"You! I need to talk with you!"

Your voice barely eclipses the sound of the construction around you but you manage to get the ear of them.

The builder smiles as they see you. They shoo away a colleague and walk up to you, "I heard you fell ill, glad to see you back on your feet. What's on your mind?"

You point your crutch at them, "You lied to me!"

"What?" they ask with an uneasy pose.

"The monster that attacked, that wasn't a hundred years ago, it was recent."

They turn around and walk away.

"Stop! I need to know!"

A truck rolls inside and you sneak in behind it. Next to you is a sign that says to always wear a helmet and you find one that's a size too big for you. You still wear it and take after the builder with quick skips. They walk inside a temporary building and you follow them only to be greeted by a locked door. You bang your fist against it.

"I know that you lied, I want the truth, it's important. How long ago was it?" you take a step back, "Was I even alive back then?"

The construction around you starts to wear on your ears but the door is opened after a minute.

"If your father was alive now he'd have my head," he waves you inside, "but he should have thought about my promise before he made a kid that's just like him."

You walk inside, "Dad's dead and you have a chance to help his kid. He probably didn't mean it literally," the builder closes the door, Please, the future of the humans and the monsters hangs on this."

You're invited to a chair and you accept it. He seats himself on the other side and takes off his helmet. You do the same. His chair moans as he leans back in deep thought and another minute passes before he starts.

"It wasn't really a village, it was more of a small summer home community. Ten households, max. How long was it now? Ten or fifteen years ago I was working on maintaining a water fountain there when a monster came, carrying a child," they massage their face, "I can still hear its sobs, it cried for someone, maybe its mother, just like a child would. It attacked me when I approached it," their breathing becomes heavy, "I, I thought I would die, I saw my chest slashed wide open. Like a fish it gutted me. I, just give me a minute."

You roll up your arm to remind yourself, "I know, take your time. Just tell me the truth, I don't care how long it takes," you ensure him.

"No, it's OK. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Y-yeah," he takes a deep breath, "So, the monster retreated through a cloud with the kid as the people around me attacked it. I lay there, crying for my wife and kids," he pauses, you let him, "The people ran to me, some threw up and some tried to call for an ambulance. I heard yelling, the pastor was screaming at your mother. Your father came up to me, he," they flex their hands, "He healed me."

You look in his eyes to find anything that would indicate that he's lying again. You don't find anything.

"He, he healed you?", you don't believe your won words, "With magic? Dad?"

"Yes, I stood up not a minute after. I couldn't believe what he had done. After the shock I turned around to thank him, but I couldn't find him."

You lean forward,"Where did he go?"

He looks in your eyes, "To you."

"Me?"

"Yes, something was glowing inside the smoke. I could only see the silhouette of your father on his knees. He was holding the glow, trying to push it down back into you but a piece broke off and vanished in the smoke," the builder mimics the movements, "He reached for it, but he couldn't grab it. The pain it caused him, you could see it through the smoke. I've not heard so much sorrow in a voice before he collapsed, exhausted. From healing me or losing a piece of the glow, I don't know. It was only then that I noticed that the ground had turned dark. It was drained, like someone vacuumed up all the life and happiness out of it. Was it because he healed me? Did he sacrifice the land to save me?"

"But, I don't remember that. We left because we couldn't afford the house anymore."

"You were in the hospital for a while after. Tree climbing accident I think they said it was."

You jump out our of your seat and fall down when your legs cave underneath you, "How do you know that?" you burst out in panic. Your eyes shoot wide open in realization, "They, they lied to me."

The worker runs over to you and helps you back in your seat, "They just wanted to protect you. Don't be mad at them."

You bury your hands in your hair, "I need a minute."

"Of course."

You sit and ponder. Dad knew magic? Who was the kid, someone you knew? The monster, did it attack you? Have you almost died twice to them?

The door opens and a man with a clipboard enters. He looks at you, "Who's this?"

"Kid of a friend of mine," the builder answers, "I'm just doing a little interview with them."

You wave.

"Oh, I just wanted to inform you that you have some guests that want to speak with you."

The builder nods, "I'll come to you after the interview."

"I'll tell them to wait in my office then."

The foreman leaves and the sound of heavy machinery becomes muffled again.

"Wait, why isn't this common knowledge?" you start again after a minute.

"Luckily it was only yours and two other families that were there at the time of the attack. Yours was the only that stayed near Mt. Ebott because of your money situation. The rest have moved far away, probably to forget. We had a discussion when your father came back from the hospital and we concluded that it was better not to speak of it. Maybe we made the wrong decision? We were still shocked by the monster, your dad healing me, and the magic. Before we all left your father took me to the side since he knew that I also had family in this town. He looked me in the eyes, his were weak. I could also feel that his hand was heavy. He made me promise again to never say anything, not even to his kids."

He scoffs and looks up, "Sorry, pal. Your kid is as persuasive as you were," he returns his eyes to you, "Seems like monsters can't kill them though, no matter how hard they try."

"Mom, what did she do?"

