenness until there was nothing left but an empty shell.
Yes, Flowey could reset at any time, but why bother with that when it would get him no closer to his goal? He would watch this man go through the Underground. He would watch him break and spill his guts. And then, only when there was no enjoyment left for him to rip from this man's heart, Flowey would slaughter him and steal his SOUL for himself.
Flowey giggled to himself at the thought. Yes, this would be a fun game, indeed.
AN: Bravely Second is a wonderful game. Don't play it if you're trying to keep a good writing schedule.
EDIT: This chapter has been updated as of November 3, 2016. It didn't need as many fixes as the previous few chapters, but I edited some of the dialogue and narration to make it a bit less longwinded.
