Chapter X – Everlasting Restoration
watch?v=FqWixE_2_CE (Undertale OST - Small Shock (GENOCIDE) Extended)
Twilight gleamed glittering down below, long before the sun went down. Breeze rushed from above, but a mute immobility rested on the air. It seemed that even the rustle of trees descended from the hole, as a faint cry for a daughter of the world above, lost forever.
The marble came back to shine in white, raised on its own ruins. Light danced through polished and frosted stained glasses. A steady toll seemed her beating heart.
Although fresh survivors of a battle, it took them all the rest of the day to restore the site to its appearance, even if only partially, even if differently. A small but solid mausoleum was now in place of the torn earth and the scattered Golden Flowers.
Dusk was now reddening the walls and columns of the cubical building. It seeped bright through willowy colored windows, and darkened when reaching the friezes, inset under the shadow of the pediment. A dome upon eight soaring columns overlooked on corbels the entrance, and at the top of it lied a fenestrated and richly adorned marble lantern, enshrining a silver bell forged from transmuted stone, pealing softly against the wind.
Asgore personally engraved the epitaphs, outside and inside the mausoleum, her spent lifetime with her family translated in poetry, branded with fire on stone to resist evermore.
Ioreon applied himself with skill in sculpting floral patterns and carving baroque decorations at every corner, purifying each color in an immaculate white.
Now they stood under the lintel, to meditate on the lightened cinerary urn placed in open view on a pedestal, surrounded again by Golden Flowers, planted indoors thoroughly by Flowey.
The world stopped for them with all its anxieties and desires, immersed in the eternal dilemma of life and death, as abducted by a timeless splendor. No other sound dared occur, almost falling silent voluntarily before the dense and unvaried resonating of the bell, dignified as a beacon for lost travelers with its stately and crystalline toll.
There, at the end of all things, another small tear made its way on Asgore's lips. Its taste not bitter, but sweet.
"Once this place was blissful, just as Toriel found it," Ioreon broke the silence, head bowed. "That peaceful candor hath been return'd after such devastation, wherefore she may repose with dignity for many other years to come."
The corners of the King's mouth slightly rose. He awoke from that composed slumber, and let the wind carry away the petals in his hands, amidst the golden dust that still hovered all around. His free hand glided on a smooth entryway column, dedicating her one last look. "Stay determined, Chara. In death as you were in life. So that you will finally make it home."
His torn up and crumpled cape fluttered wild, while he descended the path deleted by the fatal wrath, silently walking away, towards the archway from which they entered. He knew that it was time to go, so that the quest could be brought to a close.
The earlier voices had subsided, and there was no longer a trace of sad melancholy on him. Yet more than once he had to think about what had happened.
Ioreon did the same, following him afterwards, swaying with the breeze in an uncertain gait.
Flowey often paused to watch dreamily the white mausoleum and the urn surrounded by Golden Flowers. Still he held in mind the purpose he set for himself. Only then he went under-earth, waiting for them on the other side.
"Why was my daughter in there?"
Asgore stood with folded arms in front of the spirit, bags under his eyes and grim incredulity perspiring from his voice. "What just happened to her, if what I saw was not Chara? What was that repugnant abomination that took her likeness and knew so much about us all?"
"I do not know," Ioreon replied uncertainly as much as he. "I recogniz'd naught pertaining to Chara, or at least what once was she. 'Tis a concept that escapeth elusive my fathoming like a shade."
"Please, don't be enigmatic!" The King waved his arms impatient. "There must be something understandable in what you saw! What this has to do with Chara?"
"Asgore, placate thyself. I have only suspicions and an omen that nageth at me, and naught else."
Flowey watched them static and apart, and often his eyes fell on the sack in his leaves, turning them away immediately after. Dozens of thoughts surfaced unceasingly, and his face frowned just by listening to them.
The King took a deep breath. "Then tell me, no matter how terrible they are. It all happened so quickly, so suddenly… It just shocked me. I could not even speak. While for the rest it's so out of place that makes absolutely no sense."
"Thou hast grasp'd the gist, mifriend, they were in a hurry methinks. Their appearance fleeting as their disappearance is suspicious. The suddenness of this event suggesteth many elements not consider'd erstwhile by me."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Asgore asked, his arms folded again.
"Anent the fiend we fought, I never felt their presence in my long years, yet 'tis not dissimilar to what linger'd, not as much throughout the Underground, but rather upon the humans who have come and gone. Only now, they have spread far and wide their influence. As though they wisht to be discover'd…" Ioreon paused a moment, seized by a thought.
Then he went on. "They might have reveal'd profusely those secret things, by then consider'd depleted in their purpose, to confuse us. Or forewarn us."
"Oh but that's great!" – Asgore interjected dryly – "If they wanted to hurt me, they succeeded splendidly."
"This would be but a mere altercation, and thus a motive too simplistic. Their intention was incite us to attack perchance, and this would be most likely. In all probability, we have play'd their game, yet their reasons might be manifold. They ultimately remindeth me of Hyperuranion entities, my peers and perhaps even superiors."
The King began to rub his temples. "Gosh, this whole thing of the Hyperuranion will make me go crazy."
"And that is why explaining it, is more trouble than 'tis worth. Forget about ghosts or spirits, we are dealing with veritable ideas with self-awareness..." Ioreon cut short the speech, nipping in the bud every other word, refraining from saying more.
"But, really! Don't keep me hanging!" Asgore said, clasping his shoulders. "We are talking about Chara!"
"Asgore, the logic between the two planes is quite different. 'Tis like hoping to make thee understand that with a bucket thou can indeed empty the sea."
Asgore boggled. "What?!"
"'Tis all and naught. What we have witness'd may very well be a seed developing in one direction or in another, in search of contingency: the tangible seeking transcendence, or the abstract pursuing immanence. And the matter befell on Chara, more or less aware of such whereabouts."
"My, I guess that this time I have to agree with Flowey. When you talk like that it's impossible to follow you."
Ioreon answered with his silence and an unwavering gaze. His outdated speech as usual constituted a bastion where withdrawing when required.
Still, restlessness was stressing the mind of the King, until it forced him to walk back and forth, as an attempt to quell it. "So, let me try to understand something here. You're telling me that this... thing, was incubating in the Underground behind my back, am I right?"
"Verily."
"But you cannot tell what they are."
"Not at all."
"Then at least tell me we didn't hurt my daughter."
"Dost not even bear thinking about it!" The tone of a concerned parent received in response the seemingly horrified one of Ioreon, stopping him in his tracks.
"A being of the physical universe is the composition of body, soul and mind. Thou saw her soul imprison'd and touch'd her mortal remains, and there is naught more tangible than that."
"That's just it Ioreon, what about her mind then?"
"This… we cannot know." Now Ioreon was hesitating, just as Asgore learned to notice thanks to the liveliness of his burning eyes.
"Once unbound, it probably found the Hyperuranion by now, as any abstraction devoid of concreteness would do. Nevertheless hearken me, the fiend was not thy daughter, and even if they depended on her, they have naught to do with, no more. Put thine own mind at rest, for she now repose in peace." A beat of the staff on the floor got his point across.
"This comforts me. But still you are not telling me everything, are you?"
"Nay, for the picture is not complete, and about the things I know, I doubt that thou wouldst understand now."
Asgore sighed loudly, but then smiled. "I hope that's all resolved for the best then. I trust you."
To close the book on all this, he adjusted his wristbands and his ever-creaking armor. A new resolution took hold of him, now that everything ended with a triumph. "We must carry on, there are others waiting for our help. They have waited for far too long!"
