Gaelic Blanc sat next to Mezil Thyme on the garden swing. Idle, he did not: for that would be the worst for him.
Instead, the skeleton was given a language workbook and a pencil. His Lord stayed behind for guidance and company.
‘Read this paragraph and answer the questions.’
‘Match the words to the descriptions.’
‘Write down what you hear.’
Though he struggled at first, he slowly got better and better. Needed less help over time. He could work longer without getting stuck.
Mezil then asked: “Can you continue on your own?”
“Aye, M’lord.” Gaelic replied. “…Ah think.”
“Put more of that Bravery into yourself.” The master patted the skeleton’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “I know you still can.”
The human stepped off the swing and onto solid ground. “I will call you for the final briefing. Keep practicing in the meantime.”
“Aye.”
Time passed as he resumed his homework. Meanings gained words, and words gained meaning.
After finishing the last question, Lady Lucidia’s system spawned a warm steamed meat bun. It’s a concrete, delicious reward for his efforts. She calls it ‘positive reinforcement’: something to encourage him to persevere despite the difficulties.
As he snacked on the bun, his mind wandered back to the days when he first entered his Master’s hideout between space and time. The voices he had heard so many years ago still remained fresh, as though it happened just a few hours ago.
“Gaelic, why do you look so confused?”
“Erm… ah thought ah sold meself to be yer hunting dog. Be acting on command, and command only. P-perhaps ah be out o’ line…”
“First, you’re not just a hunting dog. Second, you’re encouraged to ask questions. It could bring up holes in my logic.”
“Then, why? Why do ah need to learn these skills? Medicine too. ‘Tis be heavy knowledge.”
“As a Tracker, you will find yourself in situations where you have to take the lead. I could be incapacitated. Lost. Or out of my element. There are many possible reasons why I’ll need to take a step back.”
“Should ye trust me this much? I… I… dinnae have a good track record.”
“You had rescued me before. All on your own, to boot. I know this goes against your usual character… You’re more than capable.”
That was the first time Lord Mezil Thyme squeezed Gaelic’s bony shoulder. Firm. Secure. Honest.
“I trust you. More than you trust yourself.”
Was that his master’s ultimate mistake?
Bad thoughts. Bad. That would mean calling his master a liar. He’s not a liar.
Just then, his ears picked up some excited voices. Laughter. It came from a different outdoor zone of the mansion.
A distraction? Good distraction. With a half-eaten bun in hand, he hopped off the swing to check out the commotion.
The Wanderstar siblings had occupied a newly generated basketball court for their playful training. The lines between business and fun blurred when it came to magic, more so with a creative child in the midst.
It seemed fun. So, Gaelic stayed by the sidelines, watching and munching.
Their target was a simple dummy. A female mannequin. Lady Lucidia had a particular sense of disgust against those posing posers. She complained of how they hide flaws, causing clothes to look better than their make. Since a mannequin will never match a person’s body, tailoring to its form will only result in disaster.
…Deceptive to the viewer, useless as a guide. Never fulfilling its advertised purpose. How she hated them. How she hated those who lie and pretend even more.
The humans were given two separate assignments. Cenna’s goal was to land as many hits as possible. And the little bean, Frisk, must protect the dummy with their Marks for as long as possible.
It didn’t take long for both humans to show their competitive side. Frisk planted an additional blue star on the dummy. They commanded it to fly around like a superhero.
Cheeky, the little tyke said: “Heh heh heh. Try to shoot THIS down, Sis! I’m gonna show you why I’m the dodgemaster.”
“Yeah, Frisky?” Cenna teased, “You think you’re better than Sans?”
With a puffed chest, the wee one proclaimed: “I’ve survived him lots of times.”
“Eeeh he didn’t survive ‘me’, y’know. I pinned him to the wall just last week!”
“Meh, that was only one time.”
“Is that a CHALLENGE, Frisky?”
“Totally!”
“Challenge accepted, hun!”
Cenna transformed her Psychia into the golden bird and sent it chasing after the wooden puppet.
Gaelic watched the human child run and laugh. The crisis in the real world may be bigger than ever, yet they were filled with optimistic cheer.
Reminiscing, he recalled how different they were compared to the winter months. Back then -- despite the peace -- they carried their great weight with a sad, lonesome look on their face. Such was not the case anymore. What contrast it was.
