Art Dump thingy?

“We should look like we’re doing something before Undye gives us a good talking to,” Papyrus said, forcing a smile as he raised his sword.

A “talking to” was a generous understatement, but it made Iro grin anyway. She lifted her katanas and the two fell into familiar motions: basic drills, nothing fancy, just enough to look busy.

“So,” Iro said between strikes, “what did the king ask of you this time?”

Papyrus parried half-heartedly. “He wanted me to teach some of the other kids the techniques we learned with the swords.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Heh. What’s not boring to you?”

Iro scoffed. “Anything that doesn’t involve babysitting.”

Papyrus chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His swings were slow, distracted. His stance was off. His shoulders slumped between movements.

Iro lowered her swords. “Paps… you’re barely trying.”

“I know.” He exhaled, long and heavy. “I just… can’t shake it. This feeling. It’s like the air is different. Like the ground is waiting for something.”

Iro frowned. “You’ve had bad feelings before.”

“Not like this.” Papyrus’ voice dropped. “This one feels… big.”

Iro hated how that made her chest tighten. Papyrus’ instincts had saved them more than once. She didn’t want to admit it, but her mind had started drifting the same direction — toward that uneasy, invisible shift in the underground.

She twirled her swords, trying to shake it off. “Well, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it when it comes.”

Papyrus nodded, but his eyes stayed on the horizon. “Do you think… we’re fighting on the wrong side?” 

Iro opened her mouth to answer, but the wind shifted—sharp, sudden, carrying a familiar scent of lavender and ash. Papyrus froze. Iro felt her soul tighten. Oh, gosh, please let the wind drown out the question you just asked—

Footsteps approached through the snow, heavy and deliberate. The crunch of ice under armor echoed across the clearing. A tall shadow emerged between the trees, framed by drifting flakes.

King Asgore.

His cape fluttered behind him, catching the wind like a banner. His expression was soft, almost fatherly—yet his eyes held that same unreadable depth that made Iro’s bones ache. They had been that way since the day they took she and her brother in, as if they had no other emotion to portray in front of them. 

As if he was hiding something. 

“Children,” he greeted, voice warm enough to melt the surrounding frost. “Training so early in the morning? How diligent.”

Papyrus straightened immediately, sword at his side. “Your Majesty! We were just practicing our forms.”

Iro lowered her katanas but didn’t bow. She felt the spots on her skull pulse again, growing with each resenting thought. They made her head ache. 

Asgore’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long before continuing. “You both have grown,” he said, stepping closer. “Stronger, sharper, more capable than most monsters your age.”

Papyrus beamed at the praise. Iro didn’t. She thought it would be obvious why they were ahead, they knew how to learn on their own, thanks to their father. The others had peas for brains. Her head ached more at the thought of her dad. No, not now. She pressed the middle of her skull. 

Asgore’s smile widened, focusing on Papyrus. “It is good to see such dedication. The underground needs protectors like you.”

Papyrus’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, sir. We try our best.”

Asgore nodded, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Speaking of protection… I have a task for you.”

Iro felt Papyrus tense beside her. “A task?” Papyrus echoed.

“Yes.” Asgore’s tone shifted—still gentle, but with an undercurrent of command. “The rebellion has gained ground near the eastern border. Their walls have expanded. Their presence grows bolder.”

Papyrus swallowed. “We… noticed that.”

“I’m sure you did,” Asgore said, smiling as if Papyrus had pleased him. “Which is why I want the two of you to patrol the perimeter today. Observe their movements. Report anything unusual.”

Iro’s grip tightened on her katanas. “Sir… isn’t that usually assigned to senior guards?”

Asgore turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You are senior guards now, Iro.”

Her soul throbbed. Right. I guess that much time has passed. 

“Is your head hurting, soldier?” The king probed. “What seems to be an issue?” 

“Just a headache, sire—” Iro tried to brush it off. 

“Those spots on your head don’t lie. Maybe ease up a bit.” 

Iro could’ve sworn she snapped the katana hilt in two with how hard she gripped it, and the crack she heard from it. Are you TRYING to piss me off—

Papyrus stepped forward. “Your Majesty, we haven’t been briefed on the rebellion’s new territory yet. Shouldn’t Undye—”

“Undye is handling other matters,” Astore interrupted, his voice firm. “And I trust you both more than anyone else.”