Then something tugged at his cape.
Flowey was below him, plainly impatient as he cleared his throat. The sufferance for what the sack contained had become untenable.
He heaved a glaring whiff of relief when the King became aware of him. "I hope there's no anger, your Majesty, for having left them alone. I've often stretched my leaf, but I held back from taking them when I saw them trembling and banging on the glass in the direction of the archway, like they were scared by something that was going on there. They had it right."
With shaky leaves, he handed it to him. He felt on his petals the caress of the King, before shouldering the sack. "And I admire your rejection in using them, and your courage after enduring the dark hallway and that repugnant being! I will be glad to have you with us again up to my throne room, so that you can be a part of the salvation you have also contributed."
Flowey looked away. "I... I don't feel at ease to go that far. I'd rather stay here. Now in addition to the flowers I have to take care of a monument worthy of a princess!" he added proudly. "This is what I intend to do."
"Oh, golly." Asgore's brow corrugated with a wrinkle of displeasure. "Well, you don't have to come if you don't want to, but you are welcome in case you'll change your mind. For me, whatever you do will be the right choice."
That said, he departed from Flowey, who seemed to have a final afterthought, but he backed out at the last moment. The other in the meantime motioned to Ioreon the arch at the back, grinning from ear to ear. "So, shall we go then?"
His was a smile. But Ioreon's gaze told that something was off.
"Without fail Asgore. Leadest the way, for I shall join thee anon. Just let me bid my farewell to Flowey."
Asgore just nodded, and the smile closed up behind his lips. A nasal breath, and he proceeded further, mentally preparing for the return trip.
As soon as the King walked away, the Golden Flower scowled at the approaching spirit. "If you're going to gulp me down your usual sing-song, you're way off," he said, understanding right away Ioreon's intentions.
All the while, the spirit held his hands behind his back, the staff floating by his side. He sighed.
"Thou art stubborn as usual. Obviously I was not convincing enough."
"That's not the point!" He turned the other way around with his leaves crossed. "After everything you've said about Chara... No, I have to stay here with them… I mean her, and take care of her grave."
"If that is what is pressing thee, worry not. I shall lavish such care myself in thy stead, for the spatial mesh cannot hold me down. Moreover, naught precludeth you to return and visit her all together."
"You would…" Flowey felt hit in the only bulwark that bound him there. "I don't care," he said finally, looking back at the wall.
"Gadzooks, I made thee a promise and thou rejectest it, and 'tis fine. But even thy father ask'd thee to come! Dost it for a kindness to him at least."
"What a nuisance!" – Flowey faced him again – "There's no getting around it! What do you hope to achieve, that things will change? That's just wishful thinking!"
"Thou art indeed stubborn."
"And you're an idiot, just like Frisk! They wanted to get me out of here, and you are no different! Can you people satisfy my inability of feeling something, anything?! There's no more compassion, sympathy, sorrow, anger, heartbreak and love in me! These things only make a life worth living, even feeling anguish would be gratifying than this awkward receptacle!"
He started to show off his colorful range of facial expressions, so many to confuse them all in one big grimace. "I have only this face that attempt to simulate them, but basically I don't give a damn about anything! Now that they are all gone away…"
His outburst died down, his sight locked on the ground, and his voice sought desperately a shred of placidness, because of a mere statement of facts, which cannot be undone. "I deserve to be alone. It was fun while it lasted, and I wanted it to continue with all my strength. But it wasn't right, and that's better it's over."
"Impossibilities exist, but this is not one of those. We are just dragging this out," Ioreon chastised his thoughts, with the same power of the wind coming from behind that howled at his words. "What is keeping thee from not granting others the joy of having thee with them?"
"Joy? Are you just dumb or something?"
"Let us move on then. Flowey, art thou afraid of happiness?"
Flowey huffed in exasperation. "What part of 'not being able to feel anything' don't you understand?"
"Skirt not the issue and answer my question."
"But... why ask? To what benefit?"
It was then that he saw a Golden Flower in his hand, twiddling it so to admire its veining.
"Do you intend to continue doing these magic tricks?" Flowey grumbled, but the spirit ignored him.
"Pray forgive me, but there is a behoof, and I shall help thee grasp it. The absence of a soul did not make thee lethargic, dost thou see? 'Twas solitude to alienate thee to atrocity, but someone hath forgiven and embrace'd thee, after unspeakable torment nonetheless.
"Now look at thee, thou hast not given in to the impulse to use the souls, thou accompanied thy father against an abomination, thou hast dedicated a mausoleum to thy sister, and still wantest to dedicate thy very self to her grave. Thou hast even contraven'd what I told thee, but for a good purpose, for their own good. Dost thou understand that there is concern in thine actions? That the smile of a human child was worth a change of behavior?"
Flowey's face unwound, astounded by his verbosity, but also his veracity.
"The sentiments thou art grieving are meaningless when curl'd to mere egotistic feeling, for they acquire richer value in view of the intended good to others. Albeit thou cannot feel anything, this doth not prevent thee to treasure and sustain the lives of those all about. Affection can be felt, but also given freely.
"Thus, thou can choose selflessness o'er selfishness, which even devoid of emotions as a parameter is a precious blessing to everyone. Therefore, usest thy Determination for what I ask of thee, and chance it: nothing to lose, everything to gain."
He held out the flower to Flowey. "Even being a simple flower, thou hast seen enough, more than any other."
Tender and redolent, apparently delicate with its thin stem, yet so durable and strong wherever it took roots, was welcomed in his leaves. Always surrounded by them, he himself turned into one of them, but maybe he never dwelt upon it.
"I want happiness… But I know I can't get it back. As much as I find sweet the perspective to live with my parents…" – the cheerful image of the eighth child flashed in his mind, and he almost hated to admit it – "With Frisk… I haven't the courage to do it. Still all of you give me more hope than I deserve."
"I myself am in debt," Ioreon stated, smiling with his feisty eyes. "If 'twere not for Frisk we would not be here talking. In sooth, I can only do what little allow me time and circumstances. So holdest back not and comest to the Throne Room. I have to keep my promise, dost thou remember?"
Flowey was about to argue, but he failed, when something else came to tip the scales. To his surprise but not Ioreon's, a human soul, ruby red like live blood, breezed past him and then stopped next to the spirit, fluttering.
"After all, there is still something that Chara wanteth to do, ere she leaveth at last. For against all odds, all that was left behind is seeping out into the morn light."
He pulled out of his robe a containment cylinder, concealed until now, and put it down on the ground, in front of an even more bewildered Flowey. "If and when thou shalt come, by her shall be decided entering hereinto. At the very least, thou shalt give more attention to her than me."
And having said that, he left him alone, contemplating the soul and its mystery.
watch?v=i9ScFBO5NAc (Small Shock - Instrumental Mix Cover)
Soon the spirit reached the King, already off to a start and thoughtful, and together they embarked on the way to New Home.
As promised, their road continued peacefully over those onetime beaten by monster folk, and after such an adventure, it looked like just a long walk, where wandering off with memories, like inmates robbed of the sky above, yet moving freely with catlike and attentive pace through the bowels of Mount Ebott, a gilded cage that all monsters learned to love.
Thus appeared to them Home, for one more and hopefully last time, placid outlined with its ruins, now that every diaphanous light had dozed off, and the black shadow had fallen anew as the veil of sleep. This time, even his old home instilled in Asgore its ancestral and slight feeling of charm and lightness, and he did not dwell on its nostalgia anymore, perhaps having finally smoothed things over with the past.
