Grillby didn’t think he would’ve reopened the bar anytime soon. And yet here he was again, playing the role of a bartender.
Patrons of all kinds filled up the premises: young and old, humans and monsters, strangers and familiars. A lively atmosphere bustled, with many of the guests from the feast adjourned to this place to resume their merrymaking. The lack of electricity wasn't an issue either, thanks to candles and a little aid of fire magic.
Frisk, the royal couple, and Aiden’s family joined the Dog Clan for a game of poker. It’s red wine for the adults, chow for the dogs, and soda for the children.
Monsters gathered around the Royal Family’s side.
Foreign humans gathered around Aiden’s side.
Bottle caps -- something the bar had plenty of -- served as currency for the game.
The lull in business allowed Grillby to collect his thoughts. Polishing glasses carried a sense of therapy for him.
…Judge Thyme requested this favour… He wanted me to open the bar just for today… Doing so would keep numerous parties occupied, giving him the opportunity to gather what he needs…
…It’s working… The ‘afterparty’ is in full effect, so Aiden can’t escape into the night even if he wanted to… He’s being watched, plus his reputation is on the line…
…Frisk’s gang isn’t all here, though… Who’s left so far?…
…Mettaton returned to his studio’s van at the first opportunity… The power has not yet been restored, but he seems anxious to leave nonetheless… I hear his cousin is the soundman of his team… I suppose after all the chaos, he would want to make sure his family is fine…
…Doctor Alphys received an urgent call from The Core… Gaster appears to have bitten more than he can chew… Captain Undyne escorted her to the reactor to assist with repairs…
…As for Papyrus, he stayed at the school to cook dinner for Sir Gaelic… After that, they would both care for the injured…
… I have no worries about Lady Lucidia… She will be safe with her knight by her side… However, I do have my concerns about Judge Thyme… He made the request, and yet he’s nowhere to be seen for hours by now…
…As for myself?… I have not felt a reaction since Lady Lucidia sealed that girl’s Fire of Humanity in the back of my neck… Still, the unease lingers…
Grillby sighed, moving on to the next glass to polish.
…There’s nothing I can do about it… In the meantime, I should keep my eyes and ears open… The world of gossips should be abuzz by now…
The bar’s welcoming chime rang as the door opened for a new patron. It was the red bird monster, bumbling through the clearest path to the counter.
He exclaimed: “Grillbz, you’ve opened the bar!”
…I call him Red… But I don’t know his real name…
…He does all my ‘translating’… Made up meanings based on my gestures and expressions… Not what I planned, but I welcomed it…
“…Just for today…” Grillby replied.
While sitting at his usual stool at the bar counter, Red commented: “It’s weird to hear you talk. Anyway, you think you can make an extra strong espresso?”
“…Sorry, the espresso machine needs electricity…”
“I’ll take a ‘cold one’ then. The canned stuff is good enough.”
One can of beer, coming right up. Good thing the fridge remained well frozen through insulation. Grillby opened the can and poured some of the beer in a freshly polished glass.
“Thanks,” and the bird paid. While he drank, he pondered out loud, “I haven’t seen Sans in ages. And I’m not counting that six-winged impostor from the sky! Something feels really bad. Our lives are going somewhere at a breakneck speed, aren’t they?”
…Red doesn’t need to know about Sans’ ban… At least, not yet…
“Say, what happened to your glasses?”
“…Glasses?… Oh dear!…”
Grillby remembered that he stuffed his armour and glasses into some random policeman’s car. He still hadn’t gotten around to claim them back.
“…Seems that I misplaced them…”
“Time for a new pair, I guess?”
The group around the poker table burst into a round of applause and excitement. It appeared that Frisk won this round of poker. The child had a cheeky grin as they swiped all the bottle caps. Grillby himself may not completely forgive them yet, but he’s happy to see the child enjoy the game.
“Sure is lively over there.” Red commented. “Poker games between the dogs are usually such a bore.”
Another chime rang. This time, it was a large purple rabbit in a plaid shirt. He looked around the bar with the confidence to match his size.
Grillby tensed his grip. He recognized this face even after all these years. Never, ever will he forget this person.
…The citizens once called him ‘the bunny who’s as big as his dreams, with a bigger appetite to boot’…
…After that, he was known as ‘the bunny who’s as big as his dreams, with an even bigger downfall from grace’…
…I once arrested him for harboring the Green Child… Treason by law… Execution should have been his sentence, but His Majesty was merciful… Instead, he was exiled to Snowdin…
…Last year, King Asgore issued a mass pardon in celebration for breaking The Barrier… Which makes him a free man with a clean slate…
…What will he do with his new freedom?… Will he seek revenge?… Or will he let bygones be bygones?…
The rabbit sat down next to Red. The red bird greeted him in his usual jolly manner. “Hey, aren’t ya Caroline’s husband? Quentin, was it?”
“Yup,” the bunny answered. “Thanks for buying the Cinnabuns from the missus every morning.”
“What can I say? They go great with strong coffee. Haven’t ever seen ya come to Grillby’s by the way.”
“Oh, I’m just not a bar kind of person. What do you recommend?”
“I would have suggested the coffee and the fries but… no electricity.”
“Shame. I’ll have what you have then.”
One more can of beer, coming right up. The two men began chatting about other topics. Mostly about how crazy recent times had become.
Grillby resumed his job elsewhere. The poker table requested for refills, so he had to attend to the folk there.
Queen Toriel started to laugh louder and bolder than usual. He can’t help but get worried whenever she gets too imbibed. As much as he respects her as his queen, she had a particularly shocking track record with alcohol.
Somewhere along the way, Red remarked: “Hey Quentin, did you know that Grilby was the former Captain of the Royal Guard?”
“Yep. I sure do,” Quentin replied, “Mettaton announced it at the big party.”