Papyrus blinked, stunned. His eyes shined with promise, and his hands turned into fists as he waved them up and down eagerly as if he was still a boy. 

Iro didn’t buy it. Way to give us the boring job.

Asgore approached them, placing a large hand on Papyrus’s shoulder. “You have your father’s heart,” he said softly. “And your sister has his strength. Together, you are unstoppable. Gaster would be so proud of you too.”

Papyrus’s eyes softened at the mention of Gaster, he lowered his head and didn’t meet the king’s eyes. He took a moment to silence himself in order to honor his father in passing. 

Iro’s spots burned, they grew slowly, becoming more and more clustered. She had no reason to be upset at Asgore talking about her dad, but it was the way he said his name, the undertone, of what felt like disrespect rather than a good memory, that pissed her off. Can you still not put your disagreement with him aside and respect him in memory? 

Asgore stepped back, his cape sweeping across the snow. “Patrol the border until sunset. Do not engage. Do not provoke. Simply watch.” He paused, then added with a quiet intensity: “And do not let Toriel’s rebels deceive you. They are misguided and dangerous. They would tear this kingdom apart if given the chance, as you know. Do not engage in any conversation.”

Papyrus nodded slowly. “We understand.”

Iro didn’t respond. 

Asgore’s gaze flicked to her again. “Iro… do you understand?”

She forced her voice steady. “Yes, sire.”

“Good.” His smile returned, warm and heavy. “I expect a full report when you return.”

He turned, walking back toward the castle path. Snow swirled around him as he disappeared into the trees, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the cold.

Papyrus exhaled shakily. “Well… that’s new.”

Iro stared at the path Asgore had taken, her bones tight with unease. “He’s pushing us closer.”

“To what?” Papyrus asked.

Iro didn’t answer. She didn’t know.

But she felt it—deep in her soul, in the spots crawling across her skull, in the way the wind seemed to whisper warnings through the trees.

Something was coming.

And Asgore wanted them standing right in front of it.

***

Still wearing Papyrus’ scarf, Iro didn’t let him take it back as they wandered toward the edge of their territory. The fabric trailed behind her like a banner, brushing the snow with every step. Papyrus didn’t complain. He never did when she needed it.

The border was quiet today—too quiet. Snowdin’s usual hum of distant monster chatter was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness that pressed against their bones. The rebellion’s wall loomed ahead, tall and imposing, its surface lined with runes that flickered faintly in the cold.

The rebellion had finally gained some land. It was well protected, reinforced with magic and guarded by monsters who didn’t hesitate to attack anyone who came too close. Only the best guards were ever assigned to patrol it, which is how Papyrus saw it. Asgore didn’t like the idea of losing more soldiers than necessary. 

To death, or to propaganda?

To Iro, it was a dull, mind-numbing task. There was nothing more boring than watching the snow slowly rise over hours as if it was paint drying. Nothing moved, nothing happened; Iro was convinced Asgore had never actually BEEN this far out. He fretted over their advances but day in and day out, nothing ever happened. 

Papyrus always said it was because the best guards were put on duty, and no one would ever dare try them. Iro thought it was because there was actually nothing interesting going on. 

“Well,” Papyrus said, glancing to his right, breaking her thoughts. “Do you think we’ll see anything today?”

Iro shrugged, her melancholy almost visible in the way her shoulders slumped. “Doubt it.”

Papyrus huffed and shoved her shoulder lightly. She didn’t resist and toppled into the snow with a soft thud. “Have a little faith, sis,” he teased, grinning down at her. “Surely something will come out of their walls.”

Iro pushed herself up, brushing snow off her robe. “Papyrus, nothing ever comes out of their walls. They’re too smart for that. They know we’re here.”

“As they shouldn’t! We would tear them to pieces!” Papyrus grinned and tapped his foot, staring at the towering structure. “Still… something feels different today.”

Iro rolled her eyes. “You say that every day.”

“And every day I’m right,” Papyrus countered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. He paused, for once, the smile on his face fading. “I don’t know. It’s like the air is… heavier.”