Its underneath tunnel thundered with footsteps and the steady beat of the illuminated staff, until dying behind the grinding of the gates on stone, letting the cold wind, blowing relentlessly, to revive with new resonance the snowy and fixed world around Snowdin.
Every snowstorm had ceased upon their return, although frost still bit his snout and needled his eyes. Yet it seemed rather a pleasing refreshment, by shaking occasionally muscles with shivers, as he dug footprints in the thick snow together with the sonorous sinking of paws.
"Hey, I just remembered," Asgore said, as soon as they went along Grillby's, whose pantry was again plundered of its last leftovers. "Look over there, there it is. The warning sign."
He indicated in the distance, its incisions still fresh on the wood. Any fear aroused by it, were like broken by the soft laughter of Ioreon, vanishing its remnants in the King's mind with a knowing glance.
"Ah, I eke remember. Mayhap 'twas that playful river person. Probably before they left, dragging their boat," – Ioreon pointed the finger at the trail of broken twigs – "they have seen fit to warn passers-by. Their words make no lie, and indeed 'tis very worthy of attention, but fortunately I am not the culprit."
"Golly, I made a fool of myself, eh?"
"Nay, thou wert just protective. Like a good father towards his own children."
And in those words, still blank but uttered with suave accord, the King found comfort, and he too indulged in a hearty laugh, to which even the wind seemed to rejoice.
That renewed vigor, he poured it all on his legs, and without showing signs of stopping, they gladly arrived in just one day to the immense side of the pseudo-mountain, at the entrance of the road tunnel to Waterfall, even-surfaced like a hole drilled by a goad into its rocky flesh, by them not yet traveled.
The bluish light penetrated inside, bouncing off the walls tough as long as it could, up to darkle as they went deeper and deeper. But here, to support their crossing, it was replaced by the myriad of bio-luminescent bluegrass and glowing waters, coming to their aid. They guided them safely over ferns and reeds, thinned along the watered down path.
For just a moment, Asgore wanted to pause in front of a worn stone statue, sitting hunched up with its bent shoulders as afflicted by an incurable ailment, its only comfort a threadbare reddish umbrella in its arms. Who was represented was by now indefinable, but to him he was still clear as day. It spoke to him, with a recurrent tune of few notes, sad yet beautiful in its incessant repetition, repeating until one day it will have no more strength to sing.
Its concealed expression was enough to touch him. He decided to pay one last tribute, the smooth fragment of chiastolite found in the Hotlands, thinking about the glittering appearance of the two alternating crosses, black and brown, conflicting like monition and redemption, earth and spirit, or whatever else those may mean. A fiery stone upon cold stone, a sign for itself, almost like symbolizing the actions of that unknown hero he knew and loved, and that he will never see again.
The dripping in that solitary cave paled before the roaring falls, endless descending courses of water that sprayed droplets on them, the one and only rain in the Underground. But it was not cause of nuisance, just like the puddles washing away the mud under the feet, or the dense cloud of aerosol swiftly entering the nose and refreshing the lungs, or the drop cleansing the now dried salt of tears.
And for once it ceased, under the vault of false but bright stars, leaving them lost in the vastness that spread in front of their amazed eyes, smallest even in the face of the Royal Castle that haughty guarded the horizon.
"Howbeit, pray tell, hath thy mind reconcil'd with thine heart?" Ioreon said, as they stopped to admire a statuesque beauty again. Asgore stared at their return and destination, giving a quick glance to the spirit, who peered at his slightly strained features.
"There is a sense of weightlessness inside of me, that I cannot put into words," he replied. "In recent days new vivid dreams invade my sleep, no longer sad and chilling, but rather colorful, and vital. Now that all the souls have been gathered, they are fulfilling, soothing, covered with incommensurable beauty."
He bowed down his head to look at his feet, and revealed his thoughts. His voice was mild, no longer weighed down but relieved. "I still find it hard to believe that, after all these centuries, a happy return would be so palpable, but we are so close, that I can almost touch it! So then, I feel I must thank you for this companionship, and for how far it has endured in spite of trifling disagreements."
"Yet 'twas thee, through thine own forces, to have done the impossible. I did but show thee the way. The merit is thine, and 'twas mine the honor to have accompanied thee, my Lord and my King."
And after another knowing glance, Asgore defused it with a wink. "Said like this, it seems just stepped out of a theatrical performance!"
Ioreon's flames arched stupefied, but then he laughed softly, a tinkling laugh like the foregone rain on the King's armor. "That is something that surely shall remind thee of me!" he stated, to which the King beamed willingly.
Taking heart again, Asgore decided to lead himself the way this time, finding the small remote village where they had left it, and the dark yet sparkling cave, and the whispering Echo Flowers garden, past the suspension bridges over the abyss, all the way to the Hotlands, within just two days of travel.
He almost missed those gusts of hot air, came as soon as they stepped over the opening. Again, the heat stubbornly slipped in between the folds of his armor, but precisely because it was unbearable, it pushed them to hasten their pace.
The triumphant magma waves shook the sides of the cliffs, but it could not break the road yet. The scattered buildings, once located in safe places, were corroded down to the bulkheads by molten rock, their facades giving visibly to accelerated wear, and to a similar fate relapsed the elevators, of which there was no trace for most of them.
Throwing away his pride, Ioreon carried Asgore a couple of times on his shoulders to reascend the steep uphill ledges, where the air already breathed fresh so that the rise turned tolerable, earning in one day the entrance to the MTT Resort.
It welcomed them with lights off, its electricity completely exhausted. Built-up water of condensation infiltrated its ceilings, staining them dark, wetting velvet and silk left there to gather dust, while that of the fountain, drained away, filled with moss Mettaton's sculpture, now tumbled to the ground. They moved on without a backward glance, surpassing again the suspended iron bridge, gradually affected by rust, acceding the just as silent CORE, entered into forced shutdown by standby mode.
Ironically, the only light that did not falter was the waving one of Ioreon, a scene already seen that outlived though the autonomy of that technological prodigy that, to those who counted on it, would no longer allow their return.
And lo, finally, the very champion of silence, immobile and unmovable awaiting their return like a patient mother, ruefully impoverished with her abandoned white halls and spires, lying on her sleeping bed like her far away sister. Yet, as if she heard them arrive from a distance, she greeted them in a different light, no more gray and oppressed, but luminous for some reason.
She accompanied them with her languid gaze, bringing them closer to the inner circle, right where palaces surrounded the Royal Castle, placed in defense of the break outward. She hosted them in the refulgent corridor of gold, its colors radiating from the windows, between solid columns gilded by light.
It was there that Asgore hesitated.
watch?v=C4Wv5M9JPao (Undertale OST - The Choice)
The moment was near, needing the stairway alone, down the path, to take the plunge.
He stopped halfway regardless.
The glow filtered up to him, highlighting his tired face. His mind heard the sound of the mausoleum bell. Days and days of crossings and carelessness with his body by now exhausted, back and forth where fate would take him, uncertainty and any strange feeling which he was prey, fled emptying him.
And now the looming future fell piling atop, layer by layer in the aspect of a mighty wall, almost a novel Barrier that prevented him to view the sun and the moon and the true stars.
He looked at his hands that, despite everything, were still white pearly. But he did see nothing other than red bloodstains. The past kept calling him, back from where he came. He was ready for them, but to go with them himself, he was not. His salvation still seemed too far for the eye to see.
"What will become of me, when even this last purpose will be consumed?" he said, his head bowed.