“To think that I’ve been visiting a hero’s bar all the while! Not that I’d treat him any different. Grillby is Grillby to me: a quiet guy with a good heart.”
“A law-abiding citizen, alright. Wonder what made him change jobs. Speaking of which, Caroline and I have dreamed of opening a diner for a long time now. I think we’ve finally saved up enough for it. Cinnabuns will still be on the menu, so no worries there.”
“I dunno… a giant monster just tried to destroy town. You could lose your investment in a blink! What if your shop goes up in flames with all the Cinnabuns in it?”
“Eh, we’ll cross that bridge if it ever happens. For now, I’m just scouting for venues.”
Meanwhile, back at the poker table, Niton won the next round. Dayton was happier over the victory than the victor himself, though. Their brotherly bond reminded Grillby of Sans and Papyrus.
“Y’know,” Red noted, “If Sans were here he’d probably win every match. Then buy everyone free chow. Speaking of whom… Quentin, have you seen Sans anywhere?”
The rabbit shook his head. “Nope. I thought he spends every day at Grillby’s.”
“Exactly! It’s like he suddenly disappeared from town. Where do you think he went?”
“Hmm… if you ask me, that scumbag Gaster may have something to do with that.”
Red gasped at Quentin’s intense description. “Whoa there, what did the good doc ever do to you?”
“Good?” The rabbit scoffed. “Did you know that I was great pals with Sans’ Dad? His name was Times Roman. Whenever I asked about Sans’ schooling under Gaster, he would look so sad and guilty. A pretty big red flag there, right?”
“W-wha?! S-Sans STUDIED under our first Royal Scientist?! I thought he was just a comedian!”
“Shocking, eh? That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Grillby tried his best to hide his feelings. That’s what bartenders do. But, it didn’t mean he’s not concerned.
Over at the poker table, one of the patrons made a dart-throwing motion to the dart board. They suggested a change of pace… and the queen got more excited than she should. High in jolly spirits, she burst into a song and waved her empty glass above her head.
The queen was drunk. Grillby cringed internally for the chaos yet to come. He still remembered how he had to scrape slices of pizza off the ceiling.
Wibble, wobble, she tried to aim at the dart board. Her family did their best to remind her that she was not holding a dart. Unfortunately, she insisted on her stubbornness.
Unlike a piece of pizza, an empty glass posed the potential of serious injuries. Grillby decided to leave the counter and try to convince the Queen to give the glass back and go home.
Reaching out, he requested: “…Queen Toriel… Please give me back the glass…”
The Queen snorted, dancing and spinning around. ‘Everything is going to be fine’ and ‘let me have fun’ were the only two sentences he could understand.
…Please… don’t make this difficult…
Nope. She continued to cause a scene.
…It’s useless… She won’t listen to me… I don’t want to snatch it out of her grip… And disarming her would be too violent… Maybe--
While he worried, the welcoming chime unfortunately rang once more. Judge Thyme entered the bar with a briefcase in hand. And in that moment of reactionary distraction, the drunk Queen lobbed the glass straight towards the Magus’ head.
Judge Thyme dodged the spinning wine glass in the nick of time. It flew past his cheeks and crashed onto the road outside.
“Holy smokes!” Princess Cenna yelled from beyond the entrance. “What in the nine hells?!?”
After that, the bar fell into complete stunned silence.
The Vampire of Time exuded a wrathful determination of justice, complemented with a cold glare that no one should forget.
“…Sir Grillenn,” he said, stern. “I believe the bar is closed.”
“Awwww, really?!” She exclaimed, “I thought I could finally visit the legendary Grillby’s. I still didn’t get a chance, man!”
Too bad for Cenna, Grillby was eager to close for the night after such an incident. And judging from how fast the patrons vacated, they were just as eager to leave.
On the way out, Quentin slipped some money into one of Grillby’s vest pockets. The rabbit said: “Keep the change. You’re gonna need that.”
“…Thank you…” Grillby said.
“Also, keep the glasses off. Suits you muuuuch better.”
Quentin then waved goodbye as he left.
…You recognized me from the start… That’s the true reason why you never visited my bar, isn’t it?…
Once the last patron vacated, Grillby locked the door and flipped the window’s open-close sign around. The two remaining human guests had already started clearing out the poker table for themselves.
The customers? Doing the cleaning? That won’t do. “…Please let me…”
“It’s fine,” said Judge Thyme, “Besides, you have drinks to prepare.”
He had a point. The bartender was the only one allowed behind the counter. “…In that case, what will you have?…”
The Magus started musing out loud. “Hmm, the electricity is still down. The kitchen isn’t operational. I can’t ask for anything with ice. Nothing hot either. Something to go with peanuts, perhaps?…”
Aiden shook his head. “The peanuts are gone.”
More disappointment and grumpiness. “At this rate, I’m going to be left with plain water.”
“Why are you so fussy over this? A simple beer won’t hurt you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Thanks to a certain someone, even beer can make me sick to my stomach. I’ve already spent enough time toiling in the lavatory, so perish the thought.”
The warrior stared back in disbelief. “You’re incredibly fragile for someone who just eliminated a giant monster. Fine. If you have a stomach problem, stick to cola. Even the sheep love it.”
“You’re right on that front. One glass of cola and a small tray of salt, please. I’ll be needing a spoon or a stirrer.”
“I’ll have another can of beer,” said Aiden.
“…Alright… Coming right up… Please wait…”
While Grillby served what they had requested, the two men had settled down in their chosen seats and received their drinks.
Judge Thyme scooped a tiny amount of salt into his cola, forcing the fizz out of his drink. He proceeded to stir the contents until the bubbles were all but gone. How strange. Don’t people buy cola for the bubbles?
He then said, “Bring your own beverage of choice to the table and sit with us.”