Iro paused. She hated how much she agreed.

Their patrols had become routine: walk the perimeter, watch the wall, report nothing. But lately, the silence felt wrong. It was too intentional. Too expectant. As if the rebellion were waiting for something… or something too prevalent was going on ‌inside, they couldn’t spare any monster to watch the outside. 

Are they… having disagreements among themselves? Iro crossed her arms, rubbing her gloves together for warmth. “Even if something did happen, it wouldn’t be anything we could actually do. Asgore said not to engage.”

Papyrus frowned. “I know. But I don’t trust him.”

Iro blinked. Her brother, the second biggest boot-licker in the kingdom—right after Undye—doesn’t trust the boots he licks? “You don’t?”

Papyrus shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Not after Dad.”

Oh, well he had mentioned that before. The spots on Iro’s skull pulsed sharply. She looked away, swallowing hard, her throat suddenly craving a fistful of snow. “Let’s… not talk about that.”

Papyrus nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on the wall. “Sorry.”

They stood in silence for a moment; the wind brushing past them, carrying faint whispers of magic from the rebellion’s territory. Iro’s eyes glazed over as she stared at the wall, the same wall she’d stared at for months. The same wall that never changed. The same wall that felt like a prison.

Her bones ached with boredom.

Papyrus’ bones ached with dread.

“Hey,” Papyrus said softly, nudging her. “Do you remember when Dad used to take us to the forest? Before all this?”

Iro’s chest tightened. I thought we weren’t talking about dad. “Yeah.”

“He always said the forest talked to him,” Papyrus chuckled. “Said it told him when something was wrong.”

Iro’s voice dropped. “Do you think… that’s what you’re feeling?”

Papyrus didn’t answer right away. He stared at the wall, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.”

She didn’t remember any specific moment Gaster talking about the trees, if they swayed differently, if they gave him information or not. He did talk about how the code would shift when something in the world was changing, and the world would react to it. But that could only mean he could read the code of the world, and would know how to get out of it. 

She wouldn’t put it past her father to know that, but he never shared that kind of knowledge, so it was always left up to myth in her mind. I feel like he would have told us how to do something as important as that before he… 

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” 

Iro glared at her brother as his fingers touched a few of the black spots on her head. “Hey—” 

“You shouldn’t have these many spots. You need to be kind to yourself,” he looked concerned down at her. 

Iro shoved part of the scarf over the back of her head where the spots grew. “I don’t get how you don’t have any.” 

Papyrus paused, before turning his back to her. “I have a few,” he gestured to the three singular dots near his spine. 

“Three dots, wowww.” 

“Hey, they’re still there. We all had them: could never hide our regrets well.” Papyrus sighed, turning back to face her and looking her in the eyes. “But you have so many, at least fifty. You shouldn’t—” 

“I’ll be fine, Paps,” Iro curled up and looked to the dull wall of a tower again. “...They’ll be gone before you know it.” 

He didn’t believe her at first until she forced a smile. He reciprocated it and glanced back to the tower. 

An hour passed, maybe two. The wind howled and the snow grew in the millimeters. The wall croaked, its ever-stagnant state never changing. No sunlight meant no appealing color shifts for the eyes to enjoy. 

Iro became convinced the monsters with insomnia could find good, hard sleep watching this wall. She sighed and stood up fully, brushing off the last of the snow. “Let’s just go, Papyrus. There’s nothing here.”

Papyrus tapped his foot again, harder this time. His soul pulsed with unease, a faint tremor Iro could almost feel through the ground. “But…” He grunted, knowing what Iro would say, as she had any day: a feeling’s just a feeling. His bad feelings meant, likely, nothing here, as nothing had ever changed when he had them. Eventually, and followed Iro as she turned away.

They took three steps.

Four.

Five.

The wind shifted,, slicing through the air like a warning. A deep, resonant click echoed through the storm.

Both skeletons froze. That was not a familiar noise. 

The sound didn’t belong to the wind, or the trees, or the distant hum of magic. It was mechanical. A sound neither of them had ever heard from the rebellion’s wall.

