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DAY TO DAY
Chapter 4: Perseverance
She found the ballet shoes and tutu in the same place as ever, this small cavern beside the marshlands where the reeds grew halfway up to the ceiling. The once-brilliant pink fabric was dull with age and marred with dust so thick and wet that it resembled a layer of mold. She'd touched them only once, and shivered; it had felt like poking her finger into the carcass of a long-dead animal.
Maybe the unease radiating from those clothes was why this cave was always empty. She'd hid here often, gathering her thoughts and her notes, sleeping when she could manage it, and several times she had seen lean and amorphous shadows stretching through the entryway, only to pause, and shudder, and move on. As if there was a warding placed here. A curse from times better left unknown.
It suited her fine. The world down here was crawling with monsters, and since all of them apparently wanted her dead, a guaranteed safe haven was a relief, even if the air was close and cold and wet enough to make the pages of her notebook wrinkle up. She constantly had to hold it inside her hoodie, where none of the raindrops would hit it and make the ink run. Her handwriting was already so bad it was one step away from pictograms; she didn't need it to be any more illegible.
She jotted down a few quick observations – plant growth seemingly at normal pace, number of shining stones embedded overhead remained constant – then closed the book, secreted it in her jacket, and scurried out of the cave with her head low and her hood pulled up. A sorry disguise, but it seemed to work. She'd seen that one monster on the river that was always robed and hooded and singing that strange tuneless tune, and hoped the others would just think she was its species, or relative, or however the creatures down here worked, she still wasn't really sure. There was only so much she could research in these circumstances.
The marshlands were soggy as ever, the drip and bubble of the water above and below the only sounds she could hear. Motes of light danced above the surface like fireflies, and when she waved her hand through them they dispersed and reformed around her fingers. Something to do with magic, she guessed. That seemed to be the answer for most of the stranger things down here.
She normally moved through this place as fast as she could – far too open, and the reeds didn't make reliable hiding spots – but this time she looked around (and above, just to make sure), and saw no one, and huddled by the water's edge, the toes of her shoes digging into the mud. She looked down and held her glasses in place with one hand. No telling what would happen to them if they fell in there, or if she'd regain them if she had to start over.
The marsh was flat and shiny as glass. She cautiously dipped a finger in, watched the ripples form a growing bullseye. Then she cupped her hand, and scooped up a palmful of the water, and lifted it out. It was pleasantly cool, and though it still glowed, it didn't appear to stain her skin. She raised it to her face, the glow turning her glasses into blank blue moons.
"That's a bad idea."
She yelped and staggered away from the marsh, smearing mud on her pants as she fought to get upright. The mud broke apart under her scrabbling and a great clod slid free and splashed into the marsh, and then she had no foothold at all, tumbling back and ready to drop into the swamp. Someone grabbed her wrist. For a moment there was an intense feeling of déjà -vu.
"Whoa there," the stranger said. "Don't fall in. That'd be worse than drinking it."
The feeling subsided, and her breathing slowed. She saw a leathery green hand on her own, and then got a look at its owner.
He was a two-legged turtle, about twice her height (not saying much), dressed in what looked like khaki prospector's clothes, his hat rocking on his knobbly head. Goatee, permanent squint, genial grin with teeth that had seen better days. There was a large satchel slung over one shoulder, securely buckled shut. She recognized him right off – he was always stationed at the checkpoint between the snowy region and this one, though normally he was asleep, in the same unchanging pose, fingers laced over his chest and hat pulled low. Usually she could sneak past him without incident, but now that she thought about it, she'd felt a gaze on the back of her neck during her most recent trek past that splintery wooden guardpost.
They stared each other down. He appeared to be waiting for something. Then, he relaxed, and released her.
"Steady as she goes, right?" He patted her shoulder. "Would've taken you ages to dry out if you took a dip in there. Wa ha ha."
She looked at the marsh, looked back at him, and said, "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. And don't drink swamp water, kiddo, no matter how thirsty you are. It'll give you an awful bellyache."
Her voice was hoarse with disuse, but his was so grizzled that it sounded like someone gargling gravel. It almost made her throat hurt listening to it.
She sidled back to the marsh's bank and looked down into the pool. No reflection. The glow consumed it. That was something new, at least. Then she turned back to the turtle, arms crossed over her chest to keep the notebook in place.