“…Huh?…”
“Bartenders cannot drink when they’re on the job. Therefore, I’m asking you to end your shift and join us. There will be no titles at this table. No national divides. No subversive politics. No knights or kings. No workers or customers. As far as the outside world is concerned, we’re just three men having a drink after opening hours. What’s discussed at Grillby’s stays at Grillby’s.”
No wonder Judge Thyme chose this bar. It’s the highest level of trust and responsibility he could bestow. Grillby was both honoured and nervous to have this privilege.
“…As you wish…”
Grillby went behind the counter and opened one of the shelves. He took out a dark bottle with a label in foreign language. His favourite. Others found it too strong, but he valued it for its intense flavour.
Then, he took a clean shot glass from the counter and returned to the main table. Setting down his personal choice garnered some raised eyebrows from the humans.
“Green absinthe.” Judge Thyme commented. “Are you… going to drink it like a shot of whiskey?”
“…Yes… How would you have it, Judge Thyme?…”
“Just call me Mezil tonight. About your question, I would make it go through a ‘Louche’: a slow drip of iced water over a cube of sugar. It elevates the good sides of absinthe… and reduces the damage to my organs. Drinking this undiluted would kill me.”
“…I see… I think I prefer it straight…”
“You’re quite a hardcore person. But then again, Fire Eaters metabolize alcohol differently from others. As pure alcohol will be poison to a human, pure water will be poison for you. High proof spirits such as absinthe will suit you better.”
“…Correct… I wouldn’t serve water if I could help it…”
“When I was a bartender, I would never serve pure water either. Even a slice of lemon or cucumber is better than that. A bartender’s goal is to craft a drink that suits the customer. If unflavoured water is all they can accept, then they need to see a doctor.”
Still, Aiden was baffled. “That drink wakes up the dead. How did a warrior like you end up in this sleepy bar?”
An interesting choice of words, considering Aiden’s personal biases. “…Warrior?…”
“You’ve proven your strength in battle. And protected my family. I’m grateful.”
“…As for the bar… and why…”
Grillby wanted to explain, yet he still couldn’t get past the pain. Not yet. Maybe he needed to take a few shots of liquid recklessness to quench the guilt.
Down the absinthe went. After the initial sheer bitterness of wormwood, the sweet scents of anise, fennel, licorice, and gentian filled his senses. It’s a great way to wash out the off-smells of greasy smoke.
The other veterans meanwhile sipped their own drinks in silence. Actions speak louder than words, as the saying goes. They had read the reluctance in the air.
Instead of pursuing the topic, Judge Thyme-- Mezil placed the mysterious briefcase on the table. “If you don’t mind, I have something else to discuss with Aiden.”
“Figures,” The Aratet said. “Out with it. It’s been tiresome watching clueless dogs outwitted by human children. A rather dull game.”
“I need your assistance in dealing with your father, Kenneth Odin: The Last Persona. Papyrus promised him that should the feast succeed, I will release him from my body. And I intend to respect his wishes.” Mezil laid his cards open on the table.
Aiden immediately dropped the air of irritation, becoming dead serious. “Go on.”
“You may see me as a warden. Or a walking prison. But the truth is the reverse. That man had attempted to possess my body for these past ten years. His Hex feeds off my Determination, therefore making it impossible for me to destroy his influence on my own. Worse still, his parasitic powers have now laid claim to the magic I absorbed in battle. And I can feel his reach growing. If I don’t settle this within the next few days… I will certainly die.”
Hearing that alarmed Grillby. No wonder Lady Lucidia acted rather strangely after Mezil’s extended stay in the toilet.
…By theory, Princess Cenna should suffice against any DEMON activity… Why does he need Aiden’s help?…
Grillby listened intently, as a good bartender should.
“Wouldn’t your demise benefit me?” Aiden asked.
“Only if you’re sure that he’ll cater to your whims. Few kings willingly retire. Least of all your father. He won’t become your Persona at that rate. Which is why it would be much better for you to initiate a direct transfer with my blessing. By inheriting Persona’s will, your Split Aspect will turn Red. You will acquire his Mark, solidifying your position as the true leader of Gungnir. And granting you access to The Legendary Hero’s vault. It’s a game changer.”
“Indeed… But where is your proof of commitment?”
While The Magus unlocked the briefcase, he answered: “This peace offering to you.”
Opening the lid revealed various items secured in black foam: a curved knife in a leather sheath, a dog tag, and a single golden earring. The piece jewelry had a flat side, bearing the emboss of a reticle.
…?!?… That’s…!
There are some things in existence that transcend time and culture. Death was one of them. In the face of these remains, the man of Gungnir stayed silent and grim.
It’s important to let the mourner take their time. Witnessing these belongings of the deceased will no doubt stir long-buried conflict. Like the bottom of a lake, it will take a while before they settle again.
“I take it that you recognize the contents?”
“If…” Aiden of Aratet paused for a moment, trying to swallow his anger. “If you had shown these to me before the feast, I would have chopped off your head.”
“Which would rightfully be offered to the gods in a public declaration that you have avenged the wounded and the lost. It’s proof of your justice. The previous owner of these items wanted to do the same, except with your father’s head on the altar instead of mine.”
“You knew that much? How much did he honour you?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“I’m not sure if it’s honour or respect, but… he trusted me enough with his final wish: to have his belongings returned to his master. From what I could glean from your sons’ descriptions, I believe that man to be your grandfather.”
“I can’t confirm or deny,” Aiden replied. “I know that sounds like nonsense, but I am under the same oath as everyone else.”
“Hmm. That’s fine. What’s important is that you know who should receive them.” Mezil pushed the briefcase closer to Aiden. “Inspect as you will.”
Aiden examined the items carefully. He wasn’t doing it out of suspicion, though. Rather, it was from a hopeful wish. If these mementos weren’t real, then maybe, just maybe, the original owner might still be alive somewhere.
But… judging from his disappointment, they were authentic. Aiden closed the briefcase, then clasped his hands together to mutter a prayer.