An oddity then sprung to mind. By now, the sapphire maiden would have set them back on track. Where were the reminders? Where were the chides? Why the silence?
Gaelic looked around. Lady Lucidia was nowhere to be found.
Strange. What made her leave with such abruptness?
Perhaps she took a short break? He popped the last morsel into his mouth and continued watching the siblings.
Wandered again, his thoughts did. He imagined a little skeleton girl running with the human siblings.
If ah was a better father… what would me wee lass be?
Would she be a boundless ball of energy, like meself as a child?
Would she be shy and thoughtful, like M’lady Lucidia?
Would she be a grounded anchor, like M’lord Mezil?
Or would she take after her mother?…
The child’s mother was so beautiful. So strong-willed. So graceful. Yet also fatal poison: an inferior light marred by cruelty.
When he blinked, he felt a slight sting around his eyes. It reminded him of how much he had cried in the garden.
What if this new enemy was also birthed from his loins, sold away to become a terrible weapon? Is this the punishment for his sin? The rightful consequence?
They didn’t have to have the same mother, he reasoned. Hers could very well be someone lacking clout. Perhaps a lass of college age: old enough to bear young, yet too immature to raise one. Dreading the loss of her freedom. Overwhelmed by the burden of responsibility. Choosing to sell the child for her own personal gain.
Such was the trade of life since time immemorial.
Lady Lucidia -- the fairest of fair -- insisted this was but his imagination. She told him that he had only one child, and that House Berendin had poured her dust into her urn.
No other children showed up in the Chronograph. The investigation of space and time yielded nothing.
Still… Gaelic had to wonder. Who then is this skeleton with the fragment of his power? She must come from somewhere.
‘What if’, ‘what if’, those simple words embodied the shadows of regret. They made the Wanderstar’s merry romp too painful to watch. Gaelic thus slipped back into the mansion, swift and silent.
In the main hall, three men strategized over the 3D map of the Ebott region. They were King Asgore, Sir Grillbz Grillen, and Lord Mezil Thyme himself. Tea was compulsory to keep the mind active, either in the form of drink or leaves.
Gaelic paused for a moment to admire his master’s work, watching from a distance. He thought he was discreet… until the Magus tossed an amused glance at Gaelic’s way.
Oh nay! He must have noticed the staring. Gaelic pushed his whole body flat against the wall, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Fortunately, Mezil didn’t call him out. The strategy meeting resumed without any further interruption.
Hmm… M’lady not be here either. Ah thought she would…
If she was not assisting her husband, where did she go?
Curious, curious. Something had kept her preoccupied. He followed both eyes and nose for clues of her whereabouts.
The signs pointed him to the mansion’s resting area, wherein many a bedroom for the guests and residents resided. In digital bodies they may be, but their mental memory can still grow weary. Nothing fixes that better than a good sleep.
Then again, Lady was not the kind to leave for a nap. Sans Serif, she is not.
Turn right.
Go up the stairs.
Turn left again.
And… he found her standing before a wall between two rooms. Frowning. Arms crossed. Ire exuded from every pore on her bones.
Approaching her, Gaelic asked: “There be a problem, M’lady?”
She placed a finger over her mouth and beckoned him closer.
Without voice, she signed the following: [We have squatters behind this wall. One bold, many skittish. The trap has been set. However, I lack a way to disorientate them…]
Gaelic grinned. What glee it brings to be useful.
[If that be what M’lady wants, M’lady will get. Shall ah smash through this wall and give them a fright they will ne’er forget?]
[Quite an appropriate little medicine. I shall convert this wall into a more brittle matter.]
Breathing in, his nose picked up the faint aroma of baked wheat. Biscuits. The same material that the sly bony heretic had chosen for his despicable maze.
Lady Lucidia’s mouth curled upwards, for she’s not above certain mischief.
[Ready whenever you are.]
Gaelic first took off his jacket and shirt. Then, folded them up into a neat little bundle before handing them over to his Lady.
He knew that he looked much more ferocious with his bones bared. Skeletons remain the symbol of death, as such they’re inherently frightening.
After stretching his arms and neck, he took a few steps back. Orange magic flashed through his bones as he hunched his body in anticipation.
Primed and ready, he rammed through the wall. The giant biscuit crumbled under his beastly charge. He didn’t miss a chance to snack on one of the broken bits.
