Long ago, a whole nation once looked up to Queen Toriel for guidance. As far as the populace was concerned, she was a beacon of wisdom.

  However, in recent decades, she felt as though she were nothing but a fool.

  She wondered in her heart:

  I am determined to be here… But have I made the correct decision?

  The heavy iron doors of the underground bunker shut behind her with a loud clang. Toriel found herself staring down a long corridor, lit up with dim emergency lights.

  A strange odour emanated from the depths. Stale, with a hint of foulness. Her immediate instinct was to cover her nose to block out the stench.

  Anya Willowherb, the most experienced Magus in the group, already took charge. “Everyone, hold on. Prison entrances don’t look like this. Doctor Gaster’s doorway seems to have cut through to the middle of the structure.”

  Turning around, Toriel noticed that the iron doors were not anchored to the wall in any way, hanging as its own piece.

  “This concerns me greatly,” Doctor Gaster fretted, “I was sure that I saved the coordinates of the proper entrance. It appears that we’re dealing with a shifting structure. Unless we know the rhyme and reason, maps will also be rendered useless.”

  Willowherb then asked: “Sans Serif, do you have any means to navigate to Doctor Weiss?”

  Showing the Seraph System, he said, “Yup. That’s why I need this. PUN values are gonna be the only consistent stuff in here.”

  Frisk innocently interjected: “What about your edgy Red Eye?”

  “Weiss is too much of a weaksauce to even register. The combined auras coming out of you and Anya outshine him anyway.”

  Sans started working his magic with the Seraph System. The wisps of coloured flame in his left Eye shifted from their original hues of cyan, yellow, and purple into all sorts of other combinations. Toriel sometimes saw orange, green, and blue, alongside his existing set. She knew that he endured great mental strain, despite the marvels of technology, as evident from bits of sweat forming on his bald skull.

  After that, he returned to default with his brows furrowed. “…Weird. It’s like he’s moving around? No, wait, maybe it’s more accurate to say he’s… everywhere yet nowhere at the same time? Really not sure what to make of this. Let me test something.”

  With a Karma-laced fingertip, Sans cut a horizontal line across the prison wall. The line sealed itself in a matter of seconds.

  “Crap. Just as I thought. With this kind of self-repairing abilities, this facility is closer to a living organism than a mere building.”

  Artificer Willowherb said, “What’s our threat level, Sans Serif?”

  “Low if things stay quiet. High if anything activates.”

  “Understood. From here onwards, there will be three rules to keep in mind at all times. I’m about to fulfil the first one, which is to secure the true exit.”

  She tapped her shepherd’s hook on the door to cast her Mark. Arcanagrams bloomed around the miniature image of her tool to further reinforce it.

  “I’ve anchored this location to the doctor’s door,” she explained. “This shall be your true exit. Don’t be fooled by any floorplans you might find. They will lead to nowhere at best, and to your doom at worst.”

  Frisk asked, “So, is Goopdoc’s work 100% confirmed and secure?”

  “Unfortunately, no. That’s why I informed Lucidia to come to our rescue after three hours have passed. Dreamworlds function on their own whims and logic, and will work actively to maintain their status quo. Given Sans Serif’s earlier organism analogy, perhaps it may be best to visualise this kind of behaviour as the actions of an immune system.”

  “Oh! So that means we’re like a virus or bacteria invading their insides? And Goopdoc’s door is like a cut or an injection?”

  “You’re catching on, Little Keeper. We’re the invaders here.”

  “Is there any way to protect the exit better?”

  “In theory, adding more Determination to the anchors will make them much more durable.”

  “If that’s the case…” The ever helpful child offered a Red Star to Miss Willowherb. “Will this help?”

  “Hmmm… while your Mark lacks experience, it certainly is very powerful.”

  And so, Frisk’s star was added for support. A smaller magic circle linked their addition to the main setup. How far had The Surface’s magic progressed, Toriel thought.

  Once Artificer Willowherb was done, she addressed the group again. “Now, for the second rule: whatever is born from the Dreamworld only exists within the Dreamworld. Anything you take from here will vanish the moment you leave, or the moment the dream ends. Therefore, the ideal scenario is to prepare your own tools and secure them before entry.”

  For a live demonstration, she took out a magical storage box, and retrieved multiple cloth scrolls.

  “Please take these.”

  Toriel accepted the scroll. While unrolling it, she noticed velcro was sewn at the ends for a quick and easy setup. Even a young child could open these on their own, a trait Toriel much appreciated.

  Then, she caught a glimmer of its contents. Somehow, she could read the script even though it contained words from antiquity. Words that her own people had long forgotten.

  She must have stared at it for a long time, because she felt Frisk tugging on her sleeve.

  “…Mom? Are you okay?” they asked.

  “Oh. I am fine, my child. It is just… I find it surprising to see this language again after so many centuries. I thought it would have gone extinct on The Surface as well.”

  Willowherb said, “That may be because I come from an ancient mage family. You could say my preferred programming language has foundations long before The Magus Association. Though, the framework has improved to modern standards.”

  “I see…”

  “Before we forget, the third rule is this: we must maintain communications with each other at all times. In a realm where anything and everything could go wrong, having the correct information makes all the difference between life or death. That’s what the scrolls are for. Please wear them on your upper arm.”

  Turning to Frisk, Toriel said, “Let me help fix that for you.”

  Smiling, the child replied, “And I’ll help you too, Mom.”

  While the mother and child wrapped the cloth for each other, the rest of the adults wrapped their scroll around their own arms. Sans resorted to relying on telekinesis for the process.