…Rest in peace, stranger… Someone who knew you has claimed your remains…
Grillby thought it would be a good idea to ask. He had some inkling of the situation, but it’s better to clear any misconceptions. “…Who was this man?…”
“I never knew his True Name,” Aiden confessed. “The Vampire knew him as Vers. My people knew him as Esarvataya. My mother knew him as Little Verachi. They’re all titles and nicknames.”
“…Esarvataya… Saviour of the Sun?… Isn’t that… the legend your sons shared during the feast?…”
“One and the same. My people hoped that he would clear the choking smoke of war, letting the sun shine through again. But unlike the legend, he perished in the hands of The Vampire.”
More backstory with no context. Feeling awkward, Grillby asked: “…I’m sorry… But I’m lost… How did this involve Mezil again?…”
“Apologies,” said Mezil. “Vers was one of the eight participants in the War of the Red Victory. He’s what Aiden’s people would call a Chosen One.”
Aiden nodded in agreement. “Blessed with red, they’re the vessels of the gods: the inheritors of the Asas Asal Ara’s might.”
Mezil added, “Asas Asal Ara. The Original Origin. Also known as The Legendary Hero of the Sealing War. Though, you of Ebott might prefer calling them ‘Genocider’.”
It all pointed back to Mount Ebott. How strange it was to have something go so far yet stay so near.
“…I see…” said Grillby, “…Our records only cover up to the Sealing… Where did they go after that?…”
“As Lord Berendin had warned them: once monsters were gone from the picture, it would not be long for them to turn against other humans. They thus kept pushing ever eastward to spread their ideals, all the way to the Great Plateau of the Omni Itari Kingdom. There, they sowed their oats with the local populace, giving birth to the Aratet people.”
“Tsk, Vampire. You and your cynical explanations. Asas Asal Ara was engaged in divine matrimony. The greatest of honours! Just like my father.”
“Same difference in my eyes. But I digress.”
Grillby noted: “…I’ve heard only bits and pieces of the geopolitical history… of the Techevali and the Aratet… something about the Aratet being in high demand as mercenaries… due to their ability to use magic?…”
Both Mezil and Aiden looked at each other. They exchanged gestures, trying to give way to the other to become the main narrator. They were quite cooperative for bitter enemies.
In the end, they settled on Aiden being the one to explain. So he said: “My people have always lived by the teachings of Asas Asal Ara and offered their services to those in need. Most jobs were one-time contracts. But, we have also pledged pacts for generations. 200 years ago, an Aratet and the fifth prince of the kingdom had been brothers-in-arms in a battle for the throne. Together, they emerged victorious. Since then us Aratet have served the kingdom as its most trusted blade. Vers himself was a descendant of that mercenary.”
“We always did everything we could to protect the royal family, including methods that involved bloodshed. It was because of this that our name alone began to bring forth suspicion, to the point even simple farmers were considered potential assassins in disguise.”
“Then, when drought brought about nation-wide famine during an economic decline, the last king listened to all sorts of lies from the Techevali: a rival warrior tribe. They claimed The Aratet had cast black magic to destabilize the kingdom. That we desired to seize power for ourselves. And so, the king had us cast out and replaced.”
“Trouble brewed. In many ways, it seemed that the gods had abandoned us. The people’s hearts started to falter. They yearned for saviour. But with each passing era, fewer and fewer Chosen Ones were being born. The elders thus turned to a prophecy to revive their progenitor. Force a reincarnation, in a sense.”
“To do so, they need to combine the blood and spirit into one. My mother was the blood. My father, the spirit. Vers -- our strongest Chosen -- wished for nothing more than to marry my mother. But the elders rejected him in favour of my father, who bore the symbol of Asas Asal Ara.”
Mezil choked on his drink. After coughing a few times, he regained his breath to comment. “Vers had a crush on your mother? No wonder he was burning with furious passion. There’s a special brand of hatred against the ‘wife stealer’. I should know, since I was on the receiving end of the ire of Lucidia’s long list of suitors.”
A realization dawned on Grillby. “…Wait… Mezil, wouldn’t that make you the ‘Dark Lord’?… The obstacle to the princess… For both sides, human and monster?…”
“I never asked to be caught up in these fantastical love polygons!” The Magus grumbled.
Aiden snorted. “None of us ask to be caught up in these fantastical politics either. Yet here we are.”
“I would also assume the actual situation here is a great deal more complicated still.” Mezil noted. “Care to explain?”
“Much of it is about our prophecies. Legends say the union will result in a perfect vessel for reincarnation. With the return of Asas Asal Ara, the ancient ancestral vault can at long last be opened. Except… I was not the promised reincarnation, and my father refused to open the vault by himself. Vers thus rejected the prophecy in the same way the elders had rejected him.”
“It was at that time when the Techevali went and convinced the other tribes to hunt down every last Aratet in the name of ‘justice’. To end the thousand-year terror. To wipe out the evil of the land. That was our ‘Karma’. The consequences of how we had lived our lives.”
Mezil shook his head at humanity’s folly. “It’s the same nonsense wherever you go. The blame game applies to races, to religion, to politics, to classes, to education, to the sexes… and to magic.”
…Conflict is inevitable…
…Humans would blame monsters… and monsters would blame humans…
All the three men paused for a moment to take their drinks. It was a heavy, weary topic for both the speaker and the listener.
Aiden resumed the conversation. “Over the years, Vers gained support from the common people. His skills as a warrior were unparalleled, saving many lives in the process. So, he was crowned as ‘Esarvataya’.”
“…Do you not hate him?…” asked Grillby. “…He wanted to kill your father… And claim your mother as his wife…”
Aiden closed his eyes for a moment, searching his own heart. “I only had good memories of the hero Vers… except for one moment. Shortly before he departed West, he argued with my mother. That was the one time I ever saw her cry. I was only eight, so I didn’t understand what happened until much later. Still, I'd say his heroic deeds overshadowed his sins.”