"I won't do it again," she said, and began inching her way around. "I'll just get out of your way-"
"Now hold on a sec." She flinched, but he appeared not to notice; his attention had turned to the satchel. He unclipped the buckle. "If you're thirsty I'm not about to let you go just yet. 'specially if you're going to the Capital, Hotland's in the way and that place would dry out a cactus. Let me see…no, uh-uh, definitely don't want to give you that…aha!" He produced a small canteen and held it out. "Have a swig of this."
She hesitated, but he was right; her mouth was dry, and her only other options for a drink around here consisted of eating snow or licking the walls. She took the canteen and popped the cap. A soft blue glow spilled out, followed by several motes of light. They drifted over her worried expression.
"Yeah, that happens," he told her. "No worries. Just sip, don't gulp. Packs a bit of a wallop."
She took a sip. The liquid inside was fizzy and sweet, with a distinct non-licorice taste. Her heart beat a little faster after the first swallow. She smiled and drank deeper.
The turtle grinned. "Good stuff, right? Even for humans."
Her eyes went wide behind her glasses. She coughed up flecks of the drink and staggered back. The canteen slipped out of her hand and hit the stones and a small and sluggish cobalt trail oozed out and joined the marshwater; again there was that feeling of division in the air, time and space creaking and ready to turn in on themselves.
But the turtle didn't move. If anything, he looked concerned. But she kept her distance, her glasses gleaming under the shadow of her hood. The marshes bubbled indifferently.
"The name's Gerson," he said. "You all right?"
"I'm fine." Mostly true.
"Been down here long?"
"Just a few days." Technically true.
He nodded, and retrieved his canteen, and gave it a few quick wipes on his shirt before shoving it back into the satchel. He seemed to deliberate on his next question.
"Why haven't you tried to escape yet?"
She bit her lip, and said, "I know the king is in the way."
And that cockeyed stare became unusually piercing for a moment, but she held her ground, and he relented. "Come and sit, how about it. My hips are killing me."
"I should really get going-"
"No one else'll bother you if I'm around. Besides, I doubt they'll even know what you are. Been a piece since the last human fell down here. And that's lucky for you, because they caused an awful lot of trouble." He crouched down beside the marsh with a grunt and a sigh. "Only reason I pegged you is 'cause I was in the war. Got acquainted with a lot of humans in those days. Maybe not in the kindliest of circumstances, but still."
She wasn't about to come any closer, but curiosity got the better of her.
She said, "You really fought in the war?"
"Sure did. Well, 'fought' might be a skosh generous. 'Survived' is what I'd call it. Not a whole lot of room for feats of heroism in that mess. Wouldn't know it listening to the folks down here, though. The Hammer of Justice, they called me, though not so much these days, and I'm grateful for that. Tacky name."
"That was you?" She'd overheard the moniker, once or twice, huddled somewhere out of view with notebook open and pen scritching. She hadn't expected the famed war hero to look like this. Gerson seemed like a stiff breeze would snap him in two, if not for the shell.
"Heard the kids jabbering on about me, eh? It's usually the young ones. They're always banging on my door when I get home from guard duty."
She risked honesty. "You're not a very good guard."
"Wa ha ha! Guilty as charged!" His good eye gleamed. "I let you just waltz past me over and over again, after all. You must've done it, ooh, twice a day since you got here? Close your mouth, kiddo, you'll attract flies." She shut her hanging jaw. "You ought to keep an eye on us old folks. We're craftier than we look."
She held her ground for a moment longer. Then, slowly, she walked over and knelt in the mud beside Gerson. He smiled, then turned his attention back to the water.
"Truth be told, I don't like the job much," he said. "I'm just filling in for the boys who used to be there. No one's really wanted to replace them since…well, I did say the last human made a bit of a mess."
She lowered her head. "I'm sorry about that."
"No need to be. It was a long time ago."
"Everyone else seems to remember it, though." She brushed the notebook under her jacket with her fingertips; it felt reassuring in there, like armor plate. "I hear them talking about it. The third of seven human souls. And they're still waiting for the rest."
"Yeah, yeah, all due respect, but if I had a gold piece for every time I heard that cockamamie tale I could swim in 'em. Don't let it stress you, kiddo. Like I said, it ain't likely anyone besides me can even peg you for human at a glance. Besides the king, that is. I'm assuming you haven't actually run into him yet."