Ioreon stopped as well. The floor rumbled the beat of his staff, planted on the ground.
"It shall be light, and mirth. To those whom thou hast taken the life, it shall be given back, and thy sorrow crown'd with bliss a hundredfold, and a new morrow. Lingerest not now Asgore, for most people are waiting thee. Thou shalt find here no peace, but mourn."
He turned his head to him. Whether it was the voice, or his piercing gaze all of a sudden, exuding stoic steadfastness from his being, Ioreon tried to reach him beyond the wall of uncertainty.
He could not stop now.
Asgore put his foot forward, and exhaling said: "Let us go ahead."
The sense of vertigo swallowed the stairway once again, but he still walked down it, the trusty and most precious sack over the shoulder, and with relief he ascertained that each step lifted the weight that he dragged on since forever, until he came to Ioreon, waiting for him at the door to the catacombs.
This time he entered first, breathing easier when he heard the soft respiration of the six humans, still immersed in their deep slumber. He imagined how they could be now by their vaguely hinted features, under their mortuary bandages, trying to remember the first time he saw them, when were deposed in the cold darkness of sarcophagi.
He put the sack on the ground, and one by one pulled out the cylinders, containing their virtuous souls. Their calm was nearly surreal, beating in accord with the breath of their bodies. Ioreon supervened, simultaneously taking the lids off, and with absolutely no plea whatsoever, they floated tranquil and climbed up to the mouth of the cylinders, waiting now in front of their respective host what it had to be done.
"Here we are at the pivotal moment," Ioreon said, as he positioned himself behind the fluctuating souls. "It may get tiresome, so tellest me when thou art ready."
"After what we have been through I should not be so? Speak freely."
"Fain to, but first some preliminaries. Comest here, next to me."
So did Asgore, his racing pulse in trepidation now more than ever.
"Well then, our effort taketh place through the process of Ligatura, a means us'd by a supernatural entity to bind itself to a foreign body. Thereagainst, we must reunite a soul to its own physical container, and as such things get more complicated.
"For the peculiar virtues of souls, fill'd with physicality as much as spirituality, 'tis necessary that our influences intertwine thanks to magic, so that the two domains find synchrony and consolidate. Hence, thou conductest the role certainly most important, providing the afflatus that serveth to open the gates of the body so as to let the souls enter, whilst I provide the ties mending them firmly. 'Tis clear?"
"More or less."
"Good enough. Imposest thy magic power, tied to the physical world, on the bodies, in a way akin to a beacon or buoy and, once they are link'd with thee, exertest an opening will. Being unconscious, they shan't offer resistance, and I shall do the rest. 'Tis surely not complicated for an experienc'd magician as thou art, but trying in front of six humans. It shall be only a matter of a stinging moment, wherefrom thou shalt recover rather quickly."
Asgore, in response, cracked his own fingers. "Well, if it is so, when do we start? I can't wait!"
"So be prepar'd and tap thy magical sources. At my signal, release."
Both got into position, their hands ready to cast.
"Oh! I almost forgot," Ioreon interrupted the whole thing. "Whatever may happen to me, during or after each thing thou shalt see and do, dost not panic. If thou feelest not like to sit on thine hands, then grant me a thought. And it shall suffice."
That was enough to attract Asgore's attention. "Um, nothing to worry about, I hope."
"Focus and think about nothing else, what might happen to me is irrelevant. The important thing is the outcome."
Asgore could only nod unsure to what he said. But indeed he was conscious now that the situation required the utter lack of interest in their own fate, if that alone were enough to ensure their success.
So he widened his legs, and through his clenched hands brought forth his power, outlining form, intensity and purpose in a sphere of living water.
Similarly, Ioreon left by his staff and harnessed his own force, and soon extended his hands in an embrace.
There was like a shiver in the room, followed by a crystal-clear sound that rattled the walls. An azure and lustrous glow ran down Ioreon's ethereal and swirling fingers, branching off at the tip in the form of evanescent threads that, like the long, thin algae in the sea, swirled lissome in the air.
Hundreds of them headed sinuous to the suspended souls, and with slow caution they made contact. Like needles in experienced hands, creating a sumptuous embroidery, the bundles of coiled threads inserted themselves superficially and formed knots.
"The time hath come, mifriend," he said with a whisper of a voice, to which Asgore gave heed without a murmur, and cast his spell. He leant forward his hands, opening a fan of fluid trails with the appearance of quicksilver, which evaporated in a white mist before them, enshrouding their living bodies.
At the height of their hearts, Asgore concentrated the magic flow, twirling the mist in a billowing vortex that arched inward and opened an invisible gap. Only then Ioreon, with a wave of the hands, released new threads from his fingertips and stretched them toward the humans.
The second that they weaved with the magic mist, the whole room shook, the pillars swung like palm trees, and there was nothing but light. That flash alone determined the reached communion, and it was like a blazing fast and overwhelming sapping of energies, pulling them avidly as the threads, now steadily conjoined with the bodies, created a bridge between the slit and their souls, which brightened with garish color.
They, in the grip of an uproarious exultation, were dragged right into the chests and fitted in like inside sheltered alcoves. Ioreon closed his hands, and the threads sewed inside and outside of the opening, securing the souls in their rediscovered shrines, and then narrowed, winding through creases and hems of magic and flesh, up to seal the physical and spiritual gap in a newborn seam.
There was another and last flash of light, which stripped away in an instant Asgore's power, making him stop the outflow and fall to the ground, exhausted.
Then, the quake quietened.
He remained on the ground traumatized. The sweat beaded his face and the sight left him blind for a moment, but soon he regained lucidity. He opened wide his eyes to understand where were the roof and the floor, astounded by the heavy gulps of air that pounded inside his eardrums.
Something lifted him in the air and made him sit on the usual wooden bench, where he could lean on the wall his head, which was spinning like a top. It was not until afterwards that he noticed Ioreon, and he even thought he was able to see through him, though opaquely.
"Art thou faring alright?" the spirit said at some point.
"Alright in any way at all," the King replied, and that disorientation nearly made him laugh. "But do not think about me, what just happened? Did it went well?"
"Why not ask them thyself?"
watch?v=74vpYxZSUJ8 (Two Steps From Hell - Forever in my Dreams)
It was a bolt out of the blue. Ioreon stepped aside, and this helped his blurred vision to discern better, but he was no longer sure if it was because of him or the cloud of dust that raised to the roof in the meantime.
His hands trembled when the sight of the coffins was still obstructed, but by something else: six pillars with shadowy contours but of varying height, transformed then with a strain in silhouettes with frayed and dangling bandages. They swayed confused, standing hardly on their own two feet, showing emaciated complexions, cracked lips, dry and chapped skin.
But out of their depth under their thick and messy hair, he caught a glimpse of their eyes. Those, that he saw only shut, bound by an apparent death, were revealed in all their dazzling liveliness, disclosing the deepest among oceans, the lushest forests, the gentlest among walnut trunks, the strongest of metals, the sturdiest among mountains and the deepest of fair nights. The lights of theirs glowed oh so iridescent, that even the fiery torches of Ioreon paled in comparison.
His mouth would not let him speak, as he was dazed, stonkered, and ecstatic. His instinct was about to get him on the ground and drag himself, even by crawling, but his legs still did not respond to his calls.
He had not even the time to despair, because he found their radiant smiles just one step away, throwing their arms round his neck and chest. After centuries of sleep it was the first thing they did, embracing the one who slew them whether directly or not, and cared for them until their comeback.