Mezil furrowed his brows and sighed. “All that heartbreak for a blasted vault of antiquated trinkets. As I’ve mentioned in another timeline, modern magitek has since outpaced all but the most powerful of medieval monster artifacts. And those may or may not have an annoying, arrogant, pompous excuse of a primordial embedded into them.”
Both Aiden and Grillby squinted suspiciously at Mezil.
“…That sounds like personal experience…” Grillby commented.
“A very personal experience.” Aiden added. “What did you find?”
“Confidential.” Mezil sipped on his cola slowly in an effort to calm down. “Just know that some of those treasures could do more harm than good. Tread with caution, Aratet. Should any of them start talking, get out of there ASAP, shut the door, and call Papyrus.”
………………
…That sure sounds bad… I just hope I won’t ever need to meet this relic in person…
“…That clears up a lot… But still, there’s one thing I don’t understand… Why would Vers entrust his belongings to Mezil, a sworn enemy?…”
Pushing all the bottle caps to the middle of the table, Mezil said: “Simple. It’s because we both made a wager.”
The collection of ‘currency’ formed a large mound. For both men, the stakes would have looked like this: all or nothing.
“Vers fought valiantly for The Keys of Fate. And he wore his ideology on his sleeve. During battle he made abundantly clear that peace with the Techevali was never his desire, only vengeance and genocide.”
“I, on the other hand, proposed a complete ceasefire. The less lives lost, the better for both sides. We couldn’t agree on the method to end this spiral. Therefore, we put our lives in the betting pot. Whichever one of us survives The War of the Red Victory… will save the Aratet people from their own righteousness.”
“As the newly crowned Living Victory, I set out to do what I had promised. Calling the task ‘daunting’ is an understatement. As you’ve heard from Aiden, the philosophy of ‘kill or be killed’ had bore its cursed fruit in the kingdom: rampant and all-consuming. The once united anti-Aratet front had splintered into their respective factions, tearing at each other’s throats.”
“My initial plan was to cycle every two or three years. Evaluate the outcome before making the decision to reset. But, as it turned out, I didn’t have the luxury of rewinding years and years. Persona haunted my every step, so none of my victories had any certainty.”
“So I thought… if victory cannot be obtained, then the next best thing was to inflict universal defeat.”
Grillby asked, “…How did you accomplish that?…”
“I know the answer,” Aiden remarked. “It's money. Or rather, a lack of money. I heard that one day the funding on all sides had vaporized. The war ended because no one could afford to continue.”
“Correct. Wars in the modern era are often proxies for foreign nations. They perpetuate the conflict through promises of support and development. But all they're really doing is controlling the trade of weapons and supplies. The locals end up completely dependent on their aid.”
“I thus started with where I would have the most effect: my own country. I held no favour in the connections of old. It doesn’t matter who founded what or why. If it’s corrupt, then it will be cut from existence.”
Mezil placed his hand on the pile of caps. A red butterfly flashed through the fake currency. Upon the command of the caster, it crumbled the pile into dust. They were totally and utterly destroyed.
…Nothing like a dramatic performance to hammer in a point…
…Still, choosing to mess with the pockets of the rich and powerful… No wonder Mezil had made so many enemies…
The Magus returned to his cola. After a sip, he said: “Having destroyed the cash flow, the machine of destruction ground to a halt. The war officially ended and rebuilding efforts began. I know what kind of consequences await me… yet I chose to keep my word to Vers.”
“And so began my career as the Keeper of Peace. By theory, anyway. The ever growing bounty on my head doesn’t seem to agree. Assassination attempts galore, both public and private. Not to mention how my reputation lay in shambles. It’s part of the reason why I’m in such a difficult position in the present day.”
“Could I have tried other ways? Perhaps. Perhaps not. The answer’s lost to time.”
Aiden grunted, still skeptical. “You spin a good tale. But I’ll be blunt: your deeds are not always so righteous. It’s impossible to move mountains without getting your hands dirty.”
“Hmph, that goes for anything. Though… I do admit that I may have been too efficient at times.”
Hearing all these stories bothered Grillby. Is there really no hope for peace without struggle on The Surface? Was it better to stay hidden under the mountain?
That called for another shot of absinthe.
“Are you alright, Grillby?” asked Mezil. “You’re starting to drink like Queen Toriel. I sincerely hope you don’t go down that path.”
“…You mean a person who drinks to drown their pain?…”
“Apologies if I seem like a patronizing busybody,” Mezil glanced to the side, trying to avoid eye contact. “My parents sent themselves into an early grave that way.”
“…Condolences…”
“It’s fine. What’s more important is that you seem to have something on your mind.”
Back to business already, apparently. “…I’ve been thinking about the war… Our war… How it all began… And where we are today…”
He disclosed the necessary lore about the Sealing and the Delta Rune. They’re things that those of magic would have already known, but it may be new to an outsider like Aiden.
“…Then, sixty years ago… A Gungnir child fell into the Underground… There, they met the Prince of Monsters and became like siblings … Chara and Asriel… they were inseparable…”
“As the story goes… Chara fell very ill and died… Their final wish was to see the flowers from their village… Asriel thus absorbed their SOUL and crossed the Barrier… But the villager at the foot of the mountain thought a monster killed a human… so they attacked with everything they had…”
“…Prince Asriel… ever so kind… refused to fight back… Gravely injured, he retreated back to the Underground… He died with Chara’s body in his hands… And the nation lost two children in one day…”
“…In his anger, King Asgore announced war… But In order to enact revenge, he needed to break the Barrier… We needed seven human SOULS… Thereby every human who fell down would have to die…”
Grillby tilted the bottle, wanting to pour himself a third shot. But… his senses compelled otherwise. It was important to remain sober. He thus capped the bottle and set it aside.