She averted her eyes. "I haven't met him. But I know what he looks like."
"Oh? How's that?"
"The Ruins."
And that was all she needed to say. He heaved a sigh, and nodded.
"Figured as much," he said quietly. "How's she doing?"
"She's fine. I mean, lonely. I felt awful, leaving her behind. But I need to go home."
"I understand. And frankly speaking, she might not be the most trustworthy source when it comes to Asgore. Her opinion of him's had a long time to go sour. But, still, kiddo…I'd stay out of his way, if I were you."
"Because he'll kill me."
"Oof. Not gonna gild that lily, are we." His expression turned grave. "I'd like to say it wouldn't end with that, I really would. But I wouldn't want to risk your life on a hunch." His beak wrinkled, like he'd tasted something bitter. "He's…look, he's a good guy. I know that doesn't mean much to someone in your predicament, but it's true."
She believed him. Everything she knew about King Asgore was gleaned from eavesdropped conversations, but whenever the monsters mentioned him, it was with almost condescending fondness. Not a single person seemed to have anything bad to say about him. With one notable exception.
"I've known him for a while," Gerson continued. "Us old fogeys gotta stick together, after all. He's always been a big fluffy pushover. Goes around the kingdom, shakes hands, chats folk up, pops into the schools to play with the kids. Tell him your name and he won't ever forget it – and thank goodness for that, because he's just plain ghastly at coming up with 'em himself. I wish you could've known him back in better days. But after that whole wretched business with his family, and that promise he made to everyone, it's no surprise he's gotten a bit…peculiar, lately." He shrugged. "Everyone wants to be free. He's caught up in the tide. That's all."
She said nothing at that. Instead, she looked down, unzipped her jacket, and withdrew her notebook. Its deep purple cover drank in the light from the marshlands.
"No one's tried to find another way?" she said, and flipped the notebook open.
"You know, it's funny you should mention that. Had a chat with Asgore the other day – first one in a while, actually – where he mentioned that exact thing. Didn't go into detail, though. I should probably pay him a visit sometime, follow up on it." He rolled his eye. "Bit of a hike for someone my age, but easier than trying to make the man answer his blasted phone."
"I read the stories." She leafed through the pages, the blocks of scrawled text passing by in a sleet. "And I know about the war. The barrier. What happens when a monster takes a human soul."
"And I'm sure you know what'll happen if Asgore nabs all seven." He chuckled, and shook his head. "Everyone's all waiting with bated breath for the destruction of humanity. You must really hate us, bunch of fools that we are."
"No. I don't."
"That so? Must not feel too charitable about humans, then. You're not alone in that, the first human who fell down here was the same way. Always thought he was a bit spooky, honestly, but the royal family sure did love him-"
"I don't blame them, either. I don't blame the king. And I don't blame you."
She stopped at her most recent entry, those petty observations about the reeds in that small side cave. Then she let down her hood, shook out her mousy mop of hair, and regarded Gerson out the corner of her eye, made huge and round and wet by the lens of her glasses.
"It's all just history," she said. "Everything that happened. What matters now is what we do with it."
Gerson's face was so still and stiff that it looked carved. That one-eyed stare bored through her. Then, he snapped open his satchel again, the buckle's pop loud as a gunshot. He rummaged through its contents, and withdrew a large glass jar, its bottom stoppered, its surface so agleam with swamplight that it looked alive.
He said, "Do you know what this is for?"
She shook her head.
"Then I'll show you."
In one smooth motion, he popped off the lid, bent over, and dunked the jar into the water. When he pulled it out again, it blazed like a jewel with that shimmering blue glow. He grinned and screwed the lid down again.
"Lovely water collector, this thing. Which is just as well, since you spilled the rest of it." She remembered the canteen, and made a face. "Wa ha ha. Don't worry, the marshwater's just the base for that stuff, it gets mixed around with some herbs and magic after and turns out nice and tasty. I call it Sea Tea. Puts some spring in my step."
She smiled. "It's good. You could probably sell it."
"Oh, could I? I suppose I could." He slipped the jar into his satchel and buckled it shut; thin blue light still leaked out from around the flap. "And since you're so abrim with ideas, I suppose you'll be the one to find another way to crack open that barrier and set us all free?"
"I don't know. But I don't have anything better to do." She held up her notebook. "I'll just keep writing down whatever I learn. And see what happens from there."
