a wave of nostalgic reminiscence has brought me back to the wonderful world of the underland chronicles.
this is my first time ever posting on ff, so please leave a review if u enjoyed (or didn't!)... and perhaps i'll continue updating this little adventure :D
disclaimer: i do not own the underland chronicles. it belongs to suzanne collins.
PART 1
THE RETURN
1 - To the Stars
Standing shirtless in front of the mirror, Gregor traced the scars that ran all over his body. As he continued through the endless amount of scratches and tears from where injuries had once been, he was hammered by visions of his past life; his life in the Underland. First to the stinging pustules on his arms from the squid suckers that had attached to him on his trip to find the Bane. The marks were still there - faint, but legible nonetheless. Then as he continued down his arm, his fingers found the scars left on him by the vines that had almost dragged him into the abyss in the Vineyard of Eyes. And it was where Hamnet and Frill had perished, too. He shut his eyes, not wanting to experience the memory once again.
He found the hundreds of subtle cuts and lacerations that were inflicted upon him by the army of cutters that rampaged through the jungle towards the Vineyard, and how they had protected it in a last ditch effort to save what they thought was the cure to the plague. He remembered Frill's body, sprawled out on the ground, lifeless, and Hamnet slowly dying as blood pumped out of a gaping hole in his chest. He pushed away the memory as he continued to trace. He felt the scars left on him by the armies of Gnawers that fought to destroy the nibblers. He remembered racing towards the Firelands with Ares, his bond, in an attempt to aid the humans in the fight to free the nibblers - and to save her.
Finally, Gregor took stock of the five streaking, fiery-white scars that ripped along his chest. His eyes shut once again as the memories of the final battle between the Bane and him flooded into his mind.
I've got to get in closer if I'm going to take him out!
The dangerous proximity. The terrible sense of dread. Claw in wing. Pulled towards Bane. The moments came in quick succession as Gregor's heart began to beat quicker.
Fangs in Ares' neck. Dagger dropped; Sword in heart. They stood there, interconnected by fang and sword and neck. Until finally, in a last ditch effort attack, the Bane lets out an unearthly blood-curdling roar before ramming his free paw into Gregor's chest.
Armor ripped off. Chest torn. Slamming into the ground.
Ares falls and sinks to the ground. Lifeless. Dead.
Bane falls. Curls into a ball, lifeless. Dead.
But him?
...Not dead.
Not yet.
He remembered bleeding profusely, crawling, crawling. Crawling towards his dead bond. He remembered being curled up in Ares wing, latching onto his claw.
Ares? Ares?
He pressed his face into his bat's blood-caked fur, hoping in vain to find a heartbeat.
Don't go, Ares, okay?
A tear escaped his eyes, and they remained locked in place, together.
Don't go. Don't, he whispered.
Ares the flier, I bond to you. He needed to say it.
But he couldn't speak the words.
His blood was leaving him. His life was leaving him. Leaving to mingle with Ares' blood, then running to join the Bane's. He was dead. The Prophecy of Time had been fulfilled. The Warrior was dead. The Bane was dead. And even Ares was, too. And it was all his fault.
Gregor's eyes shot open and he found himself leaning on the sink with both hands, gasping for air. His heartbeat was unhealthily high. He felt as though he was going to black out. Leaning on the sink for support, he took in deep breaths. As his chest continued to rise and fall, he felt his heart beginning to calm down. Sweat beaded down the side of his head as he looked into the mirror and saw his face - a war-torn face, the product of so many events and experiences that no kid his age should have gone through, should ever have to go through.
"Weak," he muttered to himself angrily. This wasn't the time or place that Gregor would allow himself to relive his memories like this, but finding himself in the washroom where no one could see him, he couldn't help it. It had been 4 years since he had left the Underland for the final time, and one might've thought that he would've gotten over the whole experience. And yet, as he stood in the small washroom of his family's old, run-down apartment, he could not help but curse himself for his weakness, his fragility, how only a few memories were enough to engulf him in a wave of stress that rocked him to the bone. He couldn't forget. How could he? He spent so much of his life down there, and for better or for worse, his family did too. His dad, gone missing for so long, long thought dead, before Gregor had found him on his first accidental trip to the Underland. His sister, Boots, who had been unwillingly dragged along with him for not one, not two, but three prophecies because of that madman Sandwich. His mother, who, in a stroke of astonishingly bad luck, contracted the plague after being brought down for one day - and who had to spend the next few months recovering in the Regalian hospital. Even his other sister, Lizzie, had fallen to the Underland because the situation on the surface was so bad during the events of the Prophecy of Time that she had to come down and find him.
Gregor washed his face quickly of the sweat and grabbed a face towel off a nearby towel rack. He wiped his face quickly, and plastered an indifferent, if not a bit sad, face on himself so as not to alert his family of anything.