How should he proceed from here? This conversation may be casual, yet the stakes were not. Each of them had shown sides that they would otherwise never have considered. Talk about risky businesses and careful gambling.
…Perhaps…
Perhaps it was better to come clean.
After all, The Gungnir had tried to excavate the bodies before, and it was for a good reason.
“…Grillby is just a nickname…” he said, “…Please allow me to properly introduce myself… I’m Grillbz Grillenn, a knight descendant… Long ago, our forefathers battled in this very land…”
“…I was in charge of the Royal Guard… And in that position… I had ended a human life with my own hands…”
The opening statement caught Aiden’s full attention. Mezil remained silent with his salted cola, encouraging Grillby to say what he needed to say.
“…The SOUL collection took many, many years…” Grillby explained. “…Cyan, Orange, and Blue were handled by my predecessor… I oversaw the taking of Purple, Green, and Yellow… My successor Undyne was supposed to capture Frisk… the final piece…”
“…I expected all humans to be soldiers like you… …Someone who posed a danger to my kind… Able of putting up a good fight… It brings meaning to battle… A reason to kill… But Yellow… he was just a frightened child in a hostile world…”
“…I soon realised that even adult humans would suffer the same… That they too would die screaming in helpless agony… I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered… Why wouldn’t humans be terrified of us?… There’s no glory in war… Only death… For the first time, I questioned my life’s training…”
Aiden commented: “So you ran away to become a bartender?”
“…Yes… It’s rather embarrassing… But I wanted to see… If I belonged in peace…”
“Did you find your peace?”
“…Truth be told… No, I did not…” Grillby turned towards the counter. “…I have known and seen too much… I maintained my skills, because war was always looming… As long as I’m alive and able… I would end up on the battlefield again… To fulfill my people’s righteous fury…”
Surprisingly, Aiden was relieved. How odd. Grillby expected some kind of disgust. The Gungnir had always worried that monsters would come to threaten mankind. Their worst case scenario was confirmed, yet he seemed totally fine with it.
“…Does my story not upset you?…” He asked, unable to comprehend.
“On the contrary.” Aiden of Aratet replied, “I can respect your reasons. After all, a prince serves as the foundation of the kingdom. Anyone would seek to avenge their death. It doesn’t matter if it’s through political compensation or through war.”
“See, what my ancestor feared most wasn’t ‘revenge’. It was rampant destruction. Imagine hordes marching down the mountain, destroying crops, flattening homes, and massacring the people. Asas Asal Ara honed their craft to defend against such mindless incursions.”
“But you? You can feel anger. Hatred. Pain. You express your emotions, not just through destructive magic, but through thought and action. That makes you human in my eyes. I see now that your pacifist philosophies aren’t all talk.”
“That said. I’m beginning to understand why a Gungnir ended up befriending your prince. I assume it’s related to what the Royal Child wanted to share?”
“Ah, that’s right.” Mezil squeezed the bridge of his nose, “Frisk did make that promise.”
For someone so strict, Mezil was quite casual about this issue. Grillby questioned, “…Is it alright to share this information?… Don’t they want to tell the truth by themselves?…”
“It’s fine. They must have forgotten it from the whirlwind of today’s excitement. No one has a perfect memory, especially time travellers. Allow me to pick up the slack on their behalf.”
“…If that’s the case… Please, go ahead…”
“Thank you. Anyways, you’ve now heard about the tragedy of Chara and Asriel. Except, the story doesn’t end there. Unbeknownst to monsterkind, a remnant of Prince Asriel had been absorbed by an Ebott Goldenflower and reanimated. The result was a twisted sociopathic version of his former self named ‘Flowey’. It’s complicated.”
“As for Chara… Frisk so happened to land right on top of their blooming grave, becoming their personal Persona by sheer accident. Though, that’s not the case anymore. Thanks to Papyrus, I have personally transferred Chara into a vessel similar to Flowey’s. And those two seem to be getting along better than ever nowadays.”
“…All’s well that ends well…” Grillby noted.
Aiden meanwhile contemplated the reveal. “For their spirit to possess the Royal Child, those two must bear some very strong similarities.”
“I’d say so,” Mezil agreed, “Which soon presented its own share of problems as Sir Grillen can attest to. Concerns surrounding Frisk grew by the day. After all, they embodied both Magi and Gungnir, yet represented Monsterkind. It was for that reason that I chose to hold the Trial of the Crimson Hall despite the risks.”
“…And you let them pass… by the skin of their teeth…”
“Yes. That child… They rejected me. Rejected Persona. Yet they owed up to their mistakes. Since then, a change stirred within me. Call it the foolish sentimentality of an old man if you must. But, if I could allow Magi, Monster, and Gungnir teachings to co-exist within Frisk, perhaps we too could finally start to dream of a better tomorrow?”
Aiden tried to take another sip from his can of beer, but it had run dry.
“The night is ending. It’s time I made my decision.”
After saying that, Aiden leaned against the chair with a slouch. His face had started to turn reddish from all the beer he drank tonight. The leader of Gungnir then placed his phone on the table. Frisk’s Mark shone bright in the bar’s dim lighting.
A little mental recap was required. If Grillby remembered his briefing details, Aiden had a Marked phone that preserved voice recordings from previous timelines. That same symbol was seen on the phone belonging to the unnamed ‘Kaiju girl’.
The fire elemental asked: “…Other than yours… How many other devices carry your son’s Mark?…”
“Two. One is with my master, and the other with my half-sister. Niton doesn’t need to cast his symbol on his own devices. His memory is all he needs.”
Grillby frowned. “…No wonder you’re so certain… Did you know about the nameless girl?…”
“That young female Coloured One? My sister tried to convince me to enlist her as an assassin. I told her Gungnir shouldn’t sink that low. We’re not so desperate that we’d resort to monsters to complete our mission.”
