by GR Griffin
Vail snapped his fingers. The area went dark for a second. They reappeared before a wall of ice. Both Vail’s and Fleck’s reflections stared back. The mirror was huge, scaling a full fifty metres up and across. Smooth without even a speck out of place. Fleck looked at themselves and thought they were standing before a mirror universe for a second.
“Behold, the cure to all your problems.” Vail reached out toward the reflective wall of ice. Both he and Fleck’s reflections began to distort. He twirled his arm and the replication span in a mesmerising display of colour. Images formed on the surface, that of Asgore and Toriel, across a field of flowers.
“If you stay here with me,” purred Vail, “you can have the ending you’ve always dreamed of.”
Before the former king and queen of the Underground, their lost son returned, alongside Fleck. With smiles, the parents ran to their children and lovingly took them into their arms. Asriel laughed as his father held him in his burly yet delicate hands. Toriel raised Fleck high before pulling them close into an embrace. Fleck could already feel her furs tickling their skin. Such a delightful sight pulled the real them upright on both feet.
“Asriel will be whole again, himself again, and young forever. You can spend every day playing in the garden without getting bored; eating pie and all the ice cream and cake you want without getting full; stay up all night and watch movies without getting sleepy.”
Each scene played out as Vail narrated it. Asriel and themself back and forth on a swing under the guise of the sun, with no clouds to impede a scene of such unlimited bliss. Both of them atop the biggest ice-cream sundae both man and monster alike had ever seen, filled with chocolate flakes, sprinkles, and slices of pie. They each grabbed a slice, covered with caramel and chocolate ice cream, and took big bites, smiling as its yumminess spread into their tummies. The sun went down and the stars came out. Fleck and Asriel were now lying side-by-side, a white blanket over their heads. Their faces illuminated in the glow of the television screen – it was Fleck’s favourite animated movie they were watching and it was their favourite scene too. It brought a tear to their eye, both in fantasy and in reality, and to the eyes of the little prince beside them.
“I can give you everything,” further words of promises slithered from Vail’s mouth into Fleck’s ears. “You can finally have the peace you’ve always yearned for, and nothing will ever take it away from you. Just touch the glass, and everything will be yours. Forever.”
Fleck gazed into the glass, inching closer as more blissful scenes flashed before their eyes. Trips to the funfair, eating cotton candy and riding on the rollercoaster; both he and them raising their arms as they went down the big dipper. The beach with sands that were never scorching hot or waters that were too cold. The siblings built the most impressive sandcastle ever – modelled from the one in the Underground – winning first place at a sandcastle building competition.
Fleck stepped closer.
The places they would travel and the sights they would see flashed before their eyes. The Great Pyramids. The Taj Mahal. The Eiffel Tower. Big Ben. The Statue of Liberty. Before each scene stood all four of them, a family seeing the world that they were denied for too long.
Opening presents on Christmas day. Hunting for chocolate eggs on Easter. Dressing in scary costumes for Halloween. Watching Asriel blow out the candles on his birthday cake. Moments to cherish, one after another, flashed in the mirror.
Another step.
Asriel was before them now. His image so crisp, like he was actually there. No longer a cry-baby, but smiling from his cheeks. The happiest boy in the world. There was no reason for him to be sad anymore, not when he had family, not when he had friends, and not when he had Fleck.
They could hear Asriel’s voice, as clear as crystal. “I’m so happy, Fleck. I never want this to end," he said and reached out with an open palm. “Take my hand.” His voice echoed in their head, sounding like a yearning from their own soul. “Never let me go again.”
Fleck reached out, guided by the powerful feeling in their heart.
“That’s it, Fleck,” Vail whispered, edging his mouth close to the child’s ear. “Take his hand. Embrace never-ending joy and, at last, your journey will finally be complete.”
The third step brought Fleck that slightest bit closer to the glass, and closer to their happily ever after.
Asriel eyes flashed, never leaving theirs for a second. “I want you to stay, Fleck.”