Papyrus whipped his head around so fast his cape nearly flew off. Iro’s jaw dropped, her soul thudding violently against her ribs.

The massive door embedded in the rebellion’s wall was opening. There was a door? By the looks of it, there was nothing to be seen. It was just a blank slate. Yet, part of the lower wall hitched open slowly, making a faint creaking noise. 

Snow swirled around the widening crack of light, casting long shadows across the frozen ground. The runes lining the wall flickered, reacting to the shift in the code. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Papyrus’ hands trembled. “Iro—” he whispered. 

Iro’s bones locked in place. No way I just jinxed myself. 

The door groaned as it continued to open, its heavy frame pushing against years of ice buildup. A gust of warm air spilled out from within — warm, impossibly warm for Snowdin — carrying the faint scent of earth and something unfamiliar.

Something from the touch of the sun. 

Iro’s breath hitched.

Papyrus’ eyes widened, glowing faintly with instinctive magic.

A figure stepped out. Small, shivering, wrapped in torn clothing and clutching their arm as if it hurt to move.

It was a human.

A real human.

Papyrus inhaled sharply, his voice barely a whisper. “Iro… that’s—”

“I know.”

Gaster’s words came flying back into her mind just as fast as Asgore’s instructions did. 

Never let Asgore near the humans, ever! Do not let him know when they come!

Tell me immediately when the humans arrive, as it is foretold they will. We shall throw a feast for them, and always keep our eyes on them. Don’t fail me.

The instructions froze her in place more than the ice did. 

“We should look like we’re doing something before Undye gives us a good talking to,” Papyrus said, forcing a smile as he raised his sword.

A “talking to” was a generous understatement, but it made Iro grin anyway. She lifted her katanas and the two fell into familiar motions: basic drills, nothing fancy, just enough to look busy.

“So,” Iro said between strikes, “what did the king ask of you this time?”

Papyrus parried half-heartedly. “He wanted me to teach some of the other kids the techniques we learned with the swords.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Heh. What’s not boring to you?”

Iro scoffed. “Anything that doesn’t involve babysitting.”

Papyrus chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His swings were slow, distracted. His stance was off. His shoulders slumped between movements.

Iro lowered her swords. “Paps… you’re barely trying.”

“I know.” He exhaled, long and heavy. “I just… can’t shake it. This feeling. It’s like the air is different. Like the ground is waiting for something.”

Iro frowned. “You’ve had bad feelings before.”

“Not like this.” Papyrus’ voice dropped. “This one feels… big.”

Iro hated how that made her chest tighten. Papyrus’ instincts had saved them more than once. She didn’t want to admit it, but her mind had started drifting the same direction — toward that uneasy, invisible shift in the underground.

She twirled her swords, trying to shake it off. “Well, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it when it comes.”

Papyrus nodded, but his eyes stayed on the horizon. “Do you think… we’re fighting on the wrong side?” 

Iro opened her mouth to answer, but the wind shifted—sharp, sudden, carrying a familiar scent of lavender and ash. Papyrus froze. Iro felt her soul tighten. Oh, gosh, please let the wind drown out the question you just asked—

Footsteps approached through the snow, heavy and deliberate. The crunch of ice under armor echoed across the clearing. A tall shadow emerged between the trees, framed by drifting flakes.

King Asgore.

His cape fluttered behind him, catching the wind like a banner. His expression was soft, almost fatherly—yet his eyes held that same unreadable depth that made Iro’s bones ache. They had been that way since the day they took she and her brother in, as if they had no other emotion to portray in front of them. 

As if he was hiding something. 

“Children,” he greeted, voice warm enough to melt the surrounding frost. “Training so early in the morning? How diligent.”

Papyrus straightened immediately, sword at his side. “Your Majesty! We were just practicing our forms.”

Iro lowered her katanas but didn’t bow. She felt the spots on her skull pulse again, growing with each resenting thought. They made her head ache. 

Asgore’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long before continuing. “You both have grown,” he said, stepping closer. “Stronger, sharper, more capable than most monsters your age.”

Papyrus beamed at the praise. Iro didn’t. She thought it would be obvious why they were ahead, they knew how to learn on their own, thanks to their father. The others had peas for brains. Her head ached more at the thought of her dad. No, not now. She pressed the middle of her skull. 