Delicious!
Indeed, as his Lady mentioned, there were squatters. In a cloned guest bedroom, Doctor Gaster and his grey followers tinkered with the Chronograph’s holographic displays. It’s clear as day that they tried to hack into his Lady’s systems.
They froze oh so still. Caught red handed: their faces displaying all their guilt in full. Without excuse. Nothing to hide, nowhere to run.
“…We’re not disappearing,” the small grey lizard child whispered.
“Nope,” The short one added. “That never happened before.”
“This is quite a riddle.” The cat-like creature added. “I daresay we are in a pickle.”
The giant droopy head began to quiver. “W-what are we supposed to do now?”
Understand, Gaelic did not. Angry, he was. He bared his fangs and let out a hissing roar.
It became immediate pandemonium. The grey monsters screamed in fear. They bolted everywhere, devoid of any sense of direction, running for the sake of running: unaware of how to escape their predicament.
They ended up hiding. Or rather, they had tried to hide.
The short humanoid one cowered behind a potted ficus plant, not realising that the leaves were too sparse to cover his form.
The lizard type scurried under the bed, but her tail stuck out. It won’t matter because she had cornered herself anyway.
The giant head had even less sense. He hid under the sheets, which offered no other protection than some comforting delusion.
The tall cat hid behind Doctor Gaster. The smartest decision. Gaelic still couldn’t gauge that Amalgamate’s true combat potential.
Lady Lucidia stepped forward with the clothes that Gaelic had put aside. She presented the bundle: a sign that he should put them back on.
While he got dressed, he overheard the banter between the two scientists.
She said: “Experiment success. Hypothesis confirmed. Your ‘Followers’ -- the Greys -- have the ability to change their personal FUN values. This ability enables them to shift between temporal planes of existence, as if exploiting a glitch.”
The ‘Great’ Doctor Gaster grumbled his grunts. “Do you really have to traumatize my assistants just to prove your point?”
She narrowed her glare. “I would have left you alone if you had merely sponged on recreational materials. Instead, you and your team attempted to hack into confidential information.”
‘Confidential information’. Gaelic quickly pulled his head through the shirt. He may not be the brightest bulb, but he realized the severity of digging for confidential information.
The man said, “You could sense that even while you were distracted by the Royal Child’s training? It’s as though your very neural systems are linked to the Chronograph. It appears that when it comes to you, there’s no distinction between the user and the machine.”
“Doctor Wendell Dominic Gaster,” Lucidia continued, “Need I remind you that you’re a war criminal? You’re given limited freedom only because your expertise is required for the larger picture.”
“If that’s the case,” so the doctor said, “Give me access to your studies on the Seer’s Curse. I AM a doctor by my nation’s standards. That makes me the best person to assist you in treating your patients.”
“Access denied. You have yet to gain my trust. More so after you assaulted my father, The Grandmaster.”
“You know about that? When did--” Doctor Gaster shook his head and pinched between his eyes. “Nevermind. Of course, Lucidia of House Berendin knows absolutely everything. Even the matters that don’t concern her.”
Awkward, awkward. Gaelic felt that he’s standing in the middle of a crossfire.
The fair Lady’s mood soured. “Your grudge against House Berendin DOES concern me. I don’t understand how you’d think that I would turn a blind eye to that incident. You should have used your limited freedom to amend for past sins, not to commit brand new ones.”
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Easy for you to say, since you’re not the one condemned to live under the earth.”
“Would you rather have had human armies hunting you down to extinction?”
“Atlantis, Mu, and Lemuria exist, do they not? Well, only Lemuria remains now, if you want to get technical. My point being: there were many other options than putting us inside a glorified prison!”
The outside world? Better? Did he hear that right? Gaelic did not compute. From what he had experienced in his short adventure with the wee bean, the caves beneath Mount Ebott were good living. Food and water aplenty, while the segments had consistent climate. The writings of the Seven Sages also agreed that it had everything for long-term survival.
The sun? The sky? The wind? What good are those in the midst of thirst and hunger? Nature is a cruel mistress: far from fun and rainbows, as the Ebott monsters seem to think.
Lady Lucidia stepped back, breathing slow and deep to calm herself. The deep breaths were truly deep, to the point Gaelic was concerned that she’d grow faint from the surge of oxygen.