By now, a divine, unbreakable force was guiding the child, drawing them further still. Their eyes were unblinking, locked on the white figure.
“I need you, Fleck.”
Their fingers were so close to the ice, brushing against furry fingertips. Vail’s grin widened to its limits, ready to witness the liberation of another tortured soul and the initiation of his new best friend.
Fleck wanted to stay here forever, in harmony.
Asriel opened his arms wide, ready to take their sibling into his embrace. “I love you, Fleck.”
The corners of Fleck’s eyes watered. They loved him too, which was exactly why they had to do this.
CRASH!
Through their hazy vision, a silver ice-pick lodged itself into the surface, their gloved hand wrapped around the handle. The image of a child with his arms outstretched shattered into a web of cracks.
Just like that, with one regretful swing, the visions, eternal happiness, Asriel – all gone. The celestial hold on them relinquished.
Vail jumped back, visibly shocked. “Wha… why did – why did you…?” He belligerently rounded the child, glimpsing the corner of their eye. “You – your happy ending was right in front of you and you smashed it to pieces! Why? Why did you do that?”
The pain within Fleck’s soul was so great that it stopped the tears before they flowed. From that pain bore strength, the strength needed to face the angry monster.
Because it was not real. That’s why.
Vail bared his jagged teeth. “Not real? It would’ve be real for you! Who cares what other people think! What has reality ever done for you? All you did was disrespect that kid’s memory by shattering that glass.”
Fleck responded strong and sure of themself. The real Asriel would not want them to mourn their loss forever or to be stuck in the past. He would want them to move on, to live their life, and take care of those closest to them. Living in that fantasy would only insult his sacrifice, ruining everything he fought to achieve with his selfless act.
That was why Fleck broke the mirror. That Asriel was not the real Asriel. Nothing Vail could do would ever match the real thing.
“So you’d rather live in your sad reality than in a world where you can have everything you’ve ever wanted?” Vail slowly shook his head, keeping his sights locked on the human. “Then… I was wrong. You’re not the friend I’ve been waiting for – not even close.
“I should destroy you right now, but since you enjoy this lousy reality of yours, I’ll let it break you down piece by piece. My friends will find you, and together, they will show you how wonderful their worlds are compared to yours. Then we’ll see how much you like it after you’re beaten and broken.”
With his mind having been spoken, he walked straight into what was left of the mirror – sinking in like he himself was the refraction. Fleck was once again alone. Their pulse raced from what they had just avoided. Had they not worked up the will to shatter the glass, they would have suffered the same fate as Johnny, Mika, and Lena before them.
Throwing the ice-pick at Asriel’s reflection was the hardest thing they’ve ever done.
Just when they thought they had time to breathe, Vail reappeared in the same spot. “One more thing for the record,” he said with a sneer. “I think about that poor, misguided soul abandoned forever in the Underground and…” He paused and let out a small growl of disgust aimed directly at them as he sank back into the glass. “It should’ve been you.”
Chapter 20: Bad Memories
The Obelisk. T
he ancient monolith holding this world together; its origins from a time long forgotten.
The young emperor was watching it again. Whenever he needed a really long time alone to his thoughts, he stepped out into the royal garden and gazed at the pillar. No matter the time, no matter the weather, no matter the occasion, whenever he needed a deep and thoughtful journey within the depths of his own mind, he would always wind up before the pillar.
As a growing prince, he would occasionally get into trouble for gazing at it, from his teachers to his trainers to his doctors and from his father on those cold nights and pouring rainfalls. Perhaps he should have known better – it would have spared him a few colds – but he could not help it. If his fuzzy thoughts required some stone gazing, this was where he ended up. Now, as the ruler, with no teachers and no trainers to pester him, he was free to stare at it anytime he fancied.