When he opened the bathroom door, he stalked over to their little kitchen, where his family was preparing to eat dinner. Funds were low, as always, with his mother working around the clock so that she and his father could put food on this very table. But with his father's worsening condition and his grandmother's increasing need for complex medicine and care, the family's funds were always on the brink of running out. His father and his mother took seats on one side of the table and were in conversation about something. Boots, who was now 7 years old, had already finished eating and went off into another room to play. Gregor sat beside Lizzie, who was just gingerly poking her mashed potatoes with her fork. A plate of mashed potatoes had been set aside for Gregor himself, who also found that he could not eat. However, just to not arouse any suspicions, he forced down a few spoonfuls of mash.
"Gonna eat that, Liz?" asked Gregor.
She made some kind of mhm sound of acknowledgment in her throat, but continued to poke at her sad food. Something clearly was on her mind as well.
"Is something bothering you?" his mom asked. His father looked to Lizzie as well.
"No. Nothing's bothering me, I'm alright," she replied hollowly, before forcibly taking a spoonful of mashed potatoes herself.
"Honey, I know that the food is not the best, but it's all we can manage right now - what with our money running low and your father being too ill to work anymore. But as soon as my next paycheck comes in, I promise that we'll start the month with a fantastic breakfast with eggs and bacon and everything-" his mother began to talk off, yammering about what they would eat once they had enough money to afford good food once again. But throughout her monologue, Lizzie remained distant, seemingly lost in her thoughts.
Gregor's father motioned to Grace with his hand for her to stop.
"What? All I was saying was that I wanted to try out this new recipe that I found online at work, and that it even requires minimal ingredients-"
Lizzie interrupted her. "No, it's not the food, mom. It's good. With our situation, I can't really ask for more," she said.
"Then what is it? You can talk to us."
Lizzie stopped poking her potatoes with her fork and froze, staring into the table, as if she was formulating what she wanted to say. But with the pressure of her mom and dad's eyes, she began to speak:
"I just… I-I don't know. I guess…" she stammered. Without looking up to face her parents, she spoke in a voice so soft that they could barely hear her. "I know how much you don't like it, but I can't help it. I guess I just… I-I just really... miss them." Her last few words were so quiet that Gregor, who was sitting right beside her, almost couldn't hear it.
Suddenly, Gregor's mother stood up from her chair and slammed her hands down, sending a small shock wave reverberating through the small wooden table. The force gave everyone around the table a start. But his mother's voice was quiet and sharp.
"I told you two to never speak of those people, or that place, ever, ever again," she said in a tone so harsh that Gregor genuinely felt bad. But his sister was taking it much worse.
"I-I'm sorry, I know that it makes you angry, but I can't help it-" Lizzie fumbled with her words, to somehow calm down their enraged mother, useless as it was.
"No buts!" their mom rebuked. "You knew the rules very clearly! No mention of that dreaded place or it's people for as long as we stay up here!"
Gregor sensed tears beginning to well up in his sister's eyes, and suddenly he found himself rising to defend her.
"Mom, just chill out, it's not her fault that she can't fight off the memories of the place! Even I think about it from time to time," he lied. The Underland was almost always on his mind. But that didn't matter. "Boots might've been too young to remember much, but Lizzie remembers everything. Just as I do," he continued.
"And what about me? Don't you think I remember everything too? Of course I do! I come down there for one day and what happens? I get some disease that forces me to stay in that wretched place! But as long as the idea of that place is still in your minds, you'll be tempted to return! And who knows what might happen to you if you do? What might happen to us?"
It was a speech he knew very well, for over the past 4 years they had had similar arguments every now and then. And he didn't know how to respond each time - because she was right. The previous times he had left the Overland for his endeavors in the Underland, the family had been left all alone, defenceless, on the surface. During the War of Time, Gregor's father had become ill, and their grandmother had been hospitalized because of some kind of heart problem. And Gregor, his mom, and Boots, were running around underground without even thinking about what was happening. And this forced Lizzie, who always had panic attacks even thinking about the Underland, to jump the grate and find Gregor in Regalia. Every time he thought back to this, he felt a pang of shame stab him in the chest.
"I don't know, mom," said Gregor reluctantly, giving in. "I don't know. I just think that how we're handling this, how we're dealing with these kinds of memories… it doesn't feel right. Not after what we went through."
His mom was about to respond when a hand grabbed her shoulder from behind, motioning her to sit down.
"Grace, you need to calm down. I think Gregor has a point. They can't help thinking of the place, and I think it's time that we accepted that. Then we can really, truly move on," his dad said in a hoarse, but steady tone.
"But how can we move on, when it's all that's running through their heads?!" she argued.
"Because that's precisely why they can't move on!" he said sternly. "Think about it, Grace. Not letting them talk about it, anywhere. Where else could those thoughts go, except further into their minds, building up and up until they can't take it anymore?" His father's voice broke down into a whisper, and the two adults began to argue with each other at the table.
Suddenly, Lizzie got up from her chair, and half-walked, half-ran to her room. Gregor was pretty sure that tears had begun to stream down her face.