Once settled, she said, “Let us not pursue that matter any further. I do require your assistance in a relevant matter. It’s about your protégé, Sans Serif. He made key observations that might allow us to secure victory against the Ocean Amalgamate.”
“Sans did?” The doctor blinked rapidly, astonished. “What did he find out this time? He’s been on a roll with the discoveries as of late. May I see his research?”
The Lady spawned a screen for the doctor to read at his pace. “Access approved. This is the transcript copied from his writings in his Lab. This text no longer exists, as it was undone when Frisk loaded their SAVE.”
Scroll. Scroll. Swipe. Scroll. Swipe. Doctor Gaster read the contents with great interest. “Egads… that’s the solution? Really?! It’s so simple, I wonder why no one ever tried!”
She commented on his comments: “The best solutions are often the simplest, Doctor Gaster. However, the machinery required to accomplish it at the required scale is the most difficult part of the equation.”
“I see, I see. You know what, Lady Lucidia… I like this new Sans! This brilliance is who he’s supposed to be. Goodness, it’s as though he’s catching up on the ten years he wasted bumming in Grillby’s bar.”
Lost and confused, Gaelic asked: “What be this discovery?”
Lady Lucidia was about to explain, except Doctor Gaster beat her to the punch. He said: “Why my feral friend, it’s all about the FUN: the Functional Universe Number! Sans hypothesised that each person has not only a shared ‘World Number’ -- which anchors their existence to the real world -- but also a much more unique ‘Personal Number’. The Hub we’re in right now is registered under Judge Thyme’s Personal Number. Frisk and I have our own space too. In fact, every person has their very own Hub, albeit some smaller than others.”
“So, the plan goes as follows! First, we are to drain the Ocean Amalgamate of its Determination. This will induce the temporary petrification of their fluid bodies. Just like how I ended up when Sans drained me alive!”
“And then!” he circled his finger in the air, “Their combined SOULS -- buoyant in water -- shall be funnelled through a Spirit Gate. Afterwards, the collective will somehow need to be separated according to their FUN values, reassembled into their original form, and quarantined in their very own Hub within The Void. This will prevent the Amalgamate from reviving itself ad infinitum!”
“Ah see…” Gaelic nodded slowly and insecure. He sort of understood, but not quite either. A lot of the lingo was foreign to him.
Slightly annoyed, the doctor called out to his assistants. “Can someone explain to this fellow in layman English?”
Alas, the Greys were too frightened to respond.
“I guess not. Anyways, wherein does the fair Lady of House Berendin need assistance?”
Lady Lucidia replied: “Sans Serif based part of his hypothesis on the Core Incident, in which you shattered across spacetime and were imprisoned in The Void. The exact combination of Arcanagrams -- in the midst of an abundance of Spirit Gate material -- appears to have caused this unique reaction.”
“Furthermore, you’re an Amalgamate with your mind intact and singular. This doesn’t match conventional diagnostics. I presumed at first that the quantity of dust for Times Roman and Helvetica was low enough not to cause a conflict with your cognitive ability, but that seems to have been changing as of late. How does their growing Determination affect your Functional Universe Number, I wonder?”
“In conclusion: comparing your Functional Universe Number to other similar Void entities should prove beneficial to our plans. I thereby request that Doctor Gaster and his followers submit themselves for further analysis to further verify Sans Serif’s findings.”
“…WHAT?!” the man exclaimed. “Enough! I won’t let you lay a finger on any of my followers! As for myself, I normally would have no qualms. Normally! Not this time!”
Why did that man look so mortified? Why did he react with such aggression?
Much confusion befell Gaelic. Looking at his Lady, she seemed just as puzzled.
“But I just need to scan their data? It’s nothing invasive.”
Gaster rolled his eyes. “‘Nothing invasive’, she says. Absolutely nothing invasive. You’d think I’d believe that after what YOU have done to your ‘cute puppy’?”
The gooey doctor tossed a disgusted glance at Gaelic. “Now I understand why the Gungnir call you the ‘Sky Witch’. Your subject is so burdened with the Seer’s Curse, I can’t believe he’s descended from humans like you and I! Will you do the same for me? Turn me into some kind of a machine? A vegetable? A beast?”
The Lady protested, “Why must you always assume the worst? I never subjected Gaelic to any atrocious experiments!”