  Toriel couldn’t help but to be concerned about him. He endured suffering after suffering, and all the while she wasn’t able to alleviate it.

  “Knock, knock.”

  She gasped in astonishment. “Sans? Your voice… it is coming from between my ears!”

  “Give it a go, Tori. Think about what you want to say, and then direct the flow of magic through the scroll.”

  And a go she gave it. This old goat could still learn new tricks.

  “Who’s there?” she transmitted back.

  “Radio.”

  “Radio who?”

  “Radi-o not, here I come.”

  They chuckled together like the good old days.

  Cenna groaned through the transmitter. “I’m dying from cringe. Is this how it’s like to see your mom openly flirt in front of you?”

  “Sometimes, yeah,” Frisk replied. “I’m used to it.”

  “Ya sure ya ain’t looking for ‘I’m dead inside’?”

  “Hmmm… Maybe you’re right, sis.”

  The matron narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me!”

  This time, it was the siblings who started laughing together. They spared no mercy in their teasing.

  Artificer Willowherb cleared her throat. “I believe that’s enough light-hearted cheer for now. Attention please.”

  It didn’t take long for everyone to get back on track.

  “In summary,” Willowherb said, “the expedition rules are: first, secure the true exit no matter what. Second, only use tools brought from outside. Third, maintain communication at all times.”

  Toriel nodded along. Everything she had said so far was very sensible.

  “Though, since this group consists mostly of civilians, I’ll add a small clarification. For clear communication, end your phrases with ‘Over’ to expect a reply. Say ‘Out’ if you expect no reply. ‘End Call’ is an acceptable replacement for ‘Out’. Please do not ever use ‘Over and Out’. That mistake should remain in TV, films, and civilian-brand radio.”

  Artificer’s Willowherb’s military background was clear from her disciplined conduct. Yet, she made sure to explain it in an understandable manner with minimal jargon.

  “Judge Caraway, would you like to request additional supplies?”

  “Energy potions, Truesight potions, blank scrolls, pens… Maybe a mana compass as well, if you have them in stock. Might need a Focus potion to use that one.”

  “What about extra firearms? It’s wise to conserve mana in a labyrinth.”

  After a quick observation of her surroundings, Cenna concluded: “…I’ll take some. Thanks.”

  Frisk asked: “Are guns even effective on skeletons? No piercing damage penalty?” They were curious as always.

  Sans snorted. “Kid, I just lost my arm to a super sniper not long ago.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You weren’t there to see it, and I’m glad you didn’t.”

  While Cenna arranged for extra tools, Toriel went around to check on everyone in person. She sought for signs of illness or stress: problems that well-meaning people often try to hide.

  Sans winked back in response. Frisk returned a thumbs up to reassure their health and confidence. While Gaster… acted unusually stooped. His whole body quivered and rippled.

  Walking over to his side, she asked: “Gaster, are you afraid?”

  The Seer Amalgamate squeezed his eyes shut, regaining his composure. “Your Majesty, I… I… Yes. With all my Bravery, I shall admit I’m terrified. There’s something about this realm that disturbs me down to the core of my being.”

  Toriel soothed him with gentle pats on his arm. “Perhaps it is better for you to stay behind.”

  “But…” His words trailed off midway.

  Sans said, “Tori’s got the right idea. Be on standby just in case something hits the fan.”

  “If that’s the case… Give me a moment.”

  Doctor Gaster plucked out bits of goopy material from his body, turning them into mini skulls. He handed them out to the rest, saying: “These are pieces of myself. Talking to them is the same as talking to me. On the downside, you can’t use them to cross-communicate with others. They’re good enough as backups if the current setup fails, though I pray it never comes to that.”

  Frisk held the skull up with a sense of playful curiosity. “Thanks, Goopdoc.”

  “This will be very helpful, indeed.” Toriel tucked Gaster’s tool into one of the hidden inner pockets on her robes, always useful in carrying little booklets, money, and other small tools.

  Around this time, both Cenna and Willowherb had completed their preparations. They wore an additional belt around their waist to hoist a collection of SOUL-coloured potions, ammunition, guns, and other assorted Alchemic tools.

  Though Toriel knew the mages had modernised on The Surface, seeing them with firearms still caused an uncanny clash with her memories. They used to walk around with books, staves, and wands.

  “Alright, everyone ready?” asked Cenna.

  A unanimous agreement was made, and the group of four adults and one child began their expedition.

  Toriel squinted a bit in an attempt to get a better look at her surroundings. Her eyesight in the dark was poor in comparison to others. With Willowherb’s approval, she used her flame magic to provide the group with some much appreciated extra light.

  It revealed a huge circular gate nearby, blocking their way. Multiple grooves radiated from the centre to the outer perimeter.

  The old goat commented: “It… it reminds me of a camera shutter. The old types, used in vintage photography.”

  Sans raised an eyebrow. “Huh. I don’t remember running into these when Snakeface and I sped through this place. They were probably wide open at the time. Tori, could you shine on it a little?”

  “Sure thing, Sans. Please give me a moment.”

  But a most peculiar reaction happened when her orbs got close. The gate’s aperture began to retreat into the wall, opening a path forward into the darkness, without the need for a keycard, nor a password, nor triggering any additional defences.

  Frisk asked, “What’s going on? Why did it open?”

  To which Sans replied, “If the building is more of an organism than a structure, I think the gate just dilated from the warmth of Tori’s magic. No defences yet, huh? Curious. Anyway, let’s proceed. More lights please?”