"Sounds like a better plan than some, that's for certain." He heaved himself back to his feet, his joints crackling from stiffness. She got up with him, and they stood side by side, the motes of light from the swamp flitting about between them.
"Before you go," he said, "you wanna see something impressive? Some of the kids down here'd give an arm and a leg to have a gander at this. The ones who've got arms and legs, anyhow."
"All right. Surprise me."
He nodded, and held out his arms, fingers twiddling theatrically. "Observe, human. Nothing up this old man's sleeves, but…"
Suddenly, new sparks blinked into life around Gerson's hands, brilliant gold to offset the cavern's burning blue. They multiplied, and swarmed, and then Gerson seized hold of them and pulled hard; there was a soft purring rip, like he'd pulled open a hole in the fabric of the world, and a flash so bright she held the notebook over her eyes to guard against the glare. And when she lowered it again, what she saw made her back away so fast she nearly took another tumble into the swamp.
Gerson was bent low, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. One hand dangled limp, knuckles scraping the ground. The other was wrapped around the handle of a hammer as big as he was, the color of burnished bronze, its gilded head large enough to smash her flat. The notebook shook in her hands. Her eyes were wide as saucers behind her glasses.
Gerson looked up and winked.
"Surprised?"
She tried to say something, but all that came out was a thin creak. Gerson straightened up and dropped the hammer into his other hand; he frowned as he examined its massive head.
"Feh, I'm really out of practice. The etchwork's a disgrace." He sniffed. "Frankly, I can't even bear to look at it. Catch."
He lobbed the hammer in her direction. She cried out and made a desperate, clumsy grab at the handle, eyes squeezed shut, waiting to be crushed – and then opened her eyes again when this did not happen. Her arm didn't even buckle. The weapon weighed no more than a balloon.
Gerson whistled. "Would you look at that. Brains and brawn, this human's got the whole package." He clapped his hands and the hammer burst into sparks, illuminating her grin. "It's heavy as I want it to be, kiddo. That's magic for you."
"That was incredible!" She flipped open her notebook again and took out her pen. "Can you tell me more about how that works? It might be really useful."
"Whoa, whoa, slow down. I'm not as spry as I used to be." He hunkered down by the water's edge again. "I'm gonna stick around here for a bit, keep gathering ingredients. But you can wait by my place, if you like, it's just outside the dump. Once we have a proper sit-down, I'll talk enough to fill that book ten times over."
"Okay." She closed the notebook, tucked it back into her hoodie, and zipped up. "And thank you."
"Nah, it's no trouble. Old people don't need a reason to talk young people's ears off."
"Not for that. It's just…" She looked down, and traced an idle pattern in the mud with her shoe. "I've been on my own down here. Mostly on my own. It was nice to make a friend."
He didn't answer, and she looked back up. That gaptoothed grin was gone; the look that replaced it was quiet, thoughtful.
"Very kind of you to say so," he said at last, and looked back out to the swamp. "Now get going. Take care of yourself. And remember – watch out for the king. If I know you're down here, odds are that he does too."
She nodded, and set off. She left the marshes and entered the abandoned canal, where the polished gray surface of the water held none of that unnatural light and the path was narrow enough so that she found herself flanked by her reflections, inverted girls on inverted walkways. And halfway through, she stopped, and turned, and all three girls' faces turned puzzled. Because it was only then she realized that, through the whole conversation, Gerson had never asked for her name.
The strange horned statue was huddled under a single beam of pearly light that lanced though a hole in the stone overhead, along with a steady patter of raindrops that clung to its arms and ran down its blank face like tears. Its base was cracked and broken, several larger hunks of stone scattered around it like tribute. By the velvety coat of moss around those rocks, she guessed that no one had disturbed the statue or anything near it in a very long time, and it was easy to understand why – the air around it was oddly cold, and it only got worse as you drew in closer; she'd once touched the statue's head, lightly, and the freezing rock had bit at her skin like teeth.
Once, out of curiosity or maybe just pity, she had taken one of the nearby umbrellas and propped it in the crook of the statue's elbow, to shelter it from the rain. The drops had run off the umbrella and pooled at the base in new configurations, and she'd heard a click before a song played from within the statue's depths, a tinkling music-box tune whose notes were scattered and lonely as the rain. She'd listened for some time, and then taken away the umbrella and moved on. The song offered her no answers, and she'd found it unbearably sad.