The frequency of this resulted in the construction of the bench he sat on, crafted simply to accommodate Zeus alone. Compiled from thick planks of fine, light wood to compliment the vibrancy of the garden, it was a large seat even when he was a boy, and built to last; those behind its creation hundreds of years ago possessed some unprecedented foresight that he would still use it to this day. As long as it received a fresh lick of varnish every year, it was likely to outlive the emperor himself.
Zeus had every line, every letter, every symbol, and every chink and crack of the Obelisk memorised. Although it always seemed to alter in the very slightest every time he put eyes on it, he could have painted an accurate representation had he chosen the paintbrush over the sword.
Behind him and beside him, he could just barely hear the steps of the gardeners and the soft sprinkles of their watering cans as they went about nourishing the flowers. Their job required them to be as quiet as possible whenever the emperor himself was present, to not disturb him or even obstruct the line of sight between him and the Obelisk. Their watering cans were heavy with magic-infused water, fermented to rejuvenate the fake flowers, making their petals flourish with colour and their stigmas smelling fresh. There were a few withering buds among the technicolour of plants, more than usual; a few drops made them as good as new in seconds. The gardeners had been called out for the third time this week.
Why did Emperor Zeus enjoy gazing at the Obelisk so much? Ever since discovering it, that is all he has done – look at it. Four sides and yet he gravitated toward the one facing east. There, at the foot of the Obelisk, deep, small markings were scratched into the rock. These marks were entirely different from the fading inscriptions that spanned from top to bottom, these looking like they were made with sharp claws as opposed to a hammer and chisel.
The Emperor was unable to recall whether those scratches had always been there.
Just like all the other markings, the language was strange and one that Zeus did not recognise. The only person who came close to translating it years ago was Professor Haze, back when he was the proud scientist for the Empire.
Haze had tried everything: magic spells, enchantments, scriptures and incantations, technology, and achieved so much. At all times, he kept his work behind closed door, allowing only a select few to see them – Zeus excluded. Many came to a conclusion that there was nothing left to discover; however, from the day he cast his eyes on it, Zeus knew that it was capable of some much more. A power most extraordinary, hidden deep within. A secret power, just waiting to be tapped as confirmed by the dying breaths of his father.
He was close now to discovering that power. If only he had the key…
If only he had that determination…
If only he killed that creature when he had the chance…
If only… If only…
His father’s passing reminded Zeus of one sad truth that made him feel especially lonely. It struck him that the Obelisk was the second thing left from planet Earth, the first being himself, and the rest being all the lives transported alongside him a millennia ago. As he grew up, all those around him raised families, grew old, grew older, and then, one by one, crumbled into dust. For reasons unknown to him, he remained young, immortalised in his youth while the other children from his past grew withered and bitter and eventually joined their ancestors in the depths of the Forest. Until a few days back, it had been himself and his father for the longest time. Now he stood alone, still young, wondering how much time he had left.
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The rushing water almost sounded like the oceans from his childhood.
Whenever the stillness was at its highest, he always thought he could hear the slightest hum radiating from the Obelisk, sounding like a gentle lullaby of a beautiful woman.
And that voice. He had heard it so long ago, once…
* * *
Zeus opened his eyes to the grey skies of a thousand years ago, sitting amongst the trees and on prickly grass. The air was quiet, still, and cold, yet the dire sense of urgency cut like a knife. Danger was afoot wherever they went.
It had been days since the final battle, which got thousands of monsters killed and the survivors exiled under that mountain, one of which being King Asgore himself. The entourage, a large group of monsters, had been on the move ever since, marching non-stop into the east, pushing their wagons and very spirits to the breaking point. Without their ruler, they were but children stumbling in the dark.
Feet in agony and backs ready to snap, they travelled as far as they could before reaching the coastline. Now they had halted in the woodlands nearby, planning their next move. Small canvas tents had been dismally set up and a chill set through the camp as they were too afraid of setting fires in case the enemy spotted the smoke.
They had sent scouts to search the lands to the north and south, but the early reports were not promising. Hours ago, the scouts from the north returned, confirming many humans approaching from that direction.