  Toriel summoned several more fireballs and sent them ahead. A dizzying corridor revealed itself in the darkness beyond. The unfolding spiral path swirled along the walls, interlaced with massive metal pipes serving some ominous unknown purpose.

  “I see where we are now. Take it from someone who came through here before, I have a tip to share…” Sans tapped his foot on the ground a few times. “The gravity in this section is linked to the road. Whatever you do, stay firmly planted. Don’t jump. Don’t try to climb through the middle. It’s a bad time either way. Got it?”

  Everyone nodded before proceeding onto the winding path. Round and round and round and round they went… The facility’s strange architecture forced them onto what seemed like a constant, endless spiral.

  No one chatted or joked, to the point where the silence almost became too deafening to bear. Everyone focused their attention on the unknown before them.

  …Until seemingly out of the blue, Sans said, “Knock, knock.”

  Toriel replied without thinking. “Who’s there?”

  “Sans.”

  “Sans who?”

  “Nothing much. Giving you some ‘Sans’ of direction, that’s all.”

  How she burst into laughter from that joke.

  “Phew.” Sans breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally got your attention there, Tori.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You were completely hypnotised. Like how Frisk zoned out in The Void earlier. Look upwards, Tori. We’ve arrived in a new area.”

  Toriel lifted her head and gasped at the sight. Multitudes of stairs, bridges, and entrances twisted over each other into an overlapping maze, stretching so high over her head, she couldn’t see the end.

  Frisk waved their hands as they stood upside-down on a bridge. “Mom!” they yelled, “Over here!”

  “FRISK!” their mother cried out. “What are you doing?! That is too dangerous! Please, get down from there!”

  “No, Mom! You’re the one stuck on the ceiling!”

  “…Huh?”

  Sans added, “Afraid to say the kiddo speaks the truth. I think you turned at the wrong junction and ended up upside down. Good thing I can teleport.”

  Toriel realised that she was not looking at an airwell. Instead, she was staring down a bottomless hole. Just the thought made her feet curl.

  The communication scroll on her arm sent a signal to her mind.

  “Judge Caraway speaking. Are you alright, Queen Toriel-- Mother? Please respond. Over.”

  It was unusual to hear Cenna speaking with the disciplined, stoic, and factual tone. Toriel closed her eyes to respond. “I am safe. Sans is with me. Um, ‘Over’.”

  “Glad to hear that. Artificer Willowherb has secured an exit point. I’m getting Crimson Keeper Frisk right now, then will lead you there. Out.”

  The transmission ended. From her topsy-turvy ceiling, she saw Cenna climb down a disconnected stairway much further away, only to appear on the same bridge as Frisk.

  “Welp. Time for me to get to work.” Sans wrapped one arm around Toriel’s waist without any prompt or permission.

  “Excuse me, what--”

  One blink later, and she was on the bridge, right-side up and beside her adopted human children. Sans’ instantaneous teleportation was quick to the point of being nauseatingly jarring. Toriel covered her mouth as she gagged from the sudden shift.

  Concerned, Frisk quickly cast a Green star to soothe her sickness. “Are you okay?”

  Cenna said, “Is that ‘teleportation sickness’? Sure looks like it. I remember hearing Lucy telling me about folks falling ill after crossing a Seer portal. Thinking back, I don’t think Mother ever teleported the Sans Serif way before.”

  Rubbing their chin, the younger child pondered. “Hmmm… I never fell sick from all that shortcutting and teleporting, though.”

  “You definitely lucked out there, Frisky.”

  After a while, Toriel stood back on her two feet without help. “I… I am better now. That Green Magic was certainly helpful. Good job, my child. You make me proud.”

  Frisk let out a small but happy ‘yay’.

  Cenna beckoned to the group. “This way to Artificer Willowherb!”

  The walk to the exit was shorter than Toriel thought. She was fully expecting to wander the full length of the myriad of stairs, yet those were a trap in and of itself. Artificer Willowherb waited at another shutter, kept open with a warm lamp held up with magic.

  Toriel bowed and apologised, “I am sorry for my misstep. It is quite embarrassing.”

  The most senior guide reassured her: “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Your Majesty. In fact, I’m glad the effects were caught early. It would be a real trouble if all five of us succumbed to the haze. Everyone, take heed, please keep your mind active. Ask math questions, sing songs, throw jokes, whichever you prefer. Avoid repetitive tasks that put you on autopilot.”

  Sans and Toriel chose to exchange more of their favourite jokes, while Frisk preferred to chat with Cenna about whatever they fancied.

  As for Willowherb… she hummed a variety of tunes. Sometimes they were folk songs. Other times they were marching songs. Once in a while, she sang hymns of protection, presumably in ancient tongues.

  Past another aperture gate, Willowherb stopped in her tracks. Everyone else paid heed to follow her lead. Both music and chatter ceased, replaced with wary silence.

  The environment ahead opened up into a vast chamber filled with oversized birdcages, dangling on their chains, empty and open. Toriel’s light was insufficient to illuminate the ceiling from which they hung.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Mysterious black drafts made each birdcage sway back and forth in The Void. Creaking. Clinking. Clanking. Those small sounds coalesced into a mess of noise, acting as morbid wind chimes of imminent doom.

  Cenna shuddered. “Blah. It’s like someone went too crazy on the Halloween deco. Totally not creepy at all…”

  “There’s nobody in them.” Frisk commented, “I thought The Handler had tons of victims? Where are they?”

  Willowherb readied her weapon. “That’s exactly the problem, little one. These empty cages are an ill omen. Everyone, be on guard as we proceed.”