She moved on again, umbrella in hand, her hood pulled back up and her notebook tucked under her free arm. The Underground's central cavern, with its muddy paths and perpetual rainfall, lay ahead. The tall blue flowers gossiped on the trail's edge as she walked; two pairs of them bowed low, and sounded like they were laughing at her. She'd recorded some of their conversations, as well, and found no solutions there, either.
This narrow stone path, which afforded a view of the half the kingdom, was a dangerous place to linger. Any monsters who wanted to move from the swamp to those burning caverns had to come through here, and there was barely room for two people to walk side-by-side. But she sat down at the path's edge anyway, heedless to the cold water seeping through her clothes, and flipped open her notebook, the umbrella propped beside her like a companion.
She flipped to the back of the book. These were the pages she hadn't even shown Gerson.
The final page consisted of two simple columns. Numbers on the left, tally marks on the right. Something even her handwriting couldn't render indecipherable. The tally marks represented the days she'd spent down here. The numbers were how many times she'd started over.
Toriel had been a good teacher, and she'd tried to stay an eager student for as long as she could. The first several pages of her notes were dedicated to arithmetic, history, quotes from books they had shared. But Toriel hadn't shared the most important lesson until she'd told her that she needed to leave the Ruins and go home. She'd been crushed, but let her go, with a warning: it's dangerous out there. The king is seeking your soul.
So when she had entered the Underground proper, she'd already been on edge. The snowy woods that made up the first leg of her journey had been mostly abandoned, which only made her feel more tense. But then she'd entered that cozy little village outside the forest, and found the residents cheerful and welcoming; she'd relaxed a little, and then overheard two of the monsters casually chatting about how long it would be before another human soul was gathered. And then, one of them had turned to her.
It could have been paranoia. Probably was, if Gerson had told the truth. But the jolt of terror she'd felt had been real, and seemed to knock her right out of the world. She'd woken up in the same place she'd first fallen, her notebook at her side, filled with Toriel's old homework. And Toriel hadn't recognized her. She'd treated their meeting like it was the very first time.
She'd gone through several more loops before understanding how or why. Down here, for whatever reason, she could flee through time, turning back the clock to the moment of her arrival – but never any further, though she'd tried again and again. It was still hard to control, and she'd suffered several accidental resets just because she thought she'd seen someone reach out to her, or heard a shout, or noticed a silent shadow walking behind her own, and every time she'd had to watch Toriel's joy at finding another human child, and the way her face fell when she told her that she needed to leave.
She had all of Toriel's lesson plans down by heart. She recorded whatever information she could find, in gossip and signposts and the strange plaques embedded in Waterfall's walls. She'd even taken a cautious venture to the Capital, but it hadn't lasted long; the streets were claustrophobic and clogged with darkness, and she'd reset again in a matter of hours, huddled inside some carved and dripping alley surrounded by buildings with stony surfaces mottled as fungus. And only once had she braved the path to the castle itself, through that eerie, empty duplicate of Toriel's home, past the echoing silence and stained-glass light of the antechamber, and into the garden full of birdsong and the scent of sweet lemons. There she had finally seen King Asgore, and the moment she'd glimpsed his face, the shock had sent her flying back down the corridors of time, where Toriel had greeted her once again, and asked with concern why she looked so unwell.
Her notebook marked this as the fourth day of the sixteenth loop. And the only useful fact she had learned in all this time was that, to pass through the barrier, one needed a human and a monster soul in unison. Only two monsters in all the Underground had souls strong enough to suit her needs. And she could collect neither. She couldn't bear to face the king, and the one time she'd even considered taking Toriel's, and imagined the expression on her face as she crumbled to dust, she'd had to run off and quietly be sick in a corner. It was unthinkable.
She'd turned the Underground inside-out, looking for answers. She'd filled the notebook with a hundred disparate facts without organization or comprehension, as if staring into those scribbled pages would cause some unknown truth to coalesce like a magic eye picture. None of it helped. Even Gerson's promise of more information seemed hollow here, where the castle and the Capital loomed larger than the mountain under which they'd been sealed, their glittering angles carving apart the dark. It was too much. She'd already walked every path this place could offer her. Her footprints extended in so many directions that she felt caged by them. And despite what Gerson had said, she knew that speaking to the monsters themselves was out of the question. They were hungry for freedom, too. They would suspect her, and recognize her, and strike her down.
