Spending time with Stephan was a breath of fresh air. It had been too long since Dust had any positive social interaction.

They cooked.

They chatted.

They laughed.

Sleeves, rolled.

Dried pasta, readied.

Meat, chopped and fried.

Tomatoes, peeled and mashed.

Herbs and seasonings, sprinkled with generosity.

Then the human shared a little bit about his past.

He was born the youngest of three boys to a farming family. When he grew up, he moved to the capital to try his luck. Managed to open a bakery, get married, and have a kid… but an economic recession became his downfall.

His uncle lent him the current farmhouse. Things might have improved if it weren’t for the pesky apocalypse.

On the positive side, Stephan had a pair of twin boys within the last five years. Silly little rascals. His eldest daughter took up the role of being their second mother. It seemed that Papyrus had left a huge impression on the girl, so he claimed. It was for the best; Dust knew that he himself wasn’t a good role model, be it his past or present self.

With all the ingredients swimming in a big pot of stock, all they needed was a good simmer for half an hour. By theory, it should have to cook down for quite a while longer. Unfortunately, everyone was too hungry to wait.

While they hung around the warm stove, Stephan commented in astonishment. “Mister Sans, your eyes… They’re white again.”

“Oh?” Dust touched his brow. “The cooking session must have calmed me down a lot. Though, you better make sure you keep that magic-suppressing cloth on your head. I can’t guarantee if I can stay sane otherwise.”

“Of course.” Stephan adjusted the fabric. “I thought of tying it like a bandana, but the cloth is a bit too thick for that. Right now I look like someone trying to dress up as Little Black Riding Hood…”

“Heh. Fits the kitchen work, if you ask me. Say Stephan, if you’re a Red, does that mean you have that special symbol magic Anya has?”

There was an instant sigh of disappointment from the human. “I wish I did. It would have been so interesting to see what my personal special power would look like.”

“Huh. So, it’s not something that’s taught? There are no squadrons of shepherd’s hooks?”

“Nope. The elders in the village said that it’s some kind of manifestation magic, unique per person. Either you have it or you don’t. All The Hero’s Guild’s top warriors are apparently made up of those special people too.”

Dust pondered about that statement. “What’s The Hero’s Guild anyway? I’ve seen recruitment ads here and there when I first migrated. After that, I think I became their ‘number one enemy’. I’ve killed a fair number who claimed to be representatives.”

Stephan’s expression turned gloomy. “They… Um… For over a thousand years, they worked together with the military to maintain peace. I used to look up to them as the land’s protectors. Not anymore though.”

“Really? What changed?”

“Well, they tried to kill you for one, Mister Sans. At first I thought it was a misunderstanding. Why would they try to kill The Lone Defender? You’re the reason humanity continues to exist. But… they were serious. ‘All heretics must be purged’, so said the ‘heroes’. They believed your mere existence is what aggravated whatever’s underneath Ebott.”

Hearing that stirred concern within Dust. “What about The Willowherbs? Are they at risk of extermination too?”

“That would have been the case if Miss Anya wasn’t in a unique position. Something about her being a Willowherb and a member of the military at the same time.”

“So, long story short, it’s all politics.”

“Yeah…” Clenching his hand into a fist, the human confessed his disillusionment. “It’s… terrifying to think that my childhood heroes wouldn’t think twice about killing me and my family.”

Dust looked away in guilt. “…Sorry for putting you in a tough spot.” What else could he say? If monsters didn’t emerge from the mountain, Stephan would have remained a regular farmer with regular problems.

Forcing himself to smile, the human replied: “H-hey, no worries. All of that might change in the future. Another member of The Hero’s Guild had started negotiations with us recently about the Ebott case. One of Miss Anya’s comrades. They worked together at the floating castle incident.”

“Were you friends? With the lady, I mean. Not the hero fellow.”

“To tell you the truth, I volunteered to be her assistant only because I was one of the few who had spoken to you when you were still ‘Sans’. And because I recognized this farmhouse to be mine. I barely knew her before then. Still, she’s a really sweet lady, if you ask me. Hard to believe she’s in the military.”

“I see…”

So far, Stephan had displayed nothing but the fullest trust for Anya Willowherb. Not a single hint of hiding anything as well.

“Is there something wrong with her?” asked Stephan.