This was the thought that dancing crossed his mind, and it moved him, drowned by their hugs and lilting laughter, until that sudden and overwhelming joy brought its liberating tears to him.
Even Ioreon, under that exterior of adamantine stolidity, could not hold back laughter and applause at the scene. "Marry! 'Tis obvious that you all are more than happy to see each other in person! But come on Asgore, dost not remain so still, embracest them, they are just waiting for it!"
"That's easy for you to say! I can't cry, laugh and hug them at the same time!" he replied, and yet his arms succeeded in the impossible, embracing them all, without exception. And if it is true that laughter is the best medicine, they were gaining a century at least.
"Ahem!" one of the humans cleared his throat, his red-haired head popping out from the rest of the gang. "Okay now, hold on guys! Daddy here hasn't met us in person, so he's in need of some presentations!" said that lanky boy, charming the King with the boldness of his chirpy emerald eyes.
They let go of that warm embrace but their gazes still entwined Asgore's, as they arranged themselves in a semicircle so that he could peer at their every detail, one by one, still unable to curb the euphoria of breathing deeply again, laughing at their own clumsiness in the midst of that crowd of bodies, filling continuously his heart of sensations in their day unhoped-for.
"So, everybody's here? Great!" the child said, giving the thumbs up. He was just as lively and bursting with energy, healthy and exuberant as his fiery hair, and loud despite his apparent smallness. "The name's Fion, nice to meet you goatdad!"
"What a young man with an intrepid attitude! You are the one that gave me a jolt at the Evercold Mountains!" Asgore said, playing steal the nose with him. "A little and fearless rascal!"
"I assure you that I am also a good boy!" Fion stuck his tongue out amused. "But I won't take all your attention, so off we go! This beanpole to my right is the eldest among us, his name is..."
"Jebediah, my name's Jebediah. At yo' service, Pa!" the above-said replied to Fion's hesitation, while looking at him aslant and smirking.
"Oh my boy, you bet! You've been such a wonderful help already, I remember very well when I had quite a trouble in that stinking abyss!" Asgore said while ruffling his hair, getting a wink and an awkward giggle in return.
The lad with a fine physique towered above them even if only slightly, and even though disheveled, his blond hair in a ponytail still shone of glittering gold, accenting his azure stare, firm and quiet, yet beaming confidently. "And y'know Fion, how can you introduce us if you don't know our names?"
"Who cares, we know each other!" Fion said with firm belief. "More or less. In a roundabout way."
He was not so convinced anymore.
"Yeah bub, darn tootin'."
"But that's okay overall, let me finish! So… there's our nerd big sister, who's looking at me weird right now."
The young girl in question snorted. "You are getting used to the idea of family little brer, huh? My name is Sophie by the way, and it's nice to meet you in person, Dad!"
Black was her skin, and her frizzy and curly hair cascaded onto her shoulders, making her dazzling smile even whiter. Her dark and inquiring eyes, combined with her voice that flowed deep and warm, gave her a proud bearing like a lioness, but the inherent wise affability in those eyes, likewise the shy wave of her hand, were the mirror of a reserved but passionate mind.
Asgore stroked her peeling cheek, and already memories resurfaced seeing her, but soon after a little girl slipped under Sophie's arm. "Now it is my turn! Je m'appelle Vérane!" said that carefree little girl with a fancy accent, making then a polite bow to the King, brushing his leg with her long mane of tousled brown hair. Side by side, laughing soundly after that unexpected intrusion, they appeared like coffee and milk.
The faint light almost eased itself down softly on Vérane's alabaster complexion, fair as to seem itself the snow of early days of spring, surreal and piercing on par with her steely eyes. Slender and graceful like a butterfly, and likewise was her past, lasted only a wing beat. But now she could fly once more, and to get started she gave a noisy kiss on the King's cheek.
"But c'mon, I was the one introducing you!" Fion interjected, commencing a battle of grimaces with her. However the guy behind him, a burly and pudgy boy, lifted him bodily and stuck him under his arm, tickling him with his free hand.
"Mamma mia Fion, see to catch your breath a little!" he said orotund before warmly shaking hands with Asgore. "I am Franco, the pleasure is all mine! I am that dummy who got caught by surprise in Cair Megiddo!"
"Gosh, do not say so, it is our fault if we scared you!"
"Nah, it's no big deal, souls remember only through sensations. I even enjoyed it eventually!"
Together with his brother under the arm he gushed with joy, belly-laughing more loudly than the others, and with that single free hand, he gesticulated like it were two. His appearance alone could draw upon himself the ancient strength of an oak trunk, a hue softly reflected by his straight hair and cheery eye, and at the same time the hot-blooded and impulsive force of an active volcano.
"Aha, quite the energetic son! And let me ask, you seem like the type of gourmand that anyone would have around!"
Swinging his hand casually, as if to attract all the perfume in the room on his nose, he said: "Put me in the kitchen and you'll see what I can make!"
At that the breaking of ranks turned self-evident. Hence, one small child was still missing. Asgore felt movement on his right arm, and there he saw her.
The most silent, shy and petite, until now hidden behind Sophie's leg, but with a last spark of courage climbed on the bench, surprising him like a cherry blossom blooming among leafy branches of trees. Immediately he put her on his lap, holding her hands gently with his open palm, gigantic in comparison. "And what do we have here? Howdy little one!"
"Hi, um... I am Yukiko."
She adorably hawed, as she suddenly found herself at the center of attention. Yet, there was something mystical about her, in the intense ebony of her bobbed hair contrasting with the roundness of her face, in her smile a little bottled up with her mouth but glaring thanks to those iridescent gems behind her almond eyelids. Eyes dark only in the distance, and when near appearing striated like clear velvet between sclera and pupil, as hypnotic as sweet. She was small, and yet she seemed to have understood more than everyone else the value of patience.
"Yeah, I like you a lot already!" Asgore said, making her smile and feel at ease, and then pulling all of them to himself in a big hug again. "Golly. I'll have to learn all these new names!"
"Yup, you'll have plenty of time when we are all home!" – Fion winked at him – "And you'll come too, don't forget!"
Everything that he had not thought of. "Home? Oh... that's right."
The thought of a newer new home. His mood changed instantly, and a fatigue no longer physical took hold of him, mixed with anxiety and insecurity, shaking his very words.
"Are you really sure you want me to stay with you? You call me Dad but, in short, I was not a great example as a father…"
This made him remember what he saw in Waterfall. The hesitation of the soul of perseverance, almost afraid of him when he tried to approach her, and those vivid visions of the soul of integrity. He paused on Vérane, who showed him the kind of fate that has befallen her, a taste of what the others have differently suffered.
He wanted to cuddle them both, but his hands refused to move further, horrified by themselves.
"I... I'm terribly sorry and regretful, sorry for everything you had to endure. It is so surprising that, although you never saw your tormentor before, you just decided to forgive him, in a way so warm on top of that."
Their long faces said more than a thousand words, looking at each other confused when that joy turned into gaunt awareness.
"But Dad, it's all over now," said Vérane, biting her lip when Asgore looked away after her words. But again he looked into her eyes, seeing reflected only his own failure.
"Now I know even more clearly, and I thank you, Vérane, for showing me. If you're angry with me, I understand completely."
She just hugged him, beaming and sniffing. "Sacrebleu Daddy, I didn't mean to scare you! The experience was fatal, it delved deep, but if you were able to hear my tearless crying, alors it's clear, you are a person empathetic and good! Really you are a dear father, if you felt alike the sorrow of your children!"