"Elizabeth, get back here-!" Gregor's mother called angrily, but she was stopped by his father.
"Look what you've done, you've upset her now. It does you, and the rest of us, no good to upset her further!" said his father, raising his voice and motioning for her to sit down.
"But she needs to listen-"
"No!" said his father, finally putting his foot down. "She is overwhelmed already as it is, Grace, with her honours schoolwork and her extracurriculars. She doesn't need someone to yell at her right now. You have to understand that!"
The parents continued to argue. Silently, he took Lizzie's uneaten mash, as well as his own. He stood up, covered them in plastic wrap, and placed them in the fridge. By the time his parents had stopped and turned to ask him for his thoughts, he was gone too.
It was a crisp, cool Friday in October. High school had just started up again. He was in Grade 11 now, but it didn't feel like it. He didn't seem to feel much of anything these days. School felt callous, boring, meaningless; like there was no real point in doing all this work. He was the average student, grades-wise, although he hardly paid attention in class. He often found his mind drifting elsewhere, but not knowing exactly where.
And yet everyone around him seemed to know what they were doing. This would be the year where they chose prerequisite courses for early admission into university or college, and laid the foundations out for their senior year. It was like everyone around him had a plan; people talked about what courses they were taking, what clubs or groups they were joining, and even what kinds of careers they were thinking of pursuing. But Gregor? He had no clue.
The morning classes dragged on, as usual, and on his spares he found himself either working out in the gym or wandering aimlessly around the school. Occasionally, he would study at the library if there was a big test coming up, or if there was a topic in class that he didn't fully understand, but that was essentially it.
In terms of classes, he was an all-rounder. Not particularly excellent in any classes but did average to above average all in all. The only thing he really had going for him might've been sports, but he lacked the motivation to pursue it anyway. In Grade 10, he was invited onto the track and field team after he blew the school's cross-country record out of the water. But after a great performance at the meets, there wasn't really much else he did.
He thought maybe wrestling might be an avenue, but just the thought of fighting again in any way made him anxious. But not for himself.
A year ago there had been an incident.
It was a small conflict, really; or at least, to him it was. He'd been minding his own business one day when he was approached by a man on the street. He was wearing torn, soiled clothes and a long, dirty jacket. He had staggered towards Gregor, asking for some money, and when he politely declined, swung at him.
Could it really have been classified as a fight? Compared to what he had been through before, it was nothing. But by then, it had been at least 4 years since his last actual physical conflict with another being, and before he knew it, the man was down on the ground, groaning, his face a bloody wreck.
"Oh shit," he had whispered when he regained his focus.
A few bystanders looked on at the scene in fear and incredulity. It couldn't have looked good. A random kid beating up a man in public? He wanted to run away, to escape, but obviously that would've been the worst thing possible to do. A few of the bystanders had called the police to report the fight, so he simply stayed with the man and tried his best to keep him awake and staunch the blood flowing from various orifices until the police and paramedics arrived.
He wasn't much in trouble, as there were witnesses who saw that the man was clearly the aggressor. He had acted in self defense. But that wasn't what he was worried about.
He had lost control. With a blur, he had almost killed a man, and he wasn't even conscious of it until he was a bloody mess on the ground. That was what scared him. Why did he lose control? The man wasn't that big of a threat; he should have recognized that. But most importantly, there was no telling when, or if, he would lose control again.
He could train. But he didn't want to. And there was also the question of how, and when, and what he would explain to his family and friends. The easiest and simplest solution, it seemed to him, was to avoid fighting at all costs. So from that day on, he vowed to do so.
He hadn't done or said much about it, but rumours got around about a kid from their school that had thrashed a "dangerous man" on the streets. Eventually, they linked it to him, but he said nothing. But because of the situation, he gained a kind of notoriety in the school. He became the student that nobody should mess with. It was annoying, and kind of isolating, but at the very least it worked in his favour.
But at the same time, because of the incident, as well as his general awkwardness, he had made no friends since the beginning of high school. Nobody really wanted to talk to him. That was, all except-
"Hey, hey, who's sitting all alone at lunch break again?"
"Dude, stop, you're so annoying."
His only two friends, Larry and Angelina, strode up and sat across from him on the table he was sitting on.
"Hey guys," he said, managing a smile. "What's up?"
"Eh, nothing much," said Larry. "I've just been grinding on my game lately." He pulled out his phone and started tapping away at some mobile game.
"Ugh, you're still playing that thing?" quipped Angelina. "This is why you always need my help with homework. You're never paying attention in class." She took a bite out of her sandwich.
"How's your drama play coming along?" asked Gregor.
"It's going okay, I guess. We're still running through our lines. But it's like something goes wrong with every take," she said, sighing. "Someone forgets their lines, a prop comes loose, Mrs. H thinks we're not expressive enough. At this rate, we're going to crash and burn at the showing."
"Hah. Well, if it means anything, I think you'll do great."
"Thanks, but I dunno, Gregor. I guess we'll just see eventually," she said, dejected.