“Welp. Let’s just say it’s difficult to connect with someone who’s hiding in plain sight. Anyways, let’s get the noodles boiling. I’m getting quite famished.”

Lunch was a simple yet satisfying feast of spaghetti. Pasta with tomatoes; can’t go wrong there.

Although the chatter between the men continued uninterrupted, Anya focused on eating her meal in silence. It’s either she didn’t want to intrude, or she was just plain exhausted. The caffeine should have worn off by now, after all.

The farmer asked, “When was the last time you had pasta, Mister Sans?”

Dust paused to think. It had been a long, long time since he had one of these. “Probably… Last year? Or the year before? I was lucky enough to find undamaged cans of tomatoes in an abandoned grocery store. I keep to uninhabited areas if I can help it.”

The response garnered quite a bit of surprise. “Wow, you didn’t try to steal from anyone?”

“Heh, I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I join the inevitable droves of looters who’d exploit the breakdown of society? Because it’s not worth making even more enemies.”

“Besides,” he twirled some noodles with his fork, “I know what’s like to scrape by, be it as a shop owner, a worker, or a scavenger. Don’t wanna add more to their pain.”

Stephan noted, “Papyrus told me that you’ve raised him since he was a baby. Did… something happen to your parents?”

“They passed away from illness not long after Papyrus was born. A family friend took us in. They…”

Dust’s words hung in the air, trying to recall the name and face of that person. The person who adopted them as orphans should leave a big impact in his memory. If not for their good care, then at least for the amount of years spent together.

Yet, despite his best efforts… he recalled nothing.

“…Weird. I should remember, but I can’t. Is this another side effect of being a killer hermit?”

Stephan frowned. “Maybe. I heard that Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder messes with your brain.”

“PTSD? Why do you think so?”

To which Anya interjected, “You’ve been living on edge for the past five years, haven’t you Mister Dust?”

“Five years? Nah, it’s much longer than that. Way, way, way longer. It’s not even the death of my parents either. It’s just, well, how do I put this…?”

Dust lifted his fork, drawing circles in the air with its prongs. “My combat abilities had to come from somewhere, somehow, someplace. I can’t remember where I learned them either. If your PTSD hypothesis is true and I’m blocking even my earliest memories, then I must have crawled out from Hell itself.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

As he spoke, a dark shadow of the past loomed behind his back. The more he thought about it, the more he noticed the suspicious gaps…

For now, he shrugged it off and resumed eating. “I don’t need those memories anyway. Whatever I’ve made with Papyrus is enough. Right?”

The socially polite way was to agree and move on. It didn‘t matter if one believed their answer or not; it was more important to let the speaker stay comfortable.

Yet, Anya defied it. “No, Mister Dust. Memories should never be forgotten! Omitting vital information will only lead to disaster!”

Stephan tried to stop her to no avail. Her determination was stronger than his, as evident in their respective mastery of magic.

She continued, “The Willowherb Society teaches that people are made up of memories, consciously or otherwise. Forgetting even a fraction of the past leaves a void that makes a person vulnerable to lies and manipulation.”

“I don’t care,” shrugged Dust.

Anya then proceeded to… finish her meal with great frustration. At least she ate well. It was better than giving up halfway, depriving her tired body of much needed nourishment.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said. “Please excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

Stephan took her plate and said, “Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll handle them. Maybe some sleep will improve your mood.”

“Thank you again. See you later.”

Anya got up and left to her chosen bedroom.

Stephan leaned closer to Dust to whisper a question. “Have you guys met before? She’s behaving like an angry forgotten friend…”

After finishing his own helping of pasta, Dust replied: “Uh, actually… I’m wondering the same. Maybe we’ve bumped into each other and the recognition was a one way street? Has the lady ever told anyone about her big castle adventure?”

“The elders and her superiors have the full story. But… I think… hang on…”

Stephan rubbed his temples, trying hard to recall something. Then, as if someone switched on a lightbulb, he perked right back up.

“Aha!” he exclaimed. “She told me that she had met someone in the castle who really helped her out. He was fast on his feet and super mysterious. It’s the reason why she faced only one Dark Lord instead of all three of them.”

“Wait. That description. Isn’t that… me? It means we’ve teamed up before. If that’s the case, she should’ve been more upfront about the truth. I would have accepted it. No need to take the indirect convoluted route.”