That little girl trampled the giant like a river in flood, breaking through his chains. "Are you serious?"
"Bien sûr!"
"Let me get this straight, how can we ever hate Santa Claus?" Fion interrupted them, in an attempt to ease the tension.
"Yeah. Sho 'nuff you had yo' reasons, and we understand. Besides, you're our honorary father, yup!" Jebediah gave a pat on his back. "Even we as humans ain't been a great example, for having locked all y'all up down here. We learned so many things in the Underground, and we know for a fact that injustice wasn't one-sided, and dang it you were unjustly forced to do it!"
"And keep you here forever! Oh, and even if you are indeed here and alive, when I think of your poor families, who have not seen you come back home..."
"Well, legends say that those who climb the mountain never return, so the only ones to blame are us. And since we already know it's been a coon's age, we've come to terms with the fact that we won't see any more of our families, not to mention that some of us were already orphans to begin with."
He pointed his finger as a kind of honest rebuke. "I know it's difficult, but I also reckon we can and must overcome everything. So, in the words of my uncle, if you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'. Nkay Pa?"
Asgore sighed loudly. "Alright then, let's not talk about it anymore. Neither is it fair to just spoil our merriment!" There he closed the speech with a hand-clapping. "And, by the way... how do you know each other so well? Don't tell me that you could communicate even as souls!"
Sophie interlaced her fingers. "Technically, we couldn't communicate in words, though we shared our feelings, just like talking. We can't remember clearly, because souls don't retain memory, but our sensations remained, both the past ones and the current ones. So yeah, we weren't deaf, and we even felt your love quite well!" she said in a cheerful voice.
"And what I told thee, Asgore?"
Ioreon seemed to have eclipsed himself until then, watching silent and with folded hands on the abdomen, only to be resurrected in his old, established majesty.
"You!" Asgore said, and all their attention fell back into the spirit. The children had to make room for him as he drew nigh Ioreon with such decisiveness that even he was surprised by it.
"You... Ah, if it were not for you! What a wonder you did to me!" Boisterous, he hugged him too to make up for having left him alone, in the midst of the newfound poignancy of the humans, almost sorry that he was staying out of the picture.
"Well, gramercy mifriend! Rather, what if 'twere not for thee! If these children were not so inamor'd, at this time their souls would had simply fled, even more seeing one such as me! Then congratulate thyself for 'tis deserv'd, am I right scions?"
"Yeah!" they shouted in unison.
Asgore wiped his last shed tear. "Darlings, now I am so agog to take you out of here! We spent so much time behind these walls!"
"Verily, but ere the sun, layeth the throne room, where I have some other things to discuss with thee. You eat something while we are at it, and be patient for what I besought. Asgore, I prithee."
"Are you kidding me?! This is the least I can do, you are the lead my friend! What's one more hour?"
Ioreon tittered satisfied, sure to make a real treat for them, and then decided to entertain himself with Fion's neck by tickling it too, seeing that he could not stay still even for a second.
So, as with all journeys, theirs ended up where it started.
The doors of the Throne Room were still open, welcoming the humans with a show that they were never able to see with their eyes before, yet feelings resurfaced strongly. Immersed in form of souls amidst the aroma of flowers and tea, mindful of the sound of Asgore's voice, which never left them alone, not even for a moment. The golden petals shone in the atypical glow that prevailed in the Underground, so similar to sunlight. And among them, lost in the sea of his peers, stood out one in particular, with at his side a containment cylinder.
"I was wondering when you would come!" he blurted it out annoyed.
Apart from the surprise of finding Flowey here, Asgore could not help but notice the red human soul inside the cylinder. "What? What are you doing with that soul in there?!"
"Golly, I knew it'd be a bad idea," Flowey said, cringing as Asgore moved determined to take it away from his leaves, but Ioreon barred his road with the staff.
"Ioreon, what's the meaning of this? You said she was free at last!"
"She is in very sooth, and 'tis her choice to be here. But fear not, for she shall leave us anon."
So he said, and silence fell upon them. Then the spirit turned to the talking flower. "Thou finally came. Methought thou wouldst have preferr'd the solitude of the Ruins."
"After your fair share of messes what else could I do?!" Flowey snapped at him. "In any case Chara has much more convincing arguments than yours!"
"I shan't argue one iota of it, mifriend."
Flowey shook his head. "You're still the same. Oh and anyhow, howdy all! I am Flowey, Flowey the flower!" he said evasively tilting the head to the side, so as not to appear rude in front of the humans.
Fion did not seem so glad to see him. "Yeah, we know who you are!"
Flowey gaped when the child started to run up to him, and raised the leaves on his face to shield himself against anything was coming.
The human poked him playfully with a finger. "You silly goose."
"Oh man, you scared him!" Franco said coming after him, still out of breath for the stairway climbing.
"Hey, I didn't mean anything bad. He's used us for his ends, but in the end it all worked out for the best."
And Flowey gave to himself a resounding leaf slap on his face.
"What's up?" Fion said, turning his head slowly toward the others. The somewhat disappointed expression of Asgore jumped to his eye the most. "Oops."
"Is it true what I just heard, Flowey? So maybe there is something sinister going on behind my back."
"Mizzica, sounds like this will end badly." Franco spread his hands in resignation.
"This is enough," Ioreon called again for silence. "Be taken not by hasty impulses, keep calm and collected."
The spirit then rose, and hovered over to Flowey while the two boys gave him way, Franco giving a disgruntled look on the distraught Fion.
"Hail Flowey. I am sorry for what happen'd."
"No, just no," Flowey said, his head hung down. "It's natural, sooner or later I'd have told that myself anyway. Not really a great start, huh?"
"Worry not, there is nothing presaging the worst."
"So you say. But, heh, I take this opportunity…" – Flowey smiled timidly – "To say thank you. I thought about what you said, I reasoned about it. It's worth it, even Chara cut me some slack. True, I cannot feel anything, but others can, and I want to settle my guilt with everyone, even if I won't understand it fully."
He would have seemed creepy, with his eyes now wide and empty, but his voice remained shaky and broken. "Maybe I'll learn to understand it, more or less. So, I'm ready to go but… always keep an eye on me. You never know."
"If that is what thee want, it shall be granted. And 'twas just what I wanted to hearken from thee," replied the spirit, who turned to Asgore motioning him to come closer.
"I wonder what else you have in mind this time," Asgore said, pushing gently the humans aside without delay and joining the two, walking among the flowers. Flowey dared not raise his head.
"Away with resentment now," – Ioreon said to both – "I need you two fraught with vitality and understanding."
With a quick gesture he removed the lid, and Chara's soul floated free again, yet it acted like it was waiting for something.
"The parts are here, to make them whole anew. I have the strength for one last marvel."
watch?v=vO0ViDuUEfc (Terzo Tema di Ilùvatar)
For the curious convergence of those facts, one more amazing than the other, the two listened with bated breath to what he had to say.
"Lo! We are here due to an extraordinary eventuality, the combination of such improbabilities that shall cement the end of this rousing venture. This seal is nam'd by humans 'Symphony of Creation', and there is no other name most fitting than this.
"Every idea floweth fleeting on my eyes, but some remaineth so strongly impress'd that turneth unforgettable. Then why, if there is something I learn'd in many years, is the nature you are made up. Any questions I promise to answer, but first allow me: I have a design to concretize, but its implementation shall depend on you. Would you like to be part of it?"
Asgore dithered, because he did not know that name, and the omen that accompanied it. Nevertheless, he thumped his chest with his fist closed. "For the lives we saved thanks to you, of course you can count on me!"