"I think you need to have little more faith in yourself, Anj," said Gregor. "You and the guys were amazing last year. The crowd loved you. And you can do it again."
She muttered something in acknowledgement but didn't argue with him. They did, in fact, do really well in last year's play, and if you asked anyone that had watched it, they'd agree.
"What about you, dude?" asked Larry, not even looking up from his phone, "anything interesting happen with you lately?"
"Nah, I've just been working on stuff, and thinking about… things."
"Things? Like what things?"
He wasn't about to explain to his friends that 24/7 his mind was thousands of feet below the surface, wondering what his other friends were doing down there. And how could he, anyway? The only other person that he, and his family, for that matter, had ever revealed the truth to was Mrs. Comarci, and even that was in a moment of desperation. And besides, he would never be going back down there, so what was the point of dwelling on it? There wasn't, really, when he thought about it.
"Uh, Gregor?"
Why did he keep thinking about that place, anyway? At this point it held no bearing on him anymore. All that he had now were the memories. And his friends. And the scars. But there were more important things to focus on now, weren't there? Like his academics. His life. Why should he keep worrying about what was going on down there? Maybe his mom was right, and that-
His train of thought was interrupted by the snapping of fingers.
"Yo, Earth to Gregor, you still with us?" asked Larry, who was now up in his face.
"What? What? What were you saying?"
"Geez. Slow attention span, nowadays, eh?" he said. "Or maybe…" He smiled to himself for some reason, then went back to his phone.
"Huh? Why are you smiling?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Larry, not looking up from his phone.
"Just tell me," said Gregor in suspicion.
"No, no, it's nothing."
"Come on. What're you thinking?"
"I dunno. What was I thinking?"
"Dude!" In exasperation, he leaned over and swiped Larry's phone out of his hands.
"Hey! Give that back!"
"You were thinking about something weird, weren't you?" he asked sharply. "Weird, or embarrassing. I don't want you spreading any rumours, like what happened last year. What were you thinking?"
"Hey, that wasn't even my fault, man! How was I supposed to know that Dave was going to go off and tell everyone?" said Larry in a hurt tone. "And besides, you haven't even told me yet what kind of martial art you learned to take that guy down. What is it? Jiu Jitsu? Taekwondo? Or maybe even Wing Ch-"
"I already told you, the guy was probably drunk, so he wasn't even coordinated! Even you could have dealt with him."
"But imagine my surprise when I hear that my elusive friend, Gregor, somehow hid something so cool from me!" he said dramatically, completely ignoring him. "Come on, dude, you're still mad at me for that? If anything, it made you a loose cannon in the school! An enigma! Someone to be feared!"
"I just wanted to be left alone," said Gregor sourly. "I never wanted to be feared."
"Well, okay, maybe feared is overstating it a bit. And people leave you alone, anyway."
"Besides you guys," he muttered.
"What was that?" said Larry, grinning.
"Well, whatever. You still haven't told me what you were thinking."
"I wasn't thinking anything."
"Tell me what you were thinking, or you're never going to get this phone back."
Somehow that sparked something in his friend, who jolted upright in fear of losing all of his game's progress. "That's cold."
"You want to fight me for it?"
"Hell no!"
"Then what were you thinking?"
"Ah, well…" he said cooly. "Fine, fine. I was just thinking, hey, maybe you finally have your eyes on someone now."
"What?"
"You know. You like someone."
"What do you mean by 'like?'"
"Shut up, you know what I mean."
Gregor raised an eyebrow, but as soon as Larry had said that, images of her fluttered into his mind. Much to his dismay. Where was she? What was she doing right now? His stomach turned at the thought of her, and he could feel his face getting hot. He tried to fight it, but it didn't work.
"What? Of course not," he shot back. "Why would I?"
"You're getting defensive," said Larry, smiling wide, as if he had just hit the nail on the head. "I'm right, aren't I?"
Angelina, who had been watching from the side in amusement, made a small gasp. "Gregor finally likes someone? Oh, tell us, please."
"Wh- I never said anything! Don't enable this guy, Anj!"
"Hey, to be honest, I'm curious too," she shrugged. "You never tell us anything. And besides, you're blushing like mad."
"Only because of - of what Larry's suggesting here! Not because I actually-"
He suddenly became acutely aware of how much of a lunatic he was sounding like, whether the premise was true or not.
Calm down! He mentally shouted at himself. You're losing control. Calm down. It wasn't a fight he was losing control in, but whatever. Same principle. Kind of.
He embarrassingly slid back into his seat and handed Larry back his phone.
As he took it back, Larry elbowed Angelina on the side and snickered, "Look at this kid. It's so easy to read him," and they both laughed.
"Dude, seriously, I don't have a crush on anyone right now or anything," he said obstinately. "And to speak the truth, I don't think I'll ever develop one. Not for a long time, at least."
He truly believed it. Because inwardly, his heart was set in stone for someone else, even if it was thousands of feet of that which separated them forever.