“…Yet, it happened… With you as the target… And your son as collateral…”
“I remember when we were still in the car, Niton collapsed into a panic attack: leftovers from the sting of death. The Royal Child’s symbol on my phone was further proof, alongside the message I had left for myself.”
Immortal by technicality, yet still vulnerable to pain. Grillby recalled how even a veteran like Mezil was almost driven mad by the agony…
…To think Frisk’s Mark became evidence of our innocence instead… Marking the phone was a good decision after all…
Mezil picked up the conversation at where it left off. “What will you do now? With your sister that is.”
Aiden replied, “Whatever happens, I must silence her. She knows too much. If I follow my heart, I want to chop her up and feed her to the beasts… but I don’t think King Asgore or The Vampire would let me.”
“Besides,” he added, “I do believe it’s more beneficial to keep her alive. Every contact of hers would have caught wind of her failure by now. The guilty would want her dead as much as I do. And once she’s gone it will be much easier to turn us into their scapegoats. That must be avoided at all cost.”
“So how about it, Vampire? My sister for my father. Help me catch her, and I’ll take the Last Persona off your hands.”
“Of course,” Mezil replied. “That’s what I wanted anyway.”
“When is your limit?”
“By technicality, the eve of dawn on Friday. Knowing Persona though, he would try to end my existence sooner rather than later.”
Aiden started thinking. “We’ve already lost one cycle between Monday and Tuesday. Tuesday to Wednesday is too soon. Which leaves us with the passing between Wednesday and Thursday. Is that acceptable?”
Mezil nodded. “Deal.”
That made Grillby wonder, …What time is it anyway?…
Looking at the bar’s old-fashioned analog clock, the hands read about 12:40. No wonder Aiden said that it’s too late to attempt anything tonight.
Both men reached into their pockets to take out their wallet. They paid a thousand bucks each, a sum that was way more than the price of their drink.
There’s a limit to tipping. “…Please… That’s too generous of you…”
Except, the two humans refused to back down. Aiden and Mezil both had the same serious intensity.
“Not at all.” said Mezil, “Consider this as a modest compensation for your hard work.”
Aiden smirked in response. “A paltry sum indeed. You’re a good bartender, but you’re even better as a warrior. The Vampire would be stupid to ignore such talent.”
Both men gave their thanks. Aiden left the bar first, while Mezil stayed to help clean up. This included vacuuming the mound of dusted bottle caps. The gesture was much appreciated; today’s guests did cause quite a mess.
When they were done, they returned to the counter. Grillby sat on the service side, Mezil on the customer side.
“…Hm?… You’re not leaving yet?…”
“No, not yet,” He brought his hands together, even more serious than usual. “I’m here to talk about the results of your unofficial Trial of the Crimson Hall. It’s uncharacteristic for a monster to request this procedure, but I won’t decline an honest evaluation. Put away the absinthe: you’re not going to like the verdict.”
“…Oh…” If it’s going to be so bad, it’s best to put the drink back in its original cupboard. And that’s what Grillby did.
Back at the judgement counter, the ‘Supreme Judge’ mercilessly declared: “Sir Grillbz Grillenn-- No, ‘Grillby of Grillby’s’, I hereby pronounce you a Fallen. You’ve failed the Trial of the Crimson Hall.”
Hearing that, he understood why Judge Thyme advised to keep the bottle away. If it was there within his reach, he would have definitely taken another shot.
“…I… I see…” What a blow to the heart it was. “…I’m too much of a novice after all…”
“Hm?” The Magus raised a brow. “Did you think it’s because you lack technique and knowledge? No. It would be unfair to judge you based on that. Bartending as we know today began long after the Sealing. It’s a foreign and novel concept for your nation.”
“…Then, what was the cause?…”
“It’s your finances. As you suspected, you would have gone bankrupt long ago if it weren’t for your military pensions.”
Indeed, the fact had stared at his face for many years. Yet he thought it was all worth it. Grillby was a bachelor, and didn’t have much in the way of additional personal expenses. So, he considered the shop as part of an ongoing hobby.
Mezil continued, “Sans Serif, your biggest customer, has a giant unpaid tab. Queen Toriel had gathered an impressive cleaning bill, while Undyne and Papyrus had broken your windows in their extreme athletics. And yet you didn’t claim a single cent from either of them. Plus, even your actual paying customers tend to sit around for hours without a new order, taking up limited space without giving back much returns. See where I’m going with this?”
“Remember, The Trial of the Crimson Hall is first and foremost a trial of the heart. Living in the same town, it would have been easy for you to request compensation. Instead, you avoided confrontation. Unwilling to disrupt the peace and joy of others, at the expense of your own. Is that how you think a regular citizen should live? Or perhaps you’re still fearful and repentant? It’s a total disconnect of expectation versus reality.”
“…Disconnect… Maybe that’s what it is… I’ve always been a peacekeeper, living to defend the citizens… Yet I don’t know how people really live…”
Grillby leaned over the counter of his bar. Mezil offered him a moment of quietness to think, contemplate, and reminisce.
The bartender tried to imagine the smiles of his customers. Every person had their own share of troubles. He thought if he could make them forget about it for a little while, it was a job well done. That was what kept him going despite the occasional chaos.
But… His business couldn’t live on customer satisfaction alone.
He couldn’t either.
“…Despite starting this bar… I still haven’t forgiven myself about Yellow… Is that why my SOUL burns with great temper?… I’ve been unable to forgive others too…”
“Hmm, I have a feeling that we’re both of the same archetype. Since I also struggle with this, I’m not in the position to criticize. Instead, I should share something my father-in-law had once told me. That man has lived a steadfast life for a thousand years, so I trust his wisdom.”
“…The Grandmaster, correct?… That’s quite a feat…”
“He claims what kept him going was the divine word. He would often tell me: To forgive others, you must first be forgiven. And to be forgiven, you must first forgive others.”