  The next area revealed an entirely different layout altogether. Here, floors and floors of high-security jail cells were stacked on top of each other into an apartment complex of horrors.

  Once again, every single one of those cells had their contents emptied and their doors ajar.

  Before anyone could comment, a warm and slimy liquid dripped on Toriel’s head, rolling down her fur. It was filled with hungering killing intent.

  Is that… drool?

  Sensing grave danger, Toriel’s motherly instincts kicked right in. She pulled Frisk to her side and shielded the child with her own body.

  What followed after was a moment of loud, bombastic chaos of gunshots and magic. Dreaded monster dust rained down upon her shoulders. How she wished she could block out the rattles of falling skeletons.

  Not long after, silence returned. Sans and the two Magi had finished the job.

  “Dammit.” Cenna worked fast to reload her gun while turning her SOUL into its bird-form. “We have a prisoners’ revolt! It really is the worst case scenario.”

  Sans added, “Nah. Not the worst. I’d say things can still go way more downhill from here.”

  “Do you have to be a pessimistic nihilist right now?”

  “Just being realistic.”

  Frisk cried out, “Why did you kill the skeletons?! I thought we agreed on SAVING them!”

  To which Sans replied, “Hold your horses, kiddo. They’re not double dead yet. Remember, I’ve dealt with this Dreamworld’s owner and I’ve read his rules. Notice we’re not gaining any EXP or LV? That means the prisoners should start reviving… right about now.”

  Just as Sans made that conclusion, Toriel felt the dust seemingly roll off her fur and clothes. Speck by speck, shard by shard, the remains flowed back into their designated jail cells.

  The doors of the occupied cells slammed shut. Their reformed prisoners bashed against the entrance in an attempt to escape again, but they were soon punished by painful jolts of electricity.

  Horrified, Toriel covered Frisk’s ears to muffle the tormented screams.

  Sans said, “Yup. Downhill trajectory confirmed. The facility is restoring its power supply as we speak. I wonder what’s fueling it…”

  Standing up, Toriel declared: “We have to abandon the mission. This is much too dangerous for anyone to continue, more so when we have a child with us!”

  “But Mom,” Frisk protested, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. “We have to find a way to set them free!”

  “We can always come back later--”

  In the middle of the age-old parent-child argument, Toriel felt the ground rumble beneath her feet. The surroundings split apart into chunks, separating the group of five into their separate islands. The walls, the ceiling, the floors, the corners, they all darted at dangerous speeds.

  The mother and child clung to each other tighter for their dear lives. Beneath the shifting floors was nothing but the abyss. Her stomach twisted from the sheer verticality.

  She heard Sans yelling, “Tori, get down!”

  Duck she did, still using her own body as a shield for Frisk. A whole jail cell narrowly flew over her head, with its occupant screaming inside from the terror of being thrown around.

  Sans’ lasers and Cenna’s Yellow magic made quick work of other flying debris. However, the rules of the Dreamworld restored the blown up structure in a matter of seconds.

  Toriel felt her island tilting downwards. She thought of jumping, but the area was too chaotic to find anywhere safe. Therefore, a difficult decision had to be made: go down together with Frisk into unknown dangers, or give her precious child to a more experienced fighter.

  She chose the latter. The moment she saw a brief opening, the mother threw Frisk at the nearest available person, who so happened to be Cenna.

  Once that was done… her floating platform completely flipped over by itself, dropping Toriel straight into the darkness below.

  “Tori!”

  “No!”

  “MOM!!!”

  The Mother Queen of Monsters reached her hand out to her loved ones. Alas, they only shrank further and further and further away from her grasp.

  Is this how I will die? Toriel wondered.

  Well… it is rather poetic. I had already fallen so very, very far from grace.

  She closed her eyes in resignation, ready for whatever killing impact that awaited her.

  So be it. As long as Frisk is safe.

  However… someone else activated the communication scroll.

  The voice of an elderly human woman said: “It’s too soon to give up, Your Majesty.”

  “O’ heaven’s wings, I seek your flight. Lift this weighted soul with your merciful might. Upon this name: Toriel Dreemurr, Queen of Monsters, I proclaim!”

  Shining white wings sprouted from her back. Every flap slowed her fall at a gentle and consistent pace. Toriel could feel that this was not the modern Mark magic of the Reds. It lacked the pure directness of will that Mezil and Frisk exhibited. The evocation of sacred symbols, the style of incantation, and the use of True Names bore hallmarks of the ancient ways.

  The light from the wings illuminated Toriel’s surroundings, revealing the masked, hooded Magus. Her Red SOUL resonated with Blue magic. She had to be at least a ‘Blue Minor’ – as the Magi would label them – since she kept to the same pace as Toriel’s slow descent rather than falling to her doom.

  The ends of her long cloak floated in the air, giving her a haunting, otherworldly vibe. She was the sage, the witch, the ghost, the stranger: symbols of those who ascended beyond mundane mortality. In some ways, it reminded the Queen of Monsters when Sans became a false god with his mad science project.

  Sighing in relief, Willowherb said, “I’m glad to have reached you in time, Your Majesty. Jumping after you was quite the gamble. It’s fortunate that you still identify with your current True Name. I was worrying that something might have changed due to your tense family circumstances.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Perhaps a return to your maiden name, knowledge lost to time.”

  The Queen stared at her own hands with a slight smile. “I suppose I have gone by my husband’s surname ‘Dreemurr’ for far too long. Even I am no longer sure what my name used to be.”