"She argued with the pastor. He called your family cursed, said that he warned them. He then collapsed, the monster managed to lay a claw on him. She bandaged him up while the others took care of you and your dad."

"What was the pastor's excuse for his wounds?"

"He went up to the tree to get you but you both fell."

"And they bought it?"

The builder shrugs his shoulders, "Seems like it."

"This, this is too much," you shake your head in disbelief, "I don't know what to make of this."

"You tell me, I've been debating that for over a decade now."

"You've come to any conclusion?"

"Only that your father saved me and you from dying. He's a hero but we can't call him that."

"But, he used magic."

A thick hand is smashed against the table and it bends because of the impact, "Magic or not, I don't care if he was a monster in disguise, I don't care if he was cursed or not. He saved my kids from growing up without a father, and that is all that matters!" he takes a deep breath and caresses his hand, "This trial is going to be a nightmare."

"You know about it?" you throw your hands throw up your arms, "Does anyone not know about it?"

The door is flung open and a woman darts her eyes around the room, "I heard a loud crash and I thought."

"No, no, sorry, I was just showing them what would happen if you don't wear your helmet," the builder lies.

You show off your helmet. The woman nods and closes the door.

The builder pats the table, "Dammit, we just got this table," he sighs, "Gonna be difficult explaining this to the boss."

"The trial?" you remind him.

"I was present during the attack and they figured it out somehow. I've been asked to talk about the attack. They probably want to see me break down in the court room. Shock effect."

"Who do you mean by them?"

He gives you a weak smile and a shrug, "The monsters."

You run your hand through your hair again and sigh through your lips, "This is going to be big."

"Trial of the century, with you and I at the center."

Your eyes widen in realization, "You have to talk about how my dad healed you, right?"

He sighs deeply, "I have to look out for myself and my family."

"No, it's OK, I understand. Just see if you can avoid talking about me."

He nods, "I'll do everything I can."

"Thank you," you hang your head for a bit before you scoff, "Doesn't this count as interaction?"

"Hey, you came to me. Besides, we're doing an interview."

"No hard feelings after the trial?"

"You'll have none from me. I can still see your dad in you and I can't allow myself to be mad at him," he looks at the clock, "You should probably go before they start looking for me and find you talking with me."

You stand up, "Thank you, for everything."

He looks up again, "See this as a down payment on my debt."

"Debt?" you ask with your hand on the door handle.

"I'm just joking with him," you can see tears building up in his eyes, "I think he appreciates it."

You nod and exit the building.

The construction seems to have halted a bit and you look around. You see ML and Asgore walking around with the foreman. You need to hide, get out of the site unnoticed, but how? You realize that you're still holding the helmet and put it on. A nearby clipboard lays without an owner and you pick it up. Numbers and lines are written on the paper and you fail to understand their meaning. A finger taps your shoulder and a voice greets you with another paper over it. You take it and nod. He waits for a bit.

"You're not gonna transfer the calculations?" he asks.

You mask your voice, "Yeah, sure, give me a second."

You skim through the calculations and write a number that sounds reasonable on the clipboard and hand it to him. He rips the paper and hands back the clipboard. You nod and walk away with your crutches. Luckily you manage to slip through the construction without anyone else bothering you on the way out. At the exit you see the foreman receiving the paper you've just doodled on and he hands it to Asgore who puts it inside his robe. You quickly move out of sight.

"Barrow, are you fully charged?" you shout out your kitchen window. It runs into view and bounce. You finish packing the provisions and seat yourself in it, "To the plateau up Mt. Ebott, use Papyrus' road."

It starts moving and you lean back to think. Is this really a good idea? Maybe, what's the worst that can happen, after all, it is abandoned. He did say something about the ground being drained. It feels familiar but you can't put your finger on it. Perhaps when you can put a finger on it you'll remember.

A short while later you're up on the mountain again. Your town still looks as blissfully unaware of the past weeks happenings as ever. You round the side of the mountain and halt your vehicle. The faintest outline of something man made can be seen in the distance but there's so much vegetation around it that you can only guess.

"Need to get a bit closer," you say in thought.

The wheelbarrow takes another step, over the edge. You scramble to get a grip and lock your hands on the handles behind you. Stones and trees pass your screams in quick succession, too quick for your taste. Despite the speed the metallic legs steer you to safety and you glide to a halt at the foot of the mountain. Your heavy breath echoes through the forest around you for a minute before you continue.

The wall of trees open up and you find yourself looking at the back of some houses. They're weathered, abandoned. Perfect. As you enter the area you feel thirst building up and you turn around for your provisions and accidentally brush up against some ivy causing it to fall over and crack when it hits the ground.

You look around and notice that the area inside the ring of houses is flat, no grass, no flowers. Instead it is sickly gray, withered and tired. Your hand also comes in contact with something, wrong. You lift it up by its stem and see that the apple Frisk gave you has turned rotten. You take another look in your bag and see that the rest of your food is also spoiled. The water smells fine though, but it tastes a bit different.