Gregor suddenly looked deeply saddened about something. "Hey, why is that, anyway?" asked Angelina. "What do you mean, you don't think you'll develop one?"
"It's, uh, hard to explain…"
"You know, you're always so secretive," she said. "Did you, like, go through a really bad breakup before, without telling us?"
The way he saw it, it was bad only in that he wished he could've done more before it had to end. Now, in retrospect, there were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, before he had to go. Inevitably it was doomed. It was a pairing that was never meant to be, and they had both known it too.
"Yeah, well, something like that…" It was exactly the wrong thing to say.
"Wait, really? You were actually in a relationship before?" asked Larry, wide-eyed. Extracting such sensitive information out of Gregor was a rarity for him, and it was enough to get his blood pumping. "I've never heard of this!"
"No, it's not like - it wasn't - but-! Gahh," stammered Gregor. But they were both already hooked. He resigned to himself. There wasn't any way to get out of this now.
"Tell us what happened!" said Angelina, clapping her hands excitedly. "...you know, if you feel comfortable about it."
"Do you guys seriously want to know?" he asked glumly. "It's not that interesting."
"Of course!" they both said in unison.
He sighed. Better get it over with now rather than later.
"Well… it was a long time ago." He looked away, piecing together his thoughts. How was he going to explain this? "We were good friends, her and I. And we went through some tough times together. And eventually, somehow, along the way we fell for each other. But then… because of… circumstances… yeah, circumstances beyond both of our controls, we couldn't be together anymore. That's all."
"Circumstances beyond your control?" reiterated Larry. "What, like distance? Did she move away or something?"
"Yeah. She did."
He made an "ohh" sound and nodded his head in understanding. Larry and Angelina looked at each other with intrigue.
"Is it someone we know?"
"No, definitely not."
"What was she like?" asked Angelina.
He thought for a second. "Oh, she was smart. Witty. Caring," he said, a smile forming on his lips as he recalled. "And very, very stubborn."
"Very stubborn?" she asked.
"Heh, yeah. If she truly believed that something was right, then she stuck to it regardless of what everyone around her thought. I mean, there was this one time where she declared w-"
He cut himself off. He wasn't about to explain to his friends how she once initiated an entire inter-species war.
"I… uh… forget it," he muttered.
"Huh? What'd she do?" Larry pried. "Come onnn, Gregor, what'd she do?"
"I can't tell you guys."
"Huh? Why not? You can trust us."
"I'm sorry, but I really can't say any more."
"But-"
They were interrupted by the loud sound of the school bell that boomed across the school's intercom, signaling the end of the lunch period.
"Looks like we gotta save this conversation for another time," said Gregor, grinning in victory.
"Nuh-uh! This is the most we've gotten out of you in— in forever! I wanna hear the rest of the story~!" started Larry, before he was slapped on the head.
"C'mon, lets go!" said Angelina, standing up. "Gregor will tell us the rest when he's ready!"
"But we don't know when the next time that will be!" he pleaded. "We can't let this opportunity slip by!"
"Well, regardless, we have chem this period, and I'm not going to let you skip just to mooch off of my notes later!" she said, grabbing his backpack and dragging him away.
"We'll be baaack!" shouted Larry, and Gregor simply grinned and shook his head, making a mental note to dodge the both of them as much as possible after school.
The classes dragged by, as they often did, and he found himself walking home alone once again after school. It was a grey afternoon, and it was cold, so he had to jam his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. A cool mist came out of his mouth with each breath. Very soon, temperatures would get low enough that he'd have to actually bundle up, and his walks to and from school would get all the more uncomfortable. As he walked through the neighborhoods, he silently missed the Underland for having a warm, stable temperature all year round.
When he got home, he was greeted by his father. Over the years, his father had always been somewhat sick, on and off, and even after constant trips to the doctor no one could really ever find out why. Because of this, it was Gregor's responsibility to take up any of the household chores when his dad wasn't feeling well, and Lizzie and Boots helped whenever they could.
Whenever he was feeling well, his father would take the time to go and check on Gregor's grandma, who became increasingly sick as the years went by. Eventually, about 4 months ago, her condition became so severe that she had to be transported to the hospital. Her breathing became labored and she now needed the assistance of a respirator. Her old age seemed to be catching up to her.
Because of how unstable she was, the past few months had kept everyone on edge. His mother was always stressed out at work and his father constantly teetered over the edge of being sick. Lizzie was focused on school, and Boots was, well, Boots. Which left a lot on his shoulders.
"Welcome home," said his dad somewhat hoarsely.
"Hey Dad," said Gregor, giving him a hug.
"How was school?"
"Same old." He looked around the house. "Do you need help with anything in the kitchen?"
"No, no, I think I'll be good for now," said his dad. "I can handle things. It's the weekend. You should enjoy it."
"Thanks. I will." He looked around again. "Where's Liz and Boots?"
"Lizzie's studying in her room, I think. And Boots is playing in hers."