The king.
She leafed through the pages until she found something on Asgore. Childless, alone, frozen in time by the death of his son. A man who loved his subjects so much he was willing to kill for them, even though he outlived more of them year after year after year.
You'd be doing him a favor.
It sounded like her thoughts, but coming from outside her head. She flinched and turned around. No one was there.
She returned to the pages. Nothing but black on white. Meaningless shades. No answers to be found. But there had to be another way. She couldn't bring herself to leave this place with someone's stolen soul beside her own.
You know it's the only way.
"Stop it," she muttered. "Leave me alone."
And the voice, if there had been a voice, fell silent.
Then, footsteps. But not Gerson's – that old turtle had moved with shocking stealth for someone his age, even her paranoia-sharpened senses hadn't picked him up until he was right on top of her. These were heavy enough to make the puddles around her ripple, and clanked like a drawerful of cutlery. She kept her head down, and waited for it to pass. But then they stopped, and she saw the shadow printed over the pages of her book. The horns.
Her hands started to shake uncontrollably. She had to remind herself to breathe.
She kept her head down as the visitor turned, and grunted, and sat down beside her. She heard rain patter off metal, a backbeat to the drops striking her umbrella's stretched skin.
"Nice day today."
If Gerson's voice was gravelly, this was an entire landslide. She felt its resonance down to her bones. Out the corner of her eye she could see that cloak, deep purple like her notebook's cover.
"I have a journal of my own," he continued. "It's a good habit to keep, I think."
"This isn't a journal." She spoke before realizing she'd spoken.
She turned and saw him fully. Sitting with his palms on his knees, so tall that she could barely make out most of his face. He had no umbrella and the rain plastered his hair over his eyes like a veil; he was smiling, but it looked lost on that face.
"Did you see the statue?" he asked. "It wasn't always there, you know. Someone moved it, I don't know who. It might have been me. My memory hasn't been very reliable, these days." He was still as a statue, himself. "I remember when it was first commemorated. It was before…no, no, it must have been after. A very solemn affair. Perhaps that's why it was moved. No one wanted to see something so sad."
She said nothing. The rain's wordless gossip went on.
"I just wish they had been more gentle," said Asgore. "He was always such a gentle child."
"Don't do this," she said. "You don't have to do this."
She was bent low over her notebook, now shaking all over. The umbrella shielded her from the rain, but moisture spotted the pages anyway.
"I'm trying to find another way. I just need a little more time. Please don't do this."
Asgore raised a hand. When he reached out to her, the whole world seemed, for a moment, to lose focus, holding onto the present by its fingertips. But then he gently let down her hood, and ruffled her hair, the same way Toriel had done.
"I wonder if that's why she keeps sending all of you out here," he said, and withdrew his hand. "Maybe she hopes you'll find answers the rest of us could not. Because we only know one way to leave the Underground. And it's terrible. Isn't it?"
His eyes were visible now, heavy-lidded and dim. Even though he was still smiling, his stare reminded her of a trapped animal. She was transfixed by it.
"I don't know," she managed to say. "It's just the way it is."
"Well said. But I just can't understand it. The barrier was made to forever separate humans and monsters. But to pass through it, a human or monster must die." He turned back to the swamp, the luminescent castle. "Kill or be killed…what a horrible view of the world. And yet, that appears to be the way of things. It seems we have no choice but to accept it."
He rose, water dripping off him in streams. She also scrambled to her feet, and left the umbrella behind; she clutched the notebook to her chest, hunched over against the rain. They stood perhaps a dozen paces apart, and the drizzle murmured around them like an audience.
"Tell me," he said. "Have you killed anyone?"
"No." Her grip on the notebook tightened. "But…but I can fight. If I have to."
"You can also flee. I won't give chase."
She appeared to consider it. Then, her breathing steadied, and her back straightened. Her glasses shone blankly in the scant light of the cavern, and the rest of her face was just as impassive. The persistent feeling of déjà-vu in the air had gone completely.
"I can't run," she said. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
He nodded, once.
"Then, allow me one request," he said. "My people…they don't deserve this. Their hopes should not die with me. If you emerge victorious, then please. Tell the world outside of what you saw here. Find a way to bring down the barrier. Maybe you won't find a solution, even out there. All I ask is that you try." His voice broke. "Please don't let this be for nothing."