“Oh you THINK they’re not atrocious. And yet, he’s clearly a weapon trained to kill: to eliminate enemies in the bloodiest fashion! It takes deliberate conditioning for a monster to reach that point. I know, because I had done the same.”
She wanted to speak, but the doctor’s unrelenting forcefulness pushed her further and further into a mental corner.
Meanwhile, anger started to boil in Gaelic’s heart. How dare? How dare he accuse her with those blatant lies?!
Huffing, the Ebottian scientist continued his grating grates: “The cat’s got your tongue again? So there’s a kernel of truth after all. To end up with such a specimen you either have to be grossly incompetent, or a revolutionary genius!”
“Well, it’s quite clear that you’re not an amateur. Indeed, your abilities command my respect. Which leaves us with the remaining option… Revolution! Controversy! Revolutionary controversy! Be damned with the social norms between humans and monsters! You wouldn’t have married a human otherwise!”
“S-stop,” she muttered, too weak to stand up against him.
“Admit it, Lady Lucidia of House Berendin: you and I are the same. We both have fallen from grace in the name of science. This makes us peers!”
Enough was enough. Gaelic couldn’t stand to see this fool make his Lady weep. He lunged straight towards that pompous, arrogant, gooey scientist whose reputation had been lowered to the ranks of the ketchupy heretic.
An insulter! A deliverer of slander! Accursed curser! Mocking mocker! How that made his bones rattle and his heart roil. Hasn’t his Lady suffered enough? The humans fear and the monsters shun, branding her as a modern day witch.
Why? Why must his fair maiden’s name be so tarnished? She tried nothing but her best for the best, never asking for gratitude.
It brought back memories of Gaelic’s own youth, when he attended school. His odd mannerisms did not go unnoticed, and so the children confronted him.
They said… things. Insults. Slander. Curses. Mockery.
‘Are you sure you’re a Blanc kid?’
‘I thought Blancs are blank? Colourless skellies.’
‘Did your mommy have a secret boyfriend?’
‘Yeah! Maybe she had this thing the adults called ‘an affair’!’
‘Hahahaha, I bet his dad sucks in the bedroom!’
Back then rage blinded his mind. His fangs sank into flesh and bone. Life filled his mouth. The horrified screams became mere background noises. Loud. Aggravating.
Just like now. Just. Like. Now.
Except Doctor Gaster tasted of paste. Goo. Annoying goo that gums up the jaws. Like a determined doughnut, refusing to budge. Gaelic grunted in aggravation as he tried to no avail to spit out the offensive substance.
“Aha,” the goopy scientist exclaimed. “You’re not making a snack out of me today! Amalgamation sure has its perks, I must say.”
Mockery, more arrogant mockery. This pissant doctor had caused far too much grief for everyone involved. How dare he continue his smug arrogance unchecked?
Gaelic sought to tear the substance out of his mouth. Alas, his fingers had gotten glued to the mass. The more he struggled, the more it writhed in turn, threatening to block his nostrils.
“MMMMPH!!! MMMMMGH!!!”
Panic, rising.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
“Oh quiet already, you. Sit down and be a good boy.”
Then, the sapphire mistress said: “I would like to remind you that you are not invincible, Doctor Gaster.”
That statement surprised Gaelic enough to stop.
“Excuse me?” Doctor Gaster raised his brow. “What’s the reasoning behind your hypothesis?”
Her voice cold and stoic, she responded: “Allow me to elaborate. You are not immune to toxins that affect your Psychia directly. You are also capable of feeling pain, as demonstrated from Sans Serif’s Karma.”
“Oh, that IS true,” the man replied. “But Sans isn’t here? And what he produces is unique to his person.”
“Accurate. However…”
The Lady reached her hand out to Gaster and conjured a medical syringe out of thin air. It contained a glowing purple liquid. “There are many substances other than Karma that react to magic. My Chronography revealed that you had gained relief from Alphys’ cough drops, for example. As you know, quantities separate the line between medicine and poison.”
Did Gaelic smell fear from that brazen fool? Shock? Has the intimidator been intimidated?
“W-what are you implying?!” he muttered, “I-is that supposed to be a threat???”
“Call it a reminder. A warning. Or a threat. It makes no difference to me. Continue to bully my knight and you will find this poison injected straight into your being. Chances are high you won’t die from it, but it should still be rather… painful.”
The other scientist lifted his finger. “That’s torture!”