Food was low; pickings were scarce and local game were hard to catch. Water rations were drying up. Weapons were in short supply, and their aching and starving bodies could barely walk let alone fight. It did not take long until fear settled in every soul. Morale had never been so low. All their hopes lay upon those in the south.
Six year old Zeus sat near the threshold of the woods, gazing out to sea; the sunset a beautiful sight, yet did nothing to ease the stabbing pain in his stomach or the gnawing thirst on his tongue. His crown of golden hair had just started growing as a tuff between the ears, appearing more a dull bronze under the dirt. The fur hugged his cheeks tightly, accentuating the lines under his eyes; a sure sign of malnutrition. A thick potato sack of a tunic billowed loosely around his frame of skin and bones, held in place by a coil of worn rope. No shoes adorned his cold and muddy feet. He hadn’t said a word since that final battle – if it could be called that: the massacre that took away his mother and grandparents. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep, for every time he closed his eyes the scene would appear again and again.
His grandfather; he was no warrior. On the ground. Eyes closed. Breathing slowly. Mortally wounded.
From out the corner of his eye, Zeus spotted movement and heard the unmistakable trot of hooves and the whining of a horse – a pained whine. The brown stead limped over a distant peak, barely able to carry himself let alone the rider on his back. The two placed to watch their southern flank rose from their spots, gripping their spears and shields, anticipating any incoming trouble.
“Who is that?” one asked the other.
Zeus, who was too wracked in their misery to care, already knew something was amiss from how hunched the mouse scout was over the reins, leaning on the horse’s long neck. He managed to steer with one good hand, just barely.
The second monster on watch shielded his eyes with his hand, getting a better look. “Wait a minute…” he whispered, then shouted, “It’s Danyell! He’s returned!”
The first guard glanced questioningly at the second. “It is?” He looked past the scout at the distant landscape, baring misshapen teeth in deep con
cern. “But… where’s Raulf and Elyot?”
Danyell had made it back just in time to slip from the saddle and crumple on the moist earth. The two rushed out and, carrying from by his arms and legs, pulled him inside the safety of the woods.
The sight of another fellow monster in pain did not help little Zeus…
His mother by his grandfather’s side. Crying. Holding his grandfather’s head to her chest.
Tent flaps opened and the veterans, generals, medics and elders flocked around the scout within seconds, examining his wounds and badgering him with questions that he was in no condition to answer. Not with an arrow lodged in his thigh and several lacerations over his body. His boiled leather armour had prevented some cuts from being life-threatening, but he was still gravely injured. He would pull through with the help of an experienced surgeon and excellent medicine, neither of which they had. The most they could do was clean and bandage the wounds, the rest was up to how strong of a soul he possessed.
General Juhi, Zeus’s father, emerged from his tent, wearing his chest plate and stripes as proudly a failing general could, and stopped at Danyell’s side; his presence parted all others aside. “Can you talk?” he asked as gently as possible. “What happened?”
Danyell stirred. His eyes opened a fraction. “They were waiting for us…” he rasped. “Thousands of them… advancing up the coast to the south…”
Juhi gripped the corner of the makeshift bed, suppressing his anxieties the best he could. “Raulf and Elyot…?”
The wounded scout closed his eyes, on the verge of crying. “They didn’t make it… I barely got out of there…” His lead lolled to the side. “Barely… got…”
With a rigorous shake by the shoulders, Juhi managed to stir some life back into Danyell. “Stay with us! Don’t you dare fall asleep lest you never wake up.” He turned to the medics. “Get him inside and keep his temperature steady.”
Everyone could see it and hear it: the cracking in the General’s voice. Deep bags lined his eyes from a lack of sleep. The terrible departure of his wife and family had left his soul in pieces. He was no soldier, no mighty commander of troops, but a simple worker who used to earn just enough money to keep his family fed. He had experience in handling team efforts, making him the only man eligible for the stripes.