You dismount and start looking around the houses, searching for yours. A rusted letterbox spells your last name in a beautiful font. You give the handle a tug, but it doesn't budge. You whistle and ask your wheelbarrow to kick the door in. It turns around and plants a powerful foot at the lock and the door bursts open. A thick layer of dust is present on the floor like a mist and you pull up your shirt over your mouth before you enter.

The empty rooms where you and your siblings played in is now dust ridden and desolate. You feel that you should hurry up before your emotions get the better of you. There's not much left in the house, your parents took it with them when you moved out. Nothing helps you remember, nothing helps you connect to that day.

You decide to enter your parents bedroom despite your gut feeling and you spot something on their night stand. You brush off the layers of old covering it. Heavy tears makes holes in the dust at your feet and wobbly knees makes you sit down on the bed and a huge cloud forms around you. You press the photo frame against your heart and cover your eyes with the other hand. T

he dust settles on and around you before you regain the strength to stand up again. You flip the photo frame over and remove the photograph inside it. Something's wrong with it, a piece of it has been teared off next to you. You can see your whole family in it, perhaps it was to make it fit into the frame? It fits nicely into your pocket and you leave the house.

You shake off the dust outside and dry off your face. With a narrowing brow you look over the withered yard and notice that it becomes darker as it gets closer to the center. There's a rotten flower patch that lies flat and dead, but there's an outline in it, human shaped, like a child.

You get closer to get a better look and your breathing becomes heavier, the air feels weird. There's an aura present. You feel your face blossom, but you can't stop, you have to push on, something is driving you forward and it ain't your legs nor your crutches. It grows stronger as fatigue takes a hold over you. It fights back, filling you with foreign strength.

The ground becomes looser as you get closer to the withered flowers, but you fight against it. The crutches gets stuck in the ground and you toss them aside, they are just in your way now, you don't need them. Your cheeks are burning, but you welcome the pain, it drives you. Just a couple more steps, you can do it, you're determined.

With a grin you position yourself over the silhouette in the flowerbed. Weak, you were so weak, being defeated by a monster. You're a human, you can squash them underneath your might, it is how why you won over them. The trial is a joke, you should demand them to obey you. With a smile you bring up the photograph to your face and see two red dots reflect off the glossy paper. Good.

You drop the photograph and hunch over in pain. An invisible hand grips your heart, squeezing the strength out of you, "What are you thinking? You wouldn't hurt them, this isn't you," it screams.

The hand tightens its grip and you feel your strength drain from it. Your legs start trembling and you fumble for your crutches, but you don't find them, and you fall to your knees. With a pair of unstable hands you try to pick up the photograph, but you collapse next to it. Your family is looking at you lying in the flower patch again. You need them, again. You whisper out a weak cry for help but they're not near, they don't hear you. No one comes.

You wake up with a pounding head. Rays of sunlight dance on your face, filtered through the green crowns of the trees around you. You squint to let less into your aching skull. You have something in your hand, the photograph. You caress it with a finger. Below your head you hear beeping and servos. A pair of feet are trundling along under you.

"Thank you," you say with a tired voice.

You sleep the rest of the way home.

"Destination reached," your wheelbarrow informs.

With one hand on the wheelbarrow you walk inside and dive for the faucet. You drink until your lungs scream for air, take a deep breath, and drink even more. You then take some leftovers and eat it. The cold doesn't bother you. Once the plate is clean you throw it in the sink and breathe out. What now? A shower, to clear your head.

You struggle to get up the stairs. Once inside the bathroom you undress and leave the clothes on the floor. You flick open the shower and sit down. The cold water hits your neck and back but you endure it. A moment later the warmth kicks in and you feel your body relax. You look at your hands.

"What's happening to me?"

The question echoes through the bathroom and you lock your hands around your legs as you hear it bounce back. You stay huddled up until you feel like you should probably got to bed and sort this out in the morning. With a swipe you clean off the fog off your mirror and lift up an eyelid. You can't see anything red. Good. You dry yourself off and walk to your bedroom. A thought hits you in the doorway. You haven't brushed your teeth. But you fail to resist the temptation of your bed. Your eyelids barely touch each other before you fall asleep.

A dreamless night later you wake up when the sun slash across your face. Your mouth is dry and your face is hot. You can't debate yourself now, not like this. Breakfast first, internally discussing magic later. With heavy arms you make some porridge. The door knocks and you lower your head.

"Five minutes," you inform the door. The knocks become harder, must be Papyrus, "Pap, I hope Toriel told you that I can't talk with you for a while," more knocks follow, "Pap, I'm going on a trial, I can't interact with you for a time. I still love you though," you explain as you near the door. The morning's newspaper hangs in the letterbox. A big headline is taking up half the front page.

"Trial today. Monsters versus Humans!" it reads.

You miss the door handle as you read it. Today? Wasn't it supposed to be.

The door is opened for you and a man in a suit stands just outside.

"There's been a change of date. The trial will take place today. You got fifteen minutes," he informs you.

You pick up the newspaper and show it to the man. He frowns and asks for it before he closes the door.

"We got a mole. Yeah, today's freebie. Dispatch someone to sniff them out," you hear him say through the door.

A smell catches your nose. The porridge is burnt. Fantastic.