“Yes. Indeed it is.” Such was Lady Lucidia’s reply. Straightforward. No nonsense. It was as though the shadow of her husband overlapped the sapphire maiden.
Taken aback, the man exclaimed: “That has to be a bluff! You’re of Kindness. B-betraying your traits will weaken your powers, and I know you can’t afford that!”
Her retort was like burning coals, heaped upon by the shovelful. “It would betray that same Kindness if I let you trample over Gaelic on your obnoxious whims. Perhaps you have also forgotten that I lack Patience and Justice. My tolerance for your nonsense has long since reached its absolute limit.”
“I know I cannot win with words,” she continued. “You’re a bad match. You have cunning and eloquence, while being an utter prick. Therefore, I will not play by your rules. In fact, I will not let you play any game. I cannot let a criminal push me around in my own domain.”
Lady Lucidia pointed the needle towards the gunk trapped in Gaelic’s mouth. “Release him. Unless you want to find out if this poison can spread from a detached piece.”
Doctor Gaster slowly lowered his arms in surrender. Though it was clear that he still did not fully believe the threat, he was wise enough to not tempt fate. And so… he recalled that split-off piece of Amalgamate goo.
Freedom. Glorious freedom, Gaelic panted.
“Well,” said Gaster. “Well, well, well, well. You’re not as prudish as you seem, Lady Lucidia. I respect a person who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty. You have my full cooperation now. So, what do you want?”
Her attention shifted to the still-quivering grey creatures. “…A preliminary introduction about your followers, at least. What are they?”
“Dear Lady, they’re lost children erased from time. They ceased to exist, while being not quite dead. Hence why they washed up in the space between worlds. I don’t know when or how. They only remember so much.”
Lady Lucidia’s expression changed to one of horror. How odd. Gaelic didn’t see why she needed to behave that way.
“Doctor Gaster, I would like to study their physiology. I promise that it won’t be any more invasive than a scan.”
“Is that so? I will be watching… like it or not.”
“Acknowledged.”
So, the gooey one coaxed his underlings out of their hiding spots for the physical examination. Reluctant, they headed towards the Medical Bay as a group…
Thoroughly exposed, Doctor Gaster and his assistants eventually found themselves dumped in the main hall with everyone else. All training was suspended due to his meddling.
Gaelic preferred to lurk within earshot. He didn’t want to be near that unrepentant scientist if he could help it.
“…And that’s how we come to a common agreement.” The doctor explained to the Wanderstars as he sipped his King’s famous Goldenflower tea. “In exchange for our cooperation, I will obtain the necessary information regarding the ‘Seer’s Curse’, or ‘Overburn’ as she prefers to call it. Plus some much, much needed updates on Sans and Papyrus.”
The siblings glared at Doctor Gaster. The little bean crossed their arms, and their big sister looked like she’s ready to slap someone.
Best friend Cenna exclaimed, “Hot damn! No wonder Sans hates your guts. Seriously.”
“W-what’s up with that reaction? Unauthorized access to secret files is an annoying predicament to deal with, but it doesn’t warrant the absolutely deranged threat of torture! I’m sure that’s illegal even in the confines of the Hub.”
“You have NO idea what you had just done, doc. Picking on Gael didn’t help your case one single bit!”
“Then tell me!” he said. “I’m no psychic. How am I supposed to know the lives and circumstances of those from the Surface?”
“Okay, where do I start? Gael was Lucy’s very first friend, very first patient, and her very first servant. In that order too. By calling him a beast to justify your hackerman bullshit, you had spit on her life’s work.”
“I… but… it’s true!” Doctor Gaster protested, “He IS abnormal: that’s an immutable fact!”
“Everything she ever studied was to TREAT Overburn! Finding a cure is her dream!”
“That clearly has gotten nowhere, hasn’t it?”
“…Gaster…” said the fiery knight, “…Stop… Just stop… Before you make things worse…”
Pure silence hung in the air. It was so quiet that Gaelic didn’t want to leave just yet. His footsteps would stand out. Too obvious.
Frisk started to talk. “What’s going to happen to my lessons? Lady Lucy is supposed to give classes. Do I have to wait?”
“Perhaps,” answered Mezil, “It will depend on her findings. I can take over if need be.”