  “And despite everything, you still have the heart of a Queen. Your sense of integrity is as strong as Lucidia reported.”

  Anya Willowherb then dropped a bombshell of a question: “Answer me this, then. Why didn’t you ask your child to use their own Blue Magic?”

  Toriel raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  Artificer Willowherb pointed out, “We’re in a Dreamworld. Crimson Keeper Frisk wouldn’t be hindered by their untrained physical body. In other words, there should be no issues in keeping both of you afloat with a little bit of Blue. Why did you instead choose to sacrifice yourself?”

  While maintaining her royal poise, Queen Toriel replied, “And who should take responsibility if an accident happens mid flight? This insane maze was tossing whole prison cells around us! I should not exploit my child’s abilities for my own safety.”

  She waited for the Magus to grill her further, much like what Judge Thyme would have done. Instead… a genuine warm smile beamed on the old woman’s face.

  “An excellent reply,” said Willowherb. “For one, I’m glad to know… that you’re not… the kind of parent… who’d make their child sing… act… and dance for money…”

  Just as she completed the sentence, Willowherb coughed out a splatter of fresh red blood. Soon after, more and more of life’s vital fluid flowed down from the woman’s head, dripping down her forehead, her cheeks, and into the abyss below.

  Toriel let out a huge gasp. “Oh goodness me, what happened to you?!”

  Still forcing herself to maintain her militaristic composure, Willowherb said: “…Your Majesty… as you have predicted… the labyrinth is treacherous. Despite protecting myself… I was… still hit by chunks of the shifting prison… My efforts to reinforce my body… failed… Your decision… the Little Keeper’s safety… was indeed wise…”

  The old sage tried her best to maintain her magic, but despite her efforts to stay strong, she rapidly lost altitude. The magic wings on Toriel’s back started to flicker, a sign of the caster’s fading lifeforce.

  Toriel grabbed Willowherb by the arm before she fell too far. Beneath her grip, she could feel that the human woman was shivering from her critical injuries.

  What if there is a broken bone in her arm? Having her dangle like this would hurt her even more.

  She pulled Willowherb up with little struggle and cradled the human in her arms. Compared to the Boss Monster’s strong and wide body, the old human seemed so very small and frail. The illusion of the Magus’ unapproachable, ethereal aura was completely dispelled by the stark reminder of mortality.

  Over the course of a thousand years, Toriel had seen how their mightiest monsters became almost like infants on their deathbeds. How helpless, how fragile, and how much they needed comforting care.

  This former militarywoman was no different.

  I need to get us to safety, quickly.

  Toriel tried to flap her wings harder to fly upwards… but the magic was borrowed from human magecraft and not her own. It lacked the ability to properly receive a Boss Monster’s might.

  Stupid wings! Why do you have to become useless now???

  No. I should not give in to frustration. Is there anywhere I can land? I would prefer someplace solid to concentrate.

  Toriel looked around everywhere for somewhere to perch. All she could find was a precarious platform jutting out from the side of the wall. It had just enough space for one big Boss Monster alone.

  That should be good enough.

  Toriel leaned her body towards the platform. Although the wings couldn’t fly, they could at least glide far enough for a gentle landing.

  Her two feet firmly planted on the outcropping. There, she sat down and focused on healing Willowherb.

  She poured her warm, nurturing fire into the patient’s body, numbing the pain in the meantime. Otherwise, the recovery process would inflict hell in and of itself.

  …When was the last time I had healed any human with such a serious physical injury? Frisk’s tussle in the Underground mostly affected their SOUL and not their body.

  I think I recall the first aid book for humans stating I should listen for signs of troubled breathing first. Maybe.

  And listen, Toriel did. Every breath gurgled as though it was filled with too much liquid.

  Yet, she could still talk. A crushed throat would have rendered her silent. Perhaps a broken rib had punctured her lungs?

  The ribcage had a distinctive shape that she remembered well, more so after Halloween. Toriel shaped her magic to match her imagination: each of the bones in the right place, and the lungs devoid of wounds.

  After another bout of coughing, Willowherb’s breathing seemed to clear.

  I was correct this round. How fortunate.

  Where else should I look? Aha, I know where.

  “Let me look at your head. It bled so much, it must be a deep wound.”

  “Your… Majesty… wait--”

  A little too late, a little too slow. Toriel’s overzealous concern for Willowherb made her accidentally overstep her boundaries. When she pulled the hood down, she knocked off a hairpin.

  The clatter of the lost pin echoed as Willowherb’s shimmering pure white hair unfurled. Toriel stared back with a slack jaw, stunned and a little confused. Greyed or white human hair was not supposed to be this bright, and definitely not emitting light on its own.

  Huh? How strange. My magic is being drawn in against my will.

  “No! Stop!” Toriel gasped. “This is too much for you to handle!”

  Willowherb grunted. “I… can’t… control…”

  Her masquerade mask tore apart from the surge of energy, revealing a pair of brilliant, power-infused red eyes. Toriel remembered the same phenomenon happening to both Frisk and Judge Thyme.

  An entire network of hidden Arcanagrams then activated on the Magus’ skin. The feedback loop with Toriel’s Boss Monster powers caused the system to go into overdrive.

  The intense restoration continued until the old human stopped shivering and a healthy colour returned to her skin.

  Toriel asked: “What just happened? You mentioned that you could not control your own spell.”

  Her consciousness regained, The Magus explained: “My critical injuries triggered a number of emergency protocols. It’s designed to absorb magic or lifeforce from the nearest viable entity to repair my body. Yours were especially potent since you’re a Boss Monster.”