He nodded, kicked off his shoes, and went upstairs. When he got to his room, he threw his backpack on to his bed but didn't change his clothes. It was Friday night, which meant that he had places to go later.
In the cramped space that was his room, he laid down and stared at the ceiling for a long while.
Sometime around 7 in the evening he heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by his mom's tired voice speaking to his dad. He shuffled downstairs and greeted her.
As always, his mom was tired, but today, they exchanged very few words.
Dinner came around. Last night's argument lingered around in the air like a coat of smoke, and no one seemed to be in the mood for talking. Except for one person, really.
"Mmm, why's everyone so quiet?" commented Boots through a forkful of pasta. After all, she hadn't been at dinner last night.
"I think everyone's just tired today, Boots." Lizzie, who was sitting beside her, replied first.
There was a general nod of agreement around the table, so she left it at that.
"Any updates on Ma's condition?" asked his mom.
"Nothing yet," replied his dad. "No improvement."
Silence followed as everyone continued to eat their meals.
Dinner was uneventful, and after helping with the dishes, Boots and their parents stayed downstairs, watching some kind of show on the T.V. Gregor and Lizzie drifted back up into their rooms. With him, he took his bowl of uneaten mashed potatoes from the night before.
He sat at his bed thinking, eating the leftover mash, as he waited for night to fall.
1:04 AM.
With vigor, Gregor threw on a thick, brown sweater along with some slim fitting jeans. After slipping on his heavy duty steel-toed boots, he opened his windowsill and took a deep breath. The cool, crisp, early morning New York City air flooded his room. He looked out towards the city. The lights of nearby buildings continued to shine brightly through the night, drowning out the beautiful stars that once lit up the sky.
Sighing, he threw on a black leather jacket. On his nightstand lay his Huntsman knife that he would always carry around whenever he went out. Hidden in it's nylon sheath, Gregor picked up the knife and examined it. He had always despised guns, and in fact he was not legally of age to own one yet, but knew that during his midnight escapades he needed some form of weapon in order to protect himself from the dangers that waited in the night. He knew, somewhere inside him, that he could take on anyone, if it came to fighting. But that wasn't really his "style," so to speak. And there were other weapons out there. He would need more than his bare fists.
And so one night, he settled on purchasing some kind of knife that mimicked the sensation of the sword. He had missed the feeling of strength that he had whenever he wielded that jewel-studded sword - Sandwich's blade. It was a thing of beauty, that sword. Using his keen rager abilities one night, years ago, he remembered why he felt so good using it - because it was absent of any material imperfections. Using echolocation and focusing on a weapon, he could feel - or rather, hear - any subtle flaw, any tiny but significant imperfection within the material; for example, if a casted weapon had not cooled evenly during creation, or if a material had become brittle from a blacksmith's hammering. But Sandwich's sword - as far as he could tell - was flawless. Sure, there might have been a teeny chip here and there or the edges weren't as sharp as they used to be, from centuries of disuse and being stored in the museum, but that aside, it was perfect. And on top of it, it looked beautiful. And, oh, how it performed in battle. It sliced evenly and cleanly through flesh and limb like it was a knife plunging through soft butter, and only when it met bone did it finally meet resistance, albeit none that Gregor could not overcome with a little bit of force.
He shuddered when he realized he was thinking about killing again. The sword, along with the Warrior, had been shattered long, long ago. And it wasn't coming back.
One day he took a trip to a local hunting shop and spent an hour analyzing each and every hunting knife, prowling the aisles, looking for imperfections. After a long, painstaking time, and after deflecting multiple of the store clerk's prying questions, he settled on an 11-inch long stainless steel Huntsman knife, colored a deep black. It was the best made weapon, as far as he could tell, but it was expensive. It would be his own treat to himself, since most of his funds went to the family reserve first. He saved up for many months, doing community work and running errands for Mrs. Cormaci, before he was able to purchase it. And when he did, it never left his side. Except, of course, in school, where he would get in trouble, and when he was in the apartment, because who knows what his parents would say if they found him running around with a goddamned heavy duty hunting knife. In any case, it ended up feeling more like a dagger to him than a sword, which was just as well.
Gregor slipped the nylon sheath onto his belt buckle, threw on his watch, and leaned out of his window. In routine, he swung his legs over the window sill and leaned his body out, surveying the sidewalk seven meters below him. No one. No one would be out in this neighbourhood at this time, but each time he checked just to be sure. And when he was, he leaped.
After landing softly and easily on the damp, morning grass, he began moving around the neighbourhood. There was not a person in sight. It was darkness, save for a few streetlights that dimly lit up the streets. Not like he needed the light anyway.
He began walking the short stretch toward an old familiar place. The routine morning walks had become a way for Gregor to really think, to clear his mind.
It was cold. He walked silently through the neighbourhood and into the city streets, taking in the cool air and the sights and the sounds. Lights from the windows many stories above him dotted the nighttime sky. The breeze of the few late night cars driving home brushed by him. He took a breath, closing his eyes, and visualized the entire street as he walked.