"Remarkable. Whereas thou Flowey, hast some hesitation or concern? Or thou wantest to proceed forthwith?"
"I don't understand anything," – his face was at a loss – "You make me do all this way and then you blandish me with weasel words?"
"This is my way to let thee out of the Underground. It shall be a wondrous gift due to thy good will, simulacrum of memories and Determination."
Flowey expressed his resignation, with a loud sigh.
"Flowey, listen to me," Asgore spurred him. "I trust him, as well as six humans that we all believed dead and that are here watching us now. You were not there to see what happened, but it was mesmerizing. And even if I felt an unbearable fatigue like days of forced march, I will not desist now that he has seemingly another miracle in store, even more so for you."
"Forsooth, worry not Asgore, 'tis not necessary to spend thyself in a so heartfelt peroration, but many thanks!" Ioreon interrupted him with one of his most intense looks. "But 'tis indeed his choice. Heed what I say, and decide with even more knowledge.
"Asgore, thou shalt once again provide the bridge betwixt my influence and the material plane, and this time thou shalt cede even more, but not enough to prevent thee staying awake and alert. About thee Flowey, knowest that this such step is conclusive. Thou shalt have the delicate role of the transferee: all thy memories and Determination shall be extracted, and that old recipient of thine shall lose all consciousness."
"Wait wait wait, you're telling me..."
"I told I shall get thee hereout, and certainly not in a flowerpot! Behold!"
Ioreon rained down a beam of light that illuminated the soul of Chara. It let standing out, beneath its crimson red, a white heart of pure fairness, with the tip pointing upwards, inside of it. It was dim, weakened, but still persisted in pulsing.
Hush was blowing in the mouths of the onlookers, and among them all, was Flowey. His sight opened wide at what he was seeing, before turning it to Ioreon who declaimed imperiously.
"Flowey, I exhort thee! Body, mind and soul are the individual, three elements in a totality! We, the Hierophant, say unto thee, essence of a monster and human Determination on a flower, thou, hybrid union of coexisting disparate components, more than unique and minimum in front of no one, that hath led thee here, be grateful! Art thou willing to recreate the life of the one who gave such essence and let thee experience new awareness in this vessel of thine? Art thou willing to infuse thy past and Determination and make him whole again? If thou givest not consent, this Symphony of Creation shan't come to pass!"
His petals trembled. The contours of his face followed the tense grimace of surprise and even helpless rage, with such fervor that he released pollen himself. And then shouted, eyes closed shut, with as much voice he had: "A hundred, a thousand times a real body with a soul! To heal this emptiness I never succeeded to fill!"
Asgore was so shocked that had yet to realize the full scope of what was happening, although an incredible thought assailed him.
"So be it! Asgore, weave thy magic with mine!" Ioreon recalled him to attention, because now as then, words are followed by actions. The King without a flinch outstretched his hands, and poured out energy in his rediscovered majesty.
A silvery stream of magic flowed rushing from his hands towards the spirit, but he was not overwhelmed. He harnessed it with his own, golden like the sun, and steered the fruit of that union in front of him.
The two energies swirled over one another, mingling and becoming indistinguishable. Ioreon compacted them in an amorphous conglomerate, swiveling like the Earth with its tides, on whose surface the thread-like golden influence molded characters of an unknown language. At times they were lit, ringing with the sound of rain and strings in the wind, of shaking ground and timpani, of trumpets of the deep and booming organs. Soon the Symphony arose with a maestoso tempo, its force transforming into a powerful voice.
The spirit shaped the conglomerate like an artisan with clay in his hands, giving it new forms, which extended and deepened with the music, forming folds and shapeless reliefs that tended to explode against the molding will of Ioreon, but they were bent by him unrelentingly.
This could only try the both of them, who even at this stage suffered the progressive depletion of their reserves. Asgore's legs buckled several times, but he insisted, still stretching his arms.
Ioreon's staff dissolved on its own, but he extended one hand to Flowey regardless.
The Golden Flower stood petrified, when he saw the pulse of light on his stem and his petals, and his face. He unaware projected a sparkling stream towards the developing body, and those three flows fused together entirely within the mass. The last thing he saw was a red swirling wake. Then he was no more.
Ioreon now took on the role of the conductor of an opera, wherefrom emerged slender hands and webbed feet. A drop on top outlined a neck, and then a long snout and long ears. The red trail spread more and more, and like needles it penetrated everywhere, running fast and undulating in the folds of body and limbs and head. The myriad of sparks crept into the latter, giving birth to a flash of lightning.
He thus directed the last act, turning his palm on the soul of Chara, beating like madly in love, while the white soul came unstuck from it. He immediately entwined it with his own afflatus made of newborn gold threads, and with his widespread fingers guided it. The soul rotated and revolutionized around the body of the new vessel until it reached the chest, whereon the spirit impressed with fire, pushing the soul inside where it vanished.
He withdrew his hands. Asgore once again suffered the tearing of his magic flow, and slumped to the ground breathing impetuously, but with open eyes. Lying down he saw one last, triumphant flare, but he could not see the newly born falling down.
Ioreon rushed there in time, catching him in his arms.
He appeared just like a naked little bundle, covered only by his fur. White and soft like snow, scented of wheat fields, fresh plains, and Golden Flowers. He opened his eyes, squinting at the light that annoyingly stung them, finding relief only under the shadow of the spirit's hood.
"I…" a faint whisper emerged from his parted lips. "I know your eyes. You're Ioreon."
"Welcome back, my dearly belov'd Asriel."
watch?v=B3hGNQu-Fp8 (Undertale - His Theme Music Box)
He heard his own name. And with it a sound strange and foreign that alarmed him at first, but then filled him with wonderment: his beating heart. He could feel again, and felt pain for his lungs filling with air, warmth and comfort within the arms that held him, remorse for all things past and gratitude for the future ones that awaited him. Every feeling exploded as a whole.
He put his plump hands on his face, exploring every part of his former visage. All the tears, gathered in centuries, welled up in an instant, in one hushed crying.
Ioreon arrayed him in his usual warm clothes with crippling effort, and sought his father. His dim eyes misted everything that he remotely could see, but he still found him, and went there, chanting with peremptory slowness at his every step.
"The humans took a son away from thee… It shan't ever be possible for them to atone for centuries of suffering… but acceptest this as a gift of good will on their part… In their souls there is good, and I hope to have shown it with a last act…"
The strength to utter was spent, but in spite of everything, he eagerly laid down Asriel on the shining breastplate of Asgore, supine and catatonic on the flowerbed.
For the second time the vertigo threw his head in disarray and his eyes watered due to the effort. A slight tingling crawled on all fours across the metal plate, pressing on his chest. He breathed even more deeply, but the puffs came back, slamming into something that now was brushing his snout, like a wad of cotton wool.
He fluttered wildly his eyelids, and every beat unveiled to his eyes more and more details, up to meet his. A black pupil surrounded by a brown iris, with strokes of amber and shading outside in an emerald green. An eye so clear, where he lost himself always, from the morn embrace to the goodnight kiss.
He saw him, Asriel, crying and laughing at the same time, a sound akin to him like water in the desert, felicity after centuries of torment, echo of his every lived delight. Asgore pinched his own wrists and snoot, but that vision did not disappear. He suddenly wept, together with his son, and like spring breeze that blows away the weathered winter to unfold the intense light of day, he burst out laughing, and laughing enfolded his son.
"This is a miracle," – he said, caressing his wet cheek – "My miracle, made manifest."