  “Is this related… to Necromancy?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, it is indeed. Feign ignorance, however. Witnessing this information is more dangerous than you realise.”

  Although she didn’t understand why, the Queen understood the need for secrecy. “My lips are sealed.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Willowherb tried to sit upright. Though resuscitated, her movements were still heavy and awkward.

  Toriel let the human sit on her lap instead. “This will have to do. We do not have much room otherwise. Well. Um. Do you still feel pain? I feared the amount of magic you took in might have been too much for a human.”

  “Fortunately, I’ve been trained to manage magic since I was a toddler. I guarantee you that nothing short-circuited within me. Only some aches here and there remain. Thank you for your tender care.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  Taking the opportunity in this moment of safety, Willowherb took out a sealed foil packet from her storage box. The Magus twisted the cap off the spout and started drinking. Portable drinks were good enough for the military Magus, it seemed.

  “Would you want one, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes. Indeed I would. Thank you.”

  The contents of her packet tasted of orange and mango. Zesty.

  After finishing their drink, Willowherb took out another hairpin from her dimensional box. However, when she tried to tie her hair on her own, she winced in pain.

  Feeling guilty, Toriel offered: “Please allow me to fix my mistake.”

  The hairpin passed hands, and Toriel did her best to collect the human woman's long hair up into a bun. Admittedly, her handiwork was somewhat rusty, since being a furry goat meant that she didn’t have locks of her own to practise on.

  At that moment, she found a fresh scar underneath the white glow, recently healed by her own magic. Still, there were many other older scars everywhere around it. Some had the dotted rows of surgical sutures, others were left to natural, unaltered means.

  “You have been through much,” said the Queen with pain in her heart.

  The Magus replied in resignation: “This is… nostalgic. Mom used to say that. I still remember how hard she cried after my first major hospitalisation.”

  Based on her age, Toriel figured that this woman’s parents were likely to have already passed away.

  I should not think too hard about it. Humans are very short lived compared to Boss Monsters…

  “And… done,” said Toriel.

  The hair bun was a little messy, but it was good enough to be tucked under the hood again.

  “Thank you once again.” Willowherb then took out a new mask and replaced her torn one. In an instant, she transformed back to her usual mysterious facade.

  Perhaps it was a good time to change subjects. Toriel asked: “Where… Where are the others?”

  “Unknown. Interference has drastically reduced the distance for our comm lines. I estimate our current effective range to be about 10 metres.”

  “Hardly enough to reach anyone. We must hurry back to them.”

  Toriel lifted Willowherb right off her lap, holding the human in her arms. Just like before, the full weight of an adult was no big deal for her Boss Monster strength.

  But then… she felt a slight spin in her head. “I… I feel a little woozy…”

  For safety’s sake, she sat back down and placed Willowherb back on her lap.

  The Artificer said, “Your Majesty, my spell might have drained you too quickly. You should also rest for a while.“

  “Very well. I shall do as you recommend.”

  The two thus sat together for a moment’s respite. As soon as her head cleared, Toriel became acutely aware of the awkwardness between them. Willowherb’s age was less than a tenth of hers. By conventional wisdom, the Queen of Monsters should be the level-headed mature matron of the two. Yet she felt their roles were reversed.

  As if sensing her unease, Willowherb spoke up. “The haze will get to us if we remain quiet for too long. Let’s have a chat instead. Allow me to start by saying that your stamina amazes me. All that mana consumed and you only suffered from mild dizziness at most. Others would have been completely incapacitated for the next ten minutes. Even Lucidia, my best student, may have struggled to do the same.”

  “I-is that so?” Toriel blushed. “I appreciate the compliment. By the way, I have been curious about the relationship between you and Lady Lucidia. You two seem very close to each other.”

  “We saw each other as mother and daughter. That poor girl had too many people who tried to vicariously live through her successes. I did my best to protect her from that kind of evil. Pardon my rudeness, but I thought you might be one of those.”

  Huffing, Toriel exclaimed: “I would never stoop that low--” But when she remembered the children she had lost, the old goat corrected herself. “…I apologise. I -- we, monsterkind as a whole, were guilty of that sin. We had put all our hopes on Chara and Asriel. They were supposed to be our key to freedom.”

  “And Chara was a Red.” Willowherb elaborated: “It’s especially difficult to raise a determined child. They have their own wills and whims. Even if their loyalties align with yours, their actions may not fit with your vision. A dangerous little wildcard. Why, I certainly gave my parents a hard time.”

  The mother queen couldn’t help but to ask, “What about your parents? Did they try to make you into someone you are not?”

  “Ah, that’s a long and complicated story. Will you bear with this old woman?”

  Toriel concluded with a hint of jest, “This positively ancient goat has time to spare, I suppose.”

  Willowherb made herself comfortable and began her story. “I was forcibly adopted out by the village elders. My birth family was deemed ill-suited to care for me, and I was instead given to a different couple with the approved personality and skill. Their one mission was to raise me into a stellar human being, someone so well-balanced and educated, that she’d become fit to be a leader of the Willowherbs.”

  The revelation shocked Toriel to the core. “How awful! When did you discover that twisted plot?”

  Willowherb answered, “I think I had always known. But, I was rudely reminded of it when I finished my final years of school. Word got out that I had expressed my desire to follow my adoptive parents’ footsteps to join the military instead of becoming a necromancer right away. That fact caused quite a bit of drama.”

  “Huh? You wanted to follow who? I thought you would grow up with resentment against your new parents for ripping you away from your real family.”