Grillby blinked a few times. “…Isn’t that… an impossible cycle?…”
“Under normal terms, perhaps. But it all starts at The Redeemer. From there, the ball gets rolling. For the Grandmaster, the penalty was paid through faith. He extended that grace to me, his troublesome son-in-law. And I’ve extended it to Frisk.”
Finishing the previous sentence made Mezil ponder. “Come to think of it, where did Papyrus get his sense of forgiveness from? It’s not something that comes naturally. At least, I don’t believe so.”
“Anyway, point being,” the Magus resumed, “In order to start the process, you have to be truthful to your own feelings. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re also allowed to fear and be bitter too. Experience those emotions. Come to terms with them. Then release them through proper thought and action, the human way. Forgiveness will surely come from those who notice your honest efforts.”
Looking at Grillby straight in the eye, the old Magus then requested: “Sir Grillenn, please attend the upcoming ritual. There’s a high chance that it will turn into a violent exorcism. I would like to have someone of your skills by my side.”
“…Don’t you already have Sir Gaelic… And Princess Cenna?… What about Captain Undyne?… Plus Aiden has his troops…”
“Persona is too familiar with Gaelic’s methods of fighting. Judge Caraway and Captain Undyne need to act as failsafes outside the battlefield. As for the others… I don’t know enough about them. I need someone who can fight without killing, even in the worst case scenario.”
“…Persona is that dangerous?… I’ll consider your request…”
By the time their chat ended, it was almost 2 in the morning. Mezil left with a big yawn, tired from the long and exhausting day.
…It’s late… Grillby thought. …I should go to bed… But I don’t think I can sleep like this… Maybe I should wind down first… Think of a poem in the meantime…
So, he did just that. Grillby picked up some writing tools and took out the absinthe. He poured himself one more glass. Last one for the night, he promised to himself.
He took one sip, stared at the paper, and… nothing came to mind. Quite literally so.
Any words that came to mind were a jumbled mess. None of the spellings were correct. Fleeting.
Then, he downed his shot, and all he remembered was the blank darkness of the night.
Next thing he knew, he heard someone knocking on the bar’s door. It was loud, and somewhat frantic. How odd. Grillby thought he had placed the sign in the right position. Why would any patrons knock if they knew the bar was closed?
That was when he woke up. He found himself lying on top of the paper as if it was a pillow.
…Huh?…I… fell asleep?… Since when did I become Sans?!?…
The clock’s hands now read ‘9:25’. The sun had already risen into the sky, shining bright.
Squinting at the sun-filled entrance, he could make out the silhouette of a large bunny.
…That looks like Quentin…
He staggered towards the door and unlocked it. Indeed, there stood none other than Quentin, the purple bunny.
The other monster’s long ears perked up in alertness. “Whoa there, you alright? I thought it was fishy that the lights were still on by this hour. Then when I looked through the window, I saw you collapsed on the counter! I got soooo worried.”
…Huh… I guess Gaster managed to get The Core functioning again…
“…Oh…” Rubbing the back of his neck, Grillby said, “…Sorry to make you worry… I fell asleep… And I drank a bit too much…”
“Dang,” frowned Quentin. “Now I’m extra worried about your health. You’re running yourself ragged. It’s tough running a business solo, and that’s without a movie creature trying to level town.”
“…Thanks for the concern… But why are you here?…”
Quentin pointed to the half-swept mound of dirt. Bits of fine yet still sharp glass sparkled under the sunlight. “The night was too dark to properly do the job, so I came back here just to make sure. Definitely don’t want any of the barefoot folk stepping on those.”
“…Ah, sorry for making you do my job…”
“No, no. It’s fine. It looked like you had some super important guests. I could feel the aura of ‘serious business’ ten feet away from your establishment! It was honestly intimidating! I had to sweep super quietly because I didn’t dare to interrupt.”
“…Um, Mister Quentin… We need to talk…”
The rabbit started to get nervous. “H-hey. Um. If it was about the whole glasses deal, I’m sorry. I was being too cool for my own good. Yes, I admit that I recognized you as the guy who once arrested me. But you were just doing your job. I have no grudges with you! Zero. Nit. Zip. Nada.”
“…You don’t?… I was not thinking about that… But, now I’m curious… Did you just say… you had forgiven me?…”
“Uhh, yes? Why wouldn’t I? Okay, first thing’s first. I avoided the bar because I was scared of others. It had nothing to do with you, I swear. Next. Gaster is the guy who needs to eat his own medicine and ask for forgiveness! Not you! Like I said, you were just doing your job.”
The bunny’s ears drooped. “I finally had a new life in Snowdin. Everyone knew me as Caroline’s husband, and that’s it. But… the bar had Sans as a regular. If he called me out as a friend of his dad, well, people might piece things together.”
“…That… that is the reason?… Ha… ha ha ha!…” Grillby couldn’t help but laugh.
…I’m wrong, and yet I’m happy…
“…Alright… I’ve decided… I’m giving the bar to you… Turn it into the diner of your dreams…”
“W-what?!?!?!” Quentin exclaimed. “Okay Grillby. You’re scaring me. Whatever troubles you’re facing right now, it can be solved. Financial, relational, medical, whatever. There’s always a brighter tomorrow. Trust me, I’ve been in that dark place!”
What a colossal misunderstanding. “…Quentin… I’m not committing suicide… But… I won’t deny that I will have to put my life at risk…”
“Context, please?”
“…I’m taking up arms… This time, as a member of the Magus Association…”
Grillby placed the keys to the bar in Quentin’s hands. “…Inspect the premises however you like… Excuse me, I must go…”
Ignoring the confused rabbit, Grillby started running. It’s foolishly hardcore to abandon his bar so suddenly, but he wanted no further temptation to stay behind.
For the first time in thirteen years -- since Yellow’s death -- he felt like he’s back on the right track.