She looked at that quavering face. She risked a glance behind her. Nothing but the path, empty and stretching on into darkness. One that she's already treaded more times then she could count. When she turned back, her expression was determined, resolute.
"I've been taking notes my whole time here. Someone will have to believe me." She brandished her book. "I'll do whatever I can."
"Do I have your word?"
"I promise," she said. "I know what it's like to feel trapped."
He smiled gratefully, and then lowered his head, so once again his mane of hair covered his face. His arms remained hidden behind that purple cloak, darkened almost black by the wet. He no longer appeared to be looking at her.
He said, "Ready?"
She opened her mouth to answer, and heard the splash of a footstep behind her.
She turned around.
From where he stood, staring down at the ground, Asgore saw a flash of brilliant light and a tremendous, hollow sound – lightning and thunder to join the false downpour in this cavern. Raindrops flew out like frightened birds and struck him in a soaking nova, so that he instinctively raised his arms over his face against the shock; he heard a series of meaty thuds, growing closer in the echo of the thunderclap, and then silence as the raindrops cautiously began to fall again. Then he lowered his arms, and made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
The girl's body lay face-down at his feet, soaked and limp and lifeless as a dropped rag. A deep purple spark pulsed just over her, its glow bathing her like a spotlight. Further down the path were her glasses, one lens cracked down the middle, and then her notebook, already bloated with water – and at the end of it all was Gerson, his hammer slung over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable.
He threw the hammer aside; it was so heavy that it cratered the stones where it fell, and then it burst into sparks. He stepped past the girl's belongings, looked down the body, as if anticipating something. He seemed disappointed when nothing happened.
"I suppose that's that," he said. "After the last one, I sort of thought…but no. Guess she didn't see the point."
Asgore, with great difficulty, pulled his stare away from the girl, and met Gerson's gaze. He almost flinched at the look in his eye.
"Well?" said Gerson. "There's the soul. Pop it in one those jars, already."
Asgore said nothing. He did nothing. His hands flexed uselessly inside his cloak. Gerson's good eye narrowed.
"Ah, I see. You didn't bring it, did you?" His voice was cold and flat. "Must've been a senior moment, happens to the best of us. Good thing you're not the only one who's got some junk from the war."
He opened his satchel, withdrew the canister filled with that soft blue swampwater. He dumped it out onto the stones, shook off the last few droplets, and then gently guided the soul into its confines. When he screwed the lid on, the soul shuddered for a moment, then stilled. With exaggerated care, Gerson placed the jar at Asgore's feet.
"There you go. On the house."
Asgore ignored it. He knelt down and picked up the girl's body instead; it lolled in his hands, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.
"How long were you there?" he asked.
"Not long enough. Dallied too much collecting herbs for the tea. More fool, me."
"So you-"
"I got in earshot just as you gave that human your blessing to kill you. And don't you dare deny it, because that's exactly what you did." Asgore felt Gerson's stare burning a hole through his head. "I chatted her up just a little while ago, you know. She was a sweet kid. Nothing like the last one. But I could tell how bad she wanted to leave. Once you gave her the go-ahead like that, she never would have stopped coming at you. And that's what you were counting on, wasn't it? Look at me, Asgore."
He did. Gerson's face was impassive as before, but he was clearly making a mighty effort to keep it that way. His nostrils flared as he took deep, deliberate breaths.
"This is what you meant when you told me you'd 'found another way'? Letting a human stroll out of here with your soul in hand, so the rest of us could just sit and hope they'd find a way to let us out?"
"I gave it a lot of thought, Gerson." His words sounded limp as the body in his hands. "I didn't-"
"Did you give any thought to any of them?" He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the Capital. "How do you think they'd react if their king got dusted by yet another human and left them all alone? No leader? No hope?"
"Toriel was a more competent leader than I ever was. Even in the Ruins, she'd know something was amiss. She would-"
"Toriel's been gone for ages, Asgore. Half the monsters around these days don't even remember her face anymore. And you want her to just walk out of there, into a kingdom that'll be crazier with grief than ever, and try to pick up the reins? I knew you two had fallen out, but you must really hate her to put her through that." Asgore's eyes flashed, but Gerson went on. "She was right to leave. This place lost its damned mind when those kids died. You included."