  “No. Not at all. Although it may be cruel for me to admit, the elders made the right choice. My birth family was too caught up with the prospect of future glory. They would have tried to turn me into a tame, docile sheep to satisfy the elders at my expense. I was much happier with my adoptive parents who worked with my personal growth.”

  “In fact…” Willowherb leaned a bit closer to share a secret. “…They were the ones who helped me run away from the village. Put on a little show. The official story was that I became too skilled for my own good.”

  “Why did they do that?”

  “If the elders’ own stifling wishes go against my well-being, it breaks my adoptive parents’ supposed contract. Everything worked out for the better, if you ask me. I became the much-needed bridge between magic, military, and the Willowherb village. Perhaps you could say that I was ‘Ambassador Anya’.”

  The old Magus continued, “I’m well aware of Frisk’s struggle with the weight of their position. ‘Concern’ would be an understatement.”

  Toriel wrung her hands. “Perhaps it would be prudent for you to remain concerned. I… I have failed so many children, including my own son. Anyone can feed and clothe a child well. Shaping them into a proper adult is a whole other matter. With Frisk’s past ‘exploits’… I have already failed them too many times.”

  “Too many, perhaps. But not too late. Consider yourself lucky, Your Majesty. Few mothers have the chance to try again.”

  “That was certainly quite the perspective, Artificer.”

  The two old ladies exchanged some chuckles.

  Toriel then continued: “May I ask something that may be a bit sensitive? Your other SOUL colours… are they Blue and Yellow? You do not have to answer if you wish to keep it a secret.”

  Willowherb replied, “You are half-correct. My other Minor is not Yellow, but Green.”

  “…I would not have guessed you were a Green at all.”

  “I get that often. Being kind is not the same as being nice. Empathy can fuel quite a temper within me.”

  “Understandable, Artificer. I have been in that position as well.” Twiddling her thumbs and glancing around, Toriel’s chest tightened from hesitation. “One… One more question, if you do not mind. Had the Wanderstars survived, would they have made good parents? Perhaps… better than me?”

  “They had proven themselves to be great parents for Judge Caraway. However I could never say if they would have been better or worse than you for the little Keeper. What works for one child may not work for the other. If all families could guarantee the best upbringing for their children, the world would be a much kinder place. And… we wouldn’t have so many adoptees being passed around.”

  Moments passed, allowing the old goat to sink back into her inner negative spiral. Her heavy shoulders sank from the weight of insecurity. “Artificer… despite my responsibilities as a mother, I have already been rescued three times too many. Though I knew this expedition was far out of my depth, I still insisted on joining for Frisk’s sake. My actions have put everyone else in danger.”

  Willowherb replied, “Did you consider yourself dead weight? Far from it, Your Majesty. You have saved others twice now, myself included. The most important part is that you survived. I'd rather save people multiple times, than have someone die because help couldn’t reach them during that one crucial moment.”

  Hearing that, Toriel’s heart stung with embarrassment. “It seems I have been ungrateful about my own well being, have I not? I apologise for my poor thoughts.”

  “None is needed. I’m just glad I could help. Everyone needs assistance from time to time, and nobody’s perfect. Sometimes I’m out of depth too, you see.”

  “Like with what, if I may be so curious?”

  “Activities without a rigid structure are my weakness. Cooking, for example. While I can make edible meals, they would never match my father’s touch. Art? Little doodles and technical graphs are the best I can accomplish. Colours? Perspective? Composition? They fly over my head.”

  “What about… baking?” asked Toriel.

  “Only strict recipes, please. No pastries.”

  It may be silly, but knowing that she was the superior baker and pastry chef made Toriel a little happier. “Ho ho ho~ When we get out of here, I shall have to make a butterscotch pie for everyone. In fact, I have already requested the supply team to fetch the necessary ingredients.”

  “I look forward to your generosity, Your Majesty.”

  Out of the blue, Gaster’s skull exploded into a frantic muffle within Toriel's robes. Toriel took it out and let it speak free.

  Gasping for air, the doctor exclaimed, “Your Majesty, are you alright?!”

  Willowherb poked the object with her finger. “How peculiar. looks like the creepy doctor’s backup plan actually worked.”

  “Magus?! Why am I seeing you instead of the Queen??? I’m sure my words are going through her channel. Is she--”

  Before anyone panicked even further, Toriel replied: “Do not fret, Doctor Gaster. Artificer Willowherb came to my aid.”

  The little skull relaxed. “I’m so relieved. Sans told me what happened and I feared the worst. Ah, since I’ve confirmed your well being, we can move on to the next part of this urgent report. I used my Seer’s Eyes on this madhouse, and while I may lack Sir Gaelic’s see-through vision, I can zoom out very far and see the structure as a whole floating in The Void. I’m afraid that my findings were more nightmarish than we anticipated.”

  “Do tell,” said the Queen, “Please.”

  “The prison complex is the shape of a human body, Your Majesty! And we’re surrounded by INNARDS! This accursed facility is a twisted manifestation of the original owner! As you know, Your Majesty, the bodies of us skeleton monsters do contain approximate replications of human anatomy courtesy of our origin. I believe we spawned in the equivalent of an artery or a major vein, and now you’re in the trachea. That is, the connection between the lungs and the voice box.”

  Just the thought sickened Toriel. “My goodness...” She muttered under her breath.

  An awkward silence lingered for a few seconds before Willowherb asked: “Doctor Gaster, are you done? Over.”

  “Uh, yes?” Gaster replied. “Did I confuse anyone?”