Even so… she refused to confirm or deny. Was their meeting really that scandalous? Dangerous?

The Phantom grumbled. “Don’t get swayed by her tragic backstory. Basides, don’t you have anything better to do? Like washing the dishes?”

For once, the ghost was right. There’s a lot of stuff to wash up.

…But when Dust tried to stand up, he realised that he had eaten a bit too much. It’s weird for a skeleton to be able to feel too full, yet that was a real fact of life.

“Hey, you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just ate too much.”

“Oh, okay.” Stephan said, “Anyway, I still have something to return to you. Maybe this will help you jog some of those memories.”

Stephan placed down two objects that Dust thought he’d never see again. It was none other than Papyrus’ phone and wallet.

His bony hands trembled, wanting to pick them up yet not daring to. “What… when… how?”

“My daughter told me that Mister Papyrus gave these to her. ‘Show them to daddy only when you’re safe’, was the message.”

Hearing that hurt more than he cared to admit. With shaky breathing, Dust asked: “Have you checked the contents?”

“The phone is locked. As for his wallet… I found some sticky notes tucked between the bills.” Stephan opened the wallet and pulled out three sheets of paper. “I think they’re specifically for you.”

They’re written in simplified sign-language glyphs. Dust smirked. Even beyond the grave, his brother had the confidence that these items will one day reach its intended recipient.

The puzzle had the following instructions.

First, answer the riddle: ‘What’s better than a benchful of quiche?’

Then, single out the first, last, and sixth letter of the answer. Convert them into their corresponding number. Put them together to get the final 4-digit pin code to unlock the phone.

It’s obtuse enough to deter most people, but it was as easy as pie for Dust.

“First, last, sixth… ‘S’, ‘I’, ‘E’… 19, 9, 5… 1995. That’s Papyrus’ birth year.”

“Wow, Mister Sans. You remember which number is which letter from the top of your head?”

“Yup.”

After inputting the number, Dust successfully unlocked the device.

It was Papyrus’ phone alright. Still had that background of biceps with sunglasses. Those were such innocent days.

Dust commented, “70 percent battery, huh? That’s within the range for long term storage. Thanks for preserving my brother’s belongings.”

Stephan smiled back. “I did what I should. That’s all.”

The latest file on the phone was a video labelled ‘For Sans’. The date, February 9 2016. It was from right before the calamity.

Dust played the file posthaste.

It was night, and Papyrus had recorded his final message in his car. The faint lights of Stephan’s farmhouse were visible in the background.

“Sans,” thus said the Papyrus of the past, “By the time you watch this, I’m most likely dead. I’m sorry for not being there with you.”

“Out of all of us, I know you’re the one with the highest chance of survival. Surely you must think, why not The Great Papyrus? Well, I may be very great, but I still lack life experience!”

“I humbly acknowledge that I’m the student and you’re the teacher. You’ve raised me since I was a tiny baby bone. There’s ten whole years that I will never catch up to. Just when I thought I was ahead, you would prove me wrong in your most annoyingly brotherly manner. Nyeh.”

“Did you know that The Hero’s Guild contacted me? Yes! They recognized The Great Papyrus despite his flaws! They were curious about how I managed to escape the calamity. And in return, I got to learn much about human history from them! That’s… when I realised that this apocalypse had happened more often than I thought.”

After that, his expression changed into a serious tone.

“…I have a confession to make. I think I have the ability to see into the future. I don’t know why or how, but sometimes I get… dreams. I’ve dreamt of people’s faces long before I’ve met them, like Grillby in his bar. Or the red bird who keeps talking in his stead. I’ve dreamt that you had a good time bumming out with them.”

“I’ve also dreamt of Undyne losing her passion. And Mettaton becoming King. And everyone getting murdered by a strange smiling shadow. Were they dreams, or were they possibilities? I’ve skipped many nights of sleep fearing what I would see when I close my eyelids.”

“In the past few days, I’ve had a recurring nightmare. No… a warning. Thorns everywhere, under a red vortex, around a full moon. Whenever I try to see a future for myself, I can’t see anything. There’s only pure darkness. Since then I had this feeling that I wouldn’t make it.”