He noted how, coupled with the lower temperatures, there were fewer people out and about than there usually were at this time. People were usually on their way home from work, or from outings, or just hanging out. But during this time of year, early mornings weren't exactly a popular pastime.
He reached his destination; a section of iron fences. Beyond the barrier of the fence was a hill of darkness.
He checked his watch. 1:50 AM. The park had closed almost an hour ago, so there would be no more people walking through, and all of the workers would've already headed home for the night.
The perfect spot for entry, this was the only blind spot around the park that was not covered by the security cameras; he had ascertained that long ago. He looked around to make sure nobody was nearby. When the coast was clear, he rubbed his hands together, took a quick breath, and jumped. His hands easily clamped onto the top of the railing, and using his strength, threw himself over the fence and into the darkness.
He landed softly on the grass and began making his way through the area.
As he made his way nearer to the center of the park and further away from the main roads, he could feel the bustling sounds of midnight traffic slowly grow quieter and quieter. Small lights from the lampposts that lined the pathways of Central Park remained lit during the night, even though the park was closed. He was mindful of staying clear from the lit pathway and moved through the dark. He tucked his cold hands into his pants pockets.
Before long he reached his true destination. It was the largest hill in Central Park and overlooked a wide area. From his vantage point at the top, he could see anyone nearby within at least a 500 meter arc. It was shrouded in darkness, with only the base of the hill lit up faintly by lampposts below. He made his way to the top.
When he reached the peak of the hill, he laid down on the cold, dewy grass, hands clasped behind his head, and looked towards the night sky.
It was a clear night, except for a few wispy clouds scattered through the sky. Stars twinkled faintly in the distance over the backdrop of black. He could hear the soft rustling of the leaves of trees nearby. This spot, at this time, was his secret; a little getaway in the middle of a concrete jungle of stress and worries and responsibilities. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, letting a wave of serenity move softly through his body.
In his mind's eye, he drifted to a world many thousands of meters below where he now lay. While his first visit to the Underland was now starting to become a little bit foggy, in his mind he knew that he could never forget the events that transpired after. The voyage to find the Bane. The trek through the Jungle. The journey to the Nibblers. The war on the Gnawers. It was all there, burned into Gregor's brain.
Emotions swept through him as he sifted through those memories… of the voyage, the jungle, the Firelands. From those intense training sessions in the arena with Mareth, Ripred, and Ares, to the quiet moments he shared with Howard, Hazard, Nike, and everyone. Nowadays he detested fighting. But as he thought back to how they'd defended the starshade to the last stand, how they fought off the twisters in the jungle, and how they had repelled the Gnawer ranks in the Firelands, he couldn't help but smile. The daring jump into the whirlpool. The heat of battle with the Bane. It was a version of him long since gone, one that he longed both to be, and never be, ever again.
And not everything was perfect. Nothing ever is.
He had lost many friends along the way. He felt a pang of guilt when he remembered Mareth's missing leg, lost when he had been attacked by serpents. He winced when he remembered Hamnet's body, sprawled along the Jungle floor, with his heart pumping blood into a horrid pool outside of his body. Regret overcame him when he envisioned Twitchtip in a pit, starving and tortured for months on end by the Gnawers, all because she had helped him find the Bane - only to take her final breath after they decided she wasn't of use anymore...
His mind fluttered back to his bond. It had been so long since he had grieved, even shed a tear, for anyone. And yet, just by thinking of his bond, Ares, he felt his eyes begin to water and sting his eyes. Of all the people and things he had left behind in the Underland, he felt the most immense shame for Ares. Just to save Gregor, he had dropped his old bond, Henry, down to his death at a cliff. But even though Henry had betrayed them, Ares had still become a social outcast. Rejected by society, rejected by everyone he really knew, except for a few very close friends... Gregor had bonded with Ares in order to save his life in return, but it did little to change the Underland society's view on the big bat. Gregor felt a pain stab him directly in the heart whenever he thought back to how lonely it must have been for him, lying in such pain and agony in his hidden cave when he contracted the plague... How no one even thought about where he was, much less about checking up on him, and it was only until his few friends found him that he was finally taken to the hospital. All because of Gregor. It was all my fault. And when Thalia had perished in the ash of the Firelands, Ares blamed himself. For not flying fast enough. As if he didn't have enough baggage on his shoulder - or rather, wings - to carry. And finally, when he was killed during the final encounter with the Bane. As if it had only happened yesterday, Gregor remembered how he woke up in the hospital who-knows-how-much-time-later, with his hand still latched on to Ares' claw. It should have been me, he thought to himself. Ares didn't deserve to die... I did. That stupid prophecy even foretold it.
He bit his lip and shut his eyes tightly, blinking back the rare tears that had formed.