  “You went on quite a rant. It was unclear if you had finished communicating. For clarification, please end with ‘Over’ if you expect a reply, or ‘Out’ if you expect no reply. Over.”

  “Oh. That radio-code speak thing. Alright, alright, ‘Over’, I suppose.”

  Toriel asked, “Doctor, what about Frisk? Sans? Cenna? Over!”

  “Those three walking calamities are thundering through the facility as we speak. Egads, they’re causing such a ruckus that they made a convenient distraction for the rest of us.”

  “We should hurry back to them as soon as possible. Over.”

  But Gaster said, “Y-Your Majesty! My apologies, I haven’t clarified the real problem yet: the organs are not where you think they are. They’re completely jumbled like a mismatched puzzle. Pawn was an amorphous Amalgamate, after all. Please don’t bother climbing back upwards. The layout has already changed too much.”

  She could only hope that they could hold their own. Looking around, she asked: “If that is the case, how can we escape? Where should we go? Over.”

  “My advice is to secure the main control room. Otherwise, the prison will perpetually reshuffle the true exit out of our grasp. This is where my vision falls short, as I cannot see the contents of each organ. I hazard a guess that our goal is either the brain or the SOUL. Alas, this madhouse had the SHEER audacity to have the brain and the SOUL in two completely opposite ends of each other!”

  “That said, I’ve been juggling between searching for you, guiding Sans to the brain, and the Wanderstar siblings to the SOUL. Now my task shall be to act as your rough satellite map to reunite you to the closest group. One moment please. I have to deliver the good news to the rest. How do I end this call again? ‘Out’? ‘Over’? Whatever, ‘Over and Out’!”

  The skull went silent as Doctor Gaster became a telephone operator for a while.

  Willowherb shook her head. “Stupid civilian errors… Oh well.”

  “Gaster can be quite the scatterbrain at times. Please forgive him for his quirks. He did provide us with valuable information.”

  Toriel ran her hand along the wall. Sans had warned that the gravity in this nightmarish facility was inconsistent, so it was wise to investigate a stable path before leaving their little perch.

  “How peculiar,” she commented. “This spot tries to drag me upwards, while this other one is pulling me towards the wall. Artificer, do you think we can walk on the walls if we stick to the correct zones?”

  “A possible option. There’s still the problem of not knowing where the safe sections are. Climbing equipment can only mitigate the dangers so much.”

  A flash of inspiration ignited in Toriel’s mind. “I just recalled a wonderful science lesson! I was so preoccupied by the possible dangers, I had forgotten a unique trait of fire. Did you know that the shape of a flame is influenced by gravity? The schoolchildren were astonished by that fact.”

  Hearing this, the old Magus became quite excited as well. “Yes, I did. It was actually one of the first science lessons my father taught me. Fire forms a teardrop shape because the hot gases are less dense than air, rising upward. Which means the tip will always point in the opposite direction of gravitational forces.”

  “Exactly! We should thus see some interesting results.”

  Toriel opened her palm. Streams of small individual fire streamed out, spreading into the darkness and scattering as far and wide as they could go.

  As they soon discovered, some flames had their tips pointing upwards. Others pointed sideways. More pointed downwards. And some… turned into dim, fuzzy ovals.

  “Huh?” Toriel blinked a few times. “I am sure I did not make my fire so… cute. Why, that thing looked just like an annoyingly adorable dog.”

  Willowherb pointed at them and explained: “Your Majesty, that’s what happens to fire when it’s in zero gravity. Astronauts discovered this many decades ago.”

  “So there are areas where we would completely float in place?”

  “Or we could use those to jump over gaps. Quite a wildcard, but feasible. This means your plan is much more successful than you had anticipated. If I may, I can help refine your findings. Make as many flames as you possibly can, Your Majesty. We’re going to need them.”

  “Will do, Artificer. Go ahead and do your magic.” Toriel did as requested, creating many more small fires around her. “If you need any extra, take them from my palm.”

  Willowherb conjured her staff, the solid form of her Mark. Raising it, she commanded: “O’ Restless Dead, rise from thy slumber. Be my eyes and ears. Lend thy ways as Pathfinders to guide this flock of flame.”

  Upon that command, dozens of coloured wispy human silhouettes emerged from the necromancer’s body. They started collecting the flames Toriel had made: either from the walls or the new ones from her hand.

  With the knowledge gained from the previous experiment, the Pathfinders rearranged the flames into the safest, most optimal path, narrowed down to a single winding road.

  Just like before, the tips of every flame they had planted pointed in the upward direction, with puffballs only appearing in the zero gravity zones.

  Even if it was rather lengthy, it removed much of the dangerous guesswork. In Toriel’s eyes, that was infinitely better than gambling with their lives.

  The Queen clapped her hands together in delight. “This is wonderful to behold.”

  “Indeed it is, Your Majesty.”

  Gaster’s mini skull started talking again. “I have returned, Your Majesty! Oh? Why are there so many flames? I see! I see! What ingenuity! This certainly makes it much safer to guide you. Below here appears to be the pancreas, and from there you should be able to get to the spinal cord: the closest thing to a highway in this madhouse. Over and Out!”

  “Acknowledged, Doctor Gaster. Over and Out…” Willowherb replied, utterly defeated. “Well, Queen Toriel, shall we proceed?”

  “Yes.” The Queen then extended a hand to the Magus. “Artificer, I look forward to working together with you as fellow mother figures.”

  “Likewise, Your Majesty.”

  A handshake officiated their newfound friendship.