“If death awaits even The Great Papyrus…” he smirked. “Then it makes sense for me to prepare, right? I already have a plan in mind, which you would have witnessed by the time you’ve watched this video. Nyeh heh heh!”

His distinctive laughter didn’t last long.

“Sans. Brother. You’ve expressed that you don’t believe that people can choose to be good. They would rather choose convenience over goodness. I acknowledge that. Yet, I also think that it’s unfair to presume the worst outcome right from the start.”

“Many people in this world were never given a fair chance. They’re either discouraged from doing good, or they themselves have lost their faith. That’s why I take it upon myself to present them with this forgotten opportunity. If even one person turns around from their bad choices, then it’s all worth it.”

“I love more than just humankind and monsterkind. I love the air, the water, the sky, and the earth. I love the flora and the fauna, even when they annoy me. I love this planet and all who live on it. Because of that, I want to create a future where everyone has a chance to choose good. And if I can’t be there physically, then I ask you to share goodness in my stead.”

“I’m aware that this is a very, very selfish request. Incredibly unfair for you, I dare say. In that case, when the years go by, if the burden is too great because the world was destroyed by The Celestial Calamity, and people still refuse to choose good…”

Papyrus closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

“…Then search for me in the gap between realities. In the realm of dreams. I will be there waiting for you. I will no longer be a burden. Let’s become true partners, Sans.”

The video reached its end.

Dust slumped down on his chair, wondering about the final statement.

Papyrus was still alive? How? Where?

What’s this gap between realities?

The realm of dreams?

Meanwhile, Stephan was reduced to tears. “Mister Papyrus, I will never, ever, ever, ever, forget you! How could anyone?!? You’re as great as your title claims! I’ll make sure everyone watches this video, starting with the Willowherb Society!”

Talk about a sappy, emotional guy. He’s been a Papyrus fan from the beginning, so his last words must have pulled all the heartstrings.

“Hey, Stephan. May I leave for a smoke? I… I need time to think.”

Without missing a beat, the human exclaimed: “Sure! Of course! Take all the time you need! Don’t worry about the dishes. I can do those by myself.”

“Then I’ll leave this here.” Dust took off his baseball cap and placed it on the table. “See ya later.”

Once that was said and done, he went over to the nearest drawer. Took out a half-opened packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Then, he made his way outside to smoke.

Dust thought long and hard. A thousand questions flew through his mind. Did Papyrus make preparations before he died to have his soul transported into a backup somewhere? And, if that was the case, what must he do to get to that cryptic location?

“Think.” He muttered to himself, “C’mon, think, think, think, think! There has to be a clue somewhere…!”

Despite his best efforts, his mind drew a blank.

“Maybe Anya’s right. Memories are important. I may not care about myself, but now I have a nagging feeling that I should have known something sooner. Much, much sooner.”

He lit the cigarette, hoping that the tobacco might soothe his nerves.

One stick.

Two sticks.

Three sticks.

He blazed through several of them already, and yet he was nowhere calmer or wiser with his thoughts.

“Five years. It’s been five years. I’ve kept Papyrus waiting for no bloody reason. Dammit! I need time to research this…”

But can he devote himself to the effort? Slowly yet surely, it was getting harder and harder to survive. Salvaged supplies will eventually run out. And, once human society gets back on its feet, he may not be able to avoid populated areas anymore.

What if he could become self-sufficient with foraging and hunting? No. Those compete for time and energy too. It’s the same problem with a different skin. Not to mention that the animals could get very dangerous. Wild boars were not to be trifled with.

Dead ends awaited him at every turn… unless he signed the military contract. In exchange for official recognition as ‘The Lone Defender’, he wouldn’t need to worry about basic necessities anymore.

Was it scary to bind oneself to a larger group? Yes. So many things could go wrong in an organization. Still, if that’s what it takes to reunite with Papyrus, then he will.

Before he realised it, he had finished his last cigarette. With a hint of magic, the spent butts and the empty box disintegrated into dust and ashes.

Dust returned to the house. Stephan had just finished washing the dishes, and was preparing to take a break.

“Hey, Stephan?”

The man turned towards him. “Yes? Is there something I can do?”

“Could you bring out that military contract? I’m thinking of signing it. I’ll hash out the finer details with Anya when she wakes up.”