The kid groaned. “Awww, more of you? I thought I had enough Mezil. I want to know how Lucy teaches…”
Now would be a good time to make his leave. In his heart, Gaelic thanked the little bean for their distraction.
As he walked, he pondered about the events that transpired.
…‘Tis not right.
If that gooey doctor be vulnerable to poisons, M’lady could have ordered me to bite. Why need to sully her hands?
Does she not trust me anymore? Ah failed too many times? Or…
Before they spiralled further out of control, his master’s voice grabbed hold of his thoughts.
“Put more of that Bravery into yourself.”
Gaelic reached out for his shoulder, expecting Lord Thyme’s hand to be there. The memory was strong. Fresh. There had to be a reason why his subconscious reacted so.
…Master be right. Be brave. ‘Tis best to ask M’lady herself.
Last ah saw her, she be working the Chronograph. Would she be busy? Perhaps she dinnae want distractions?
He thought of letting her work uninterrupted… until he recalled a troubling detail. It was right after he suffered the brunt of the Philosopher’s Stone.
Even though his sanity had darkened more than a moonless night, he recalled the emergency alarms blaring from his Master’s mansion. Her heart had been broken from viewing the past. What if she overworked herself again?
Gaelic sprung into action. Upon detecting his presence, the wall opened up to reveal a secret emergency chute made solely for him. After a quick slide down, he’s in the Chronographer’s chamber. His breath shook when he could not find her connected to the mainframe.
“M’lady? Where are ye?”
He heard muffled sobbings from the left. Following it led him to a closed-off cubicle.
His fair lady? Crying all alone? Was it because of that terrible doctor?
It would be too invasive to budge in. Perhaps if it was someone else, he might have tried. This is Lucidia. He knew better than to intrude on her.
Instead, he knocked on the door. “M’lady? Ye alright?”
The crying paused. Beyond the partition, she replied: “…Why are you here?”
“Ah be worried about ye.”
“Leave me! Go away!” The strength of her words was a mere facade of her sorrow. It ended with more sobbing. “You’ll only grow sicker and sicker by my side…”
Where had he heard that line before? It was familiar. Too familiar.
Again, he recalled. This deal with the arrogant goo was not the first time that his Lady almost crossed the line. There was another time too: much, much worse than this.
“‘Twas her, was it not? The mother o’ me child. Did her shade torment ye?”
Lady Lucidia did not reply. Such was a confirmation in itself.
“Gaelic,” she said, “It’s all my fault. I… I shouldn’t have begged my husband to make you our knight. Because of me, you’re hurt. Because of me, you’re stained. And because of me… your child is dead… Forever. If only I had encouraged Mezil to change fate, your daughter might have lived to see you here in The Void.”
That statement further confused him. “M’lady, what do ya mean? Me wee lass? In this space between worlds? Ah cannae see head or tail.”
“The Greys…” she sobbed. “They’re people whose birth was undone. Literal ‘Goners’. That lizard girl for example… She’s the twin sister of Frisk’s classmate. Her mother couldn’t support both, so her womb favoured one over the other. She was replaced by her brother when we unwound the Year of Judgement: the butterfly effect at its truest.”
“If… if we had prevented your daughter’s conception… We would have found her as a Grey… Since we didn’t… she…”
Lady Lucidia wept again.
What can he say to soothe her pain? Gaelic was lost on an idea. His Master had better judgement when it comes to the sensitive matters.
Gaelic thus spoke the first thing on his mind. “Wouldn’t me lass be with The Almighty? Lost children go straight to Heaven, do they not? Is it not wonderful for her to skip the sufferings o’ the mortal realm? Being a Grey in this lonely Void… nay, ah cannae say it be better.”
To which she cried: “The Scripture does not make a clear statement of where they go. At best it’s consolation, at worst it’s wishful thinking. I can’t even tell you if she’s in Heaven or Hell! I’ve ruined your life, and your child’s too…!”
Despite being a priest’s daughter, Lady Lucidia had a tendency to view the Scriptures in a pessimistic light. He did not know when or how she picked up that kind of understanding. Perhaps it was ten years ago when the world collapsed around her. Perhaps it was when Atlantis and Mu vanished off the map.
Gaelic huddled against the door, leaning against its post. “The matters o’ me wee lass, we save fer another day. Forgive me, this other matter ah must ask.”