And yet despite all these horrible memories, he continued to feel that strange longing to return - to go back to the place where he really felt he belonged, where he at least had a purpose. To return to the place that had accepted him, took him in. Sure, in the beginning, maybe they had only done so because he was the Overlander, and they believed him to be the one in their prophecies. But after going through those and so much more, he felt an odd kinship, a strange attachment to the place that rivaled no other. He wanted to return, to meet his friends again, to catch up, to train, to love, to feel that fire again... to be happy again.
For a moment he wondered how easy it would be to walk those few paces, pry open the cold stone slab, and simply disappear from the world, leaving no trace of him behind. What would happen then? People would wonder for a bit. Larry and Angelina might worry, but they would move on eventually. They were already drifting apart from him anyway. Maybe there'd even be a search, a small investigation, but there'd be nothing to find. And all the world would know was that a random kid, no one special or remarkable, just vanished one night. After a few months, the world would move on to the next big piece of news and forget about him entirely. It would be so easy.
But in the back of his head, he knew that it could never happen.
His family. They would immediately know what happened. He could already imagine the twisted expression of horror on his mother's face, the look of disappointment on his father, the disbelief from Lizzie, and the cluelessness of Boots. He could never do that to them. He could never abandon them just to fulfill his own childish desire to belong.
He began to wonder if maybe there was some truth in his mother's arguments. Memories of his parents' arguments the night before began to filter into his mind. You knew the rules very clearly. No mention of that dreaded place, or it's people, for as long as we stay up here.
Maybe… maybe she was right. Maybe it really was time to move on. It had already been 4 years - and what was he doing now? Trespassing, lying in the cold, thinking about the past long gone? What was productive about it? How was it helpful to anyone in any way?
But he knew that tomorrow night, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, he would find himself in the same place all over again thinking the exact same things.
How could he forget?
It was simple. He couldn't. No matter how hard he tried. The memories bore on the back of his mind like a raging river against a dam. He couldn't just forget everything they had been through. He couldn't just remove all of the battles, the voyages, and the people from his mind. Especially not… her.
And yet, this was exactly what his mother was suggesting to him and Lizzie that they should do. Forever. To forget not just that they knew her, but everyone else down there, too. Everyone they had come to care about. Everyone they had shared such fond moments of childhood with - to never see them ever again. To forget they even existed.
Gregor couldn't understand how his mother could ask something of him and his sister. To forget years' worth of experiences and people, so they could what, attempt to live a normal, regular, boring life on the surface? It was like telling someone who had been in a car crash and spent months recovering in the hospital to just "walk it off." His father was right. There was only so much bottled up emotion and turmoil that they could stand. Sooner or later, one of them would come crumbling down… and it wouldn't be Gregor. Which meant that it would probably be Lizzie.
It was then that a voice drifted into his mind.
"What was she like?" it asked.
"Oh, she was smart. Witty. Caring. And very, very stubborn."
"Very stubborn?"
In the middle of the very dark night, a ghost of a smile played on his face.
It had been a long time since anyone asked him about her. Years, in fact. He often thought about her - in school, in the gym, laying in his bed in the middle of the night - but he'd never uttered a single word about it. Not to himself or to anyone else.
There were so many more things he wanted to say, but he couldn't. He wanted to tell them about her courageousness. He wanted to tell them about her unyielding resolve. He wanted to tell them about how she stowed away on an extremely dangerous voyage, how she spearheaded a war to change all wars, how she braved an environment of ash and darkness and despair just so she could help her friends escape to safety.
Something anxious but warm began to rise up within his chest, as his heart rate rose ever so slightly.
Straying from routine, he sat up and took his worn leather wallet out of his back pocket. From it, with a soft, gentle touch, he plucked a small, folded photo from the depths of the wallet.
He carefully unfolded it. It was old. A little bit discoloured and desaturated, and frayed at the edges. In the bottom right corner was a brown stain, perhaps from coffee, from some time he couldn't even remember. It was not often that he took it out, for fear of damaging it further. He laid back on the grass, holding it above his face.
In the dim light of the park, he couldn't make out it's exact features. So he clicked.
The image brought him back to a time and place many years ago, down through the darkest depths of the earth to a gorgeous, ornate city of polished stone and marble - and through its regal corridors to a large room just off of one of the halls.
In it sat two twelve-year-olds, playing with a little instant camera and having a blast as the world outside seemed to fall away. They made faces and laughed and held each other close, savouring the precious moments as they came, because they weren't sure if there would be another. Not before…
"Okay, last picture." he had said.
Last picture ever.
In his trembling hands he held the last physical memory he had of her, and of the Underland. In this small polaroid, he held a thousand unsaid words and unexplained feelings, those which would never reach her ears.
His mind drifted back to their final moments together, in that small corridor with the bats and his father.
As he climbed that short staircase leading up to Central Park, he remembered taking her hand…
Come and look. Just for a second.
...But she would only climb up to where her head and shoulders were above the ground.
The hand holding the photo fell to his side, and he looked to the stars, which twinkled faintly in the night sky.
This is where I will think of you.
You know where I will be.