"Daddy, you don't know how much I wished your hugs!"
"And this time I won't let go. I won't let go."
So they remained, heedless of time passing. Yet Asgore found that something was amiss. He noticed that the humans, aware of what it meant to regain one's lost son, wept quietly, some with dignified composure, others with utmost emotion.
His paternal instinct was overflowing for all those children that he felt like his. He just dried off his tears and motioned them to come closer. "Come, come here to see your brother!" he urged them heartily.
Cheerful they came with a leap, drawing close to Asriel and welcoming him to life, protecting him under a dome of bandaged bodies ready to withstand the worst disasters, certain at last that every nightmare was over. All anxiety and agitation seemed to subside, and serenity hovered with its golden pollen.
They loosen the grip and the distances, so that they could see each other clearly, study one another, because it was clear that they were all brothers and sisters in there. At a stroke, everything the little Prince had desired and onetime lost, became his own.
Chara's soul, now freed of its purpose, lingered for long to watch them. Afterwards it withdrew, circling one more time around Ioreon, who played with it with his hands by now vanished, only to escape almost dancing in the air like a dragonfly, to get past the remnants of the Barrier. Ioreon himself had just two flamelets to see, yet they flickered like bonfires in ancient days of celebration, and with that thought they expired, with a last liberating breath.
After another strong hug, Asriel detached from his father, remaining in his arms. Confusedly he tried to make order in his re-acquired emotions, his soul still traumatized for all those centuries of sweet captivity within his sister's soul.
"Asriel? Why the long face?" Asgore said hoarsely before emitting a cough.
Asriel did not feel like to look in his father's eyes. "Don't strain yourself Daddy, you've just done so much for me."
"Don't worry, I just want to know. I can see in your eyes that there's something troubling you."
The little goat brooded long for the things to say and how to say, even more so now that he had all eyes on him. "Well… I haven't been very honest with you. I did horrible things when I was a flower."
"But, my sweet cinnamon roll…"
"I never met these humans, but I used their souls to subvert the nature of the Underground. And you can't know this, because you can't remember it, but it was thanks to them and to Frisk if the Barrier was destroyed."
"And it was also thanks to you Asriel!" Sophie said, rubbing the fur on his head.
"Yeah, but it was all the souls of the Underground and yours that made me understand, it was Frisk to awaken what I thought I had forgotten."
He beamed happily. "That is why I want to make up for it! I've taken everything away from you, while you have given me everything back! If it were not for Chara my soul would be lost forever, and thanks to Dad and Ioreon I am…" He turned around to thank in person the author of the Symphony.
"… back… again…"
Reality gave them an abrupt awakening.
He, and everyone else, greeted with a punch in the stomach the ethereal and evanescent torn robe of the spirit, fallen to the ground.
Vérane on instinct put her hands in the mouth, stifling a gasp. The boys, astonished, ran there and lifted it. It grew thinner, soon to disappear in their hands.
"What in tarnation is happenin'?! He was behind us all the time, y'all have seen him, right?!"
Asriel felt like he was shattered again. "It can't be…"
He slipped away toward the crumbling dust from the hands of Jebediah, only to stumble and fell to the soft ground, not yet accustomed to move on his own feet. He refrained from crying with all his might, but it refused to stay inside. Sophie and Yukiko soon and without thinking held tight Asriel, glancing questioningly the others, who looked at each other dismayed in search of answers.
"Where is the author of my boundless happiness?" Asgore said deathly calm, raising to his full height.
Although his voice was firm, a tremor snaked between his vocal cords. He looked around, but he could not see him.
"Ioreon! Where are you?!" he called.
"IOREON!" he shouted.
But nobody came.
Worry came back, knocking on the door of his soul.
A furious battle raged inside him, which he feared to lose against a forlorn sadness. He felt beholden to the spirit, but he regretted having to leave them. Yet his step faltered nonetheless, as he turned his head in every direction, hoping to see his blazing unconcealable beacons in the shadows of the hall, or his staff, or even another shred of his floating garment.
But he still saw nothing.
"IOREON! Answer me, say something!"
He staggered aimlessly, hoping to hear the gust of his whirling essence, but he too stumbled, unable to stand up for that second loss of magical energy. A cloud of petals arose, his hands clutching the dirt beneath. "Tell me it's just one of your jokes, please..."
He restlessly continued to cast a glance around the room, eyes sore and bloodshot.
Until he felt, like a stranger thought in his mind.
Whatever may happen to me, during or after each thing thou shalt see and do, dost not panic.
It caught him so off guard, that he did not notice the hands that immediately rushed to him and helped him out, supporting his shoulders.
"My sons, I…" a strong cough rasped his throat before he could say anything else, spewing droplets of magical fluid.
He wiped his mouth and together with them, he pulled himself to the center of the room. The throne called him to sit again on it, grateful to lean his head on the back and ease himself. He could not surrender to panic yet, not now that he had people to protect and cheer up like in the past.
He softened seeing his children, the fear in their eyes of losing their father too after so much effort.
He picked up Yukiko and Asriel, who pretty much had clung to his leg, as he was so sorry, and he brought the others closer, who almost clung to him for the concern.
"Ioreon is fine," – he said – "I cannot say it for sure but I feel, I feel that it isn't over for him."
He laid softly his head on the two children on his lap. "He freaked us out, eh? But he's strong, and will find a way."
He smiled again, turning his own worry into honey that soothes bitterness. "Did you see how many beautiful things have happened? Yet, when there's so much overflow of the heart… It can pull tricks. Surely you're fed up with it but, how about a nice fairy tale to help sleep?"
The children said nothing, just smiling back at him.
Asriel felt relief, a feeling of delicious taste just then. He snuggled up to his father, while his siblings made themselves comfortable so to listen the narrating Asgore, about a frog and a dame, a miller's daughter and an imp, a queen and her garden of roses, letting the soft notes of a rhyme accompany the doors of the eyes, breathing after centuries of stories, the fragrance of Golden Flowers.
Before even his eyelids could give way to the fatigue of accumulated days, walking ceaselessly through this Kingdom shrouded in mystery, worn out because of two magical depletions one after the other, a thought occurred to him. And he granted it to him.
If thou feelest not like to sit on thine hands, then grant me a thought.
And it shall suffice.
Asriel – New Home, 203x
Howdy dear readers!
Looking back at what I wrote in the last chapter, if you think I overdid it, please accept my apologies if that caused some unease.
It was not the right time to say it, but since we are here, what better occasion to let our favorite flower take action? Yeah, I also wanted to get him out of the Underground, it would break my heart leaving him alone.
Maybe someone will turn up their nose, but alas I had to make a choice. We can have only one of two things, either the flower or goat bro (you know, ontological system and stuff). Anyway, since goat bro was "tired of being a flower", well, here he is!
Yeah, I am one of those who want him alive. This will let me use "SAVE the World" too, one of my favorite music tracks in the game (if not THE ONE), though I will reserve it for later (much later). In fact, they will need all the help possible.
I was… quite exaggerated with that, am I? But to create something so complex from nowhere, waving a magic wand is just too cheap for me. This way you can acknowledge me as a fan of Tolkien too.
Now then, did I left someone behind? Well, I suppose it's just Ioreon.
He has probably risen to the dangerous levels of a Mary Sue. I know, he seems OP at first glance, but power always comes at a price. In the next chapter, many whys shall be revealed (yeah, it's about time).
Let me put a hint here in the meantime: he is the 'Yore' that carries 'on'. Get it?
;-)