“Me life ruined by yer hands? ‘Twas that reason be why ye try to distance from me? Ah noticed that ya dinnae give me orders against that gooey goo. Ye took matters to yer own hands. As though I not be there.”
“…Yes…” she said, “…I can’t let you fall any further… I should have denied you from transforming, but I wanted to believe that you’ve improved. I wanted to believe that you’ll be fine, that you’d come back as Gaelic the Seer: the mischievous, cheeky, tricky troublemaker with his creative speech and adventurous spirit. A man adored by many.”
“He’s the one who’d defy the travel ban to gather information. The one who’d give us a headache for not following orders. The one who’d one day grow out of House Berendin and start a life of his own. And now… now… you’re at risk of losing your true identity. All because I was too naive!”
So that was the reason. Gaelic kicked himself over the head for not realising sooner.
“M’lady… fer years ah thought ye resent me. Me actions wasted yer goodwill and dragged yer House’s name through the mud. So fer the past ten years… ah worked to become someone reliable.”
“Observed, ah did. Copied, ah did. Tried me best to be strong. Independent. Able to face the mockers on equal footing. Being like Cenna was me goal. Be like her, and beyond. But truth be told, ‘twas a mere illusion. A fake. I thought if ah pretend hard enough, it would become me new nature.”
Guilt came crashing down like a landslide. Lies made in good intentions were still lies. Gaelic thought he would be the only one tangled in his own deception. It was not his intention to ensnare his Lady too, for he knew how much she hated lies.
…There was only one way to set things right. As The Grandmaster oft recited, there is a difference between a beast, a child, and a man.
A beast comprehends nothing,
A child blames others,
While a man repents.
Whether or not he realised it, he too started to weep. “‘M’lady, there be this saying… A leopard cannae change its spots, aye? Because in the end, me wish still be the same: to serve ye forever and ever and ever. Either as yer personal puppy, or as yer ideal knight…”
“…Sorry fer giving ye false hope. ‘Twas never thy hands who caused me decline. ‘Twas me willingness, and me willingness alone.”
Still, she tried to take the blame. “No! How can I? Grandpa already warned me so long ago: taking a slave -- figuratively or otherwise -- means I’ll be responsible for your entire life! I cannot just use and discard you like a mere object!”
“Aha, ‘tis where ye be wrong.” He smiled to himself. “M’lord always remind me that ah not be a slave. A knight, aye. A hunter, aye. A slave, nay. Never a slave. Slaves got no choice, aye? But ah made me choice. Whatever sacrifice ah made, it be of me own free will.”
Try as she might, she did not have any retort or protest. Who would have foreseen that his Master’s insistence would be the answer?
In the end, she said: “…Please call my husband. There is much to discuss.”
“Aye.”
Gaelic left posthaste to fetch Master.
It so happened that Mezil Thyme was already waiting at the entrance. Was Gaelic surprised by that? Absolutely not. A Supreme Judge’s job was to judge hearts. He would have known long what’s going on before anyone would admit it.
The Master said: “Seems that you two have finally confessed your true feelings for each other.”
“M’lord, p-please don’t say as though this was an affair.”
Oh, how that stern frown make its way. “Don’t be silly. Of course I know it’s nothing of that sort. It’s just blatant that neither side wanted to make the other worry.”
If this too didn’t escape the Supreme Judge, another question surfaced… “Then…”
“Why didn’t I call either of you out?” the Master predicted, and his words were true. “My meddling would have made things worse. Believe me, I’ve tried. Therefore… I’m glad you took the initiative to settle things.”
Tears flowed down the skeleton’s cheekbones. “…It hurts, M’lord. It hurts so much.”
“I know,” Mezil replied.
“May ah have a hug?”
The hug was given without any further hesitation. Gaelic wrapped his arms tight, burying his face into his Master’s shoulder.
How long more could he embrace this warmth before it’s gone?
How long more can he breathe this scent?
How long more will his mind be clear enough to remember this moment?
“Gaelic,” said the human. “You’re family. No matter what happens, Lucidia and I will take care of you. It’s the least we could do to repay your loyalty.”
“Thank ye…”
As much as he wanted to stay this way forever, he could not. They’re in the middle of a mission. Furthermore, the wife was waiting for her husband.
In the end, Gaelic let go of his Master and delivered the message:
“M’lady wishes to speak with ye. There be new information. Methinks it be important to M’lord.”