"Is that so?" he said quietly. "And what would you propose, then?"
"The answer that's been staring you in the face since the beginning," Gerson snapped. "Stop fighting! Get all these folks together and call off this insane hunt! If a human falls down and they're killing us left and right then sure, call to arms, then you're just a king defending his kingdom, but that ridiculous promise you made is poison, Asgore. And I know you agree with me, since you just put your head on the chopping block because you can't deal with the consequences!"
"You want to talk about consequences?" Now he mustered some anger of his own. "Imagine how all of them would react if I tried to recant everything I'd done. They still remember all those dead. Not just my children. The monsters these humans have killed, as well. Everyone out there is able to go on because they know freedom is coming. No matter the cost."
"Do you remember those boys who used to stand at my post?" Gerson asked, and Asgore shrank back. "Let me tell you something I should've said ages ago. They hated it there. The only reason they kept at it is because they were convinced you believed in that promise. I kept telling them, ask the man yourselves if you want his opinion so badly, but no, they were still going off what you said the day Asriel died and you were spitting venom over half the kingdom." His voice was rising steadily; his neck strained out of his shell. "They don't know any better! I've got kids who barely come up to my knee telling me how great it'll be when humanity gets exterminated, like they'll all just lie down and give up if they see the barrier break and all of us come storming out. They haven't seen what we've seen! Running from one hopeless fight to the next, trying not to breathe in what was left of our friends! You're not leading them to freedom, you're opening the door to a world full of people who can kill them all with the flat of their hands, and they have no idea!"
"It won't matter anymore. Once I have all seven souls, I will-"
"Oh, what? You'll what? What will you do!?" The cavern echoed with Gerson's voice now, and his broken teeth were bared tight; he stepped forward, almost knocking over the soul, and Asgore clutched at the girl's body like a lifeline. "You can't pull that 'destroyer of humankind' line on me, Asgore, I know you too well for that! Oh, sure, you'll stride out of that mountain and you'll be great and terrible and plenty impressive, I bet it'll be a sight to see. You'll take on all comers, beat down the humans' warriors, maybe knock over a village or two. And then you'll see a couple of humans bent down and crying over their kids, the same way you and Toriel cried over yours, and I know exactly what'll happen then, because it's what I'm seeing now. You'll freeze up, and do nothing, and good people will die!"
Asgore had no response to that. He shivered under Gerson's glare, eyes wet, lip quivering like a scolded child. Gerson's chest rose and fell, and then stilled. He stepped back. Little by little, his features softened.
"Asgore, look at us," he said hoarsely. "Look at what's happening to us. We can't go on like this."
Silence rolled out between them. Then Asgore reached out, and took the soul canister. Its amethyst glow stained him like a bruise.
"Three left," he said, and tucked it under his mantle. He raised his head. "It can't be for nothing, Gerson."
For a moment, Gerson's eye twitched with fresh anger. Then, he slumped, and nodded.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm out of line. Can't pretend to understand what you're going through."
"Gerson, I-"
"I wish you the best, Asgore. I really do." He turned and picked up the cracked and clouded glasses, the worn, sodden notebook, and slipped them into his satchel. "I know that you wouldn't keep at this unless you believed it was the right thing." Then he took the umbrella, raised it up. "Maybe that'll be enough. You might be able to see this through to the end. But I can't." He shook his head. "I'm done."
Asgore remained mute as Gerson walked around him, and continued down the path, taking slow and shaky steps. His silhouette bled away into the dark.
"That was the Hammer of Justice's last great battle." His voice already fading. "I'm sure everyone will sing its praises for years to come."
And then it was just him, the soul's glow spilling out from around his cloak, the girl clutched close to his chest. He stood, and started to follow Gerson, but then stopped; instead, he sat back down at the edge of the path and watched the still and silent city in the distance, rocking gently back and forth with the body in his lap. It was a long time before he moved again.
In the days ahead, Waterfall's unceasing drip did its work. Rain filled in their footprints in the mud, digested them, rendered them anonymous as the rest of the soaking earth. Rain pooled in the crater Gerson's hammer had left, until it looked like just another puddle out of dozens, shining like lenses in the false starlight. Rain pattered down onto the lonely and hidden statue, and clung to its surface like a shroud. And things continued as they always had, if a little more broken than before.