Asgore’s smile widened, focusing on Papyrus. “It is good to see such dedication. The underground needs protectors like you.”

Papyrus’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, sir. We try our best.”

Asgore nodded, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Speaking of protection… I have a task for you.”

Iro felt Papyrus tense beside her. “A task?” Papyrus echoed.

“Yes.” Asgore’s tone shifted—still gentle, but with an undercurrent of command. “The rebellion has gained ground near the eastern border. Their walls have expanded. Their presence grows bolder.”

Papyrus swallowed. “We… noticed that.”

“I’m sure you did,” Asgore said, smiling as if Papyrus had pleased him. “Which is why I want the two of you to patrol the perimeter today. Observe their movements. Report anything unusual.”

Iro’s grip tightened on her katanas. “Sir… isn’t that usually assigned to senior guards?”

Asgore turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You are senior guards now, Iro.”

Her soul throbbed. Right. I guess that much time has passed. 

“Is your head hurting, soldier?” The king probed. “What seems to be an issue?” 

“Just a headache, sire—” Iro tried to brush it off. 

“Those spots on your head don’t lie. Maybe ease up a bit.” 

Iro could’ve sworn she snapped the katana hilt in two with how hard she gripped it, and the crack she heard from it. Are you TRYING to piss me off—

Papyrus stepped forward. “Your Majesty, we haven’t been briefed on the rebellion’s new territory yet. Shouldn’t Undye—”

“Undye is handling other matters,” Astore interrupted, his voice firm. “And I trust you both more than anyone else.”

Papyrus blinked, stunned. His eyes shined with promise, and his hands turned into fists as he waved them up and down eagerly as if he was still a boy. 

Iro didn’t buy it. Way to give us the boring job.

Asgore approached them, placing a large hand on Papyrus’s shoulder. “You have your father’s heart,” he said softly. “And your sister has his strength. Together, you are unstoppable. Gaster would be so proud of you too.”

Papyrus’s eyes softened at the mention of Gaster, he lowered his head and didn’t meet the king’s eyes. He took a moment to silence himself in order to honor his father in passing. 

Iro’s spots burned, they grew slowly, becoming more and more clustered. She had no reason to be upset at Asgore talking about her dad, but it was the way he said his name, the undertone, of what felt like disrespect rather than a good memory, that pissed her off. Can you still not put your disagreement with him aside and respect him in memory? 

Asgore stepped back, his cape sweeping across the snow. “Patrol the border until sunset. Do not engage. Do not provoke. Simply watch.” He paused, then added with a quiet intensity: “And do not let Toriel’s rebels deceive you. They are misguided and dangerous. They would tear this kingdom apart if given the chance, as you know. Do not engage in any conversation.”

Papyrus nodded slowly. “We understand.”

Iro didn’t respond. 

Asgore’s gaze flicked to her again. “Iro… do you understand?”

She forced her voice steady. “Yes, sire.”

“Good.” His smile returned, warm and heavy. “I expect a full report when you return.”

He turned, walking back toward the castle path. Snow swirled around him as he disappeared into the trees, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the cold.

Papyrus exhaled shakily. “Well… that’s new.”

Iro stared at the path Asgore had taken, her bones tight with unease. “He’s pushing us closer.”

“To what?” Papyrus asked.

Iro didn’t answer. She didn’t know.

But she felt it—deep in her soul, in the spots crawling across her skull, in the way the wind seemed to whisper warnings through the trees.

Something was coming.

And Asgore wanted them standing right in front of it.

***

Still wearing Papyrus’ scarf, Iro didn’t let him take it back as they wandered toward the edge of their territory. The fabric trailed behind her like a banner, brushing the snow with every step. Papyrus didn’t complain. He never did when she needed it.

The border was quiet today—too quiet. Snowdin’s usual hum of distant monster chatter was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness that pressed against their bones. The rebellion’s wall loomed ahead, tall and imposing, its surface lined with runes that flickered faintly in the cold.

The rebellion had finally gained some land. It was well protected, reinforced with magic and guarded by monsters who didn’t hesitate to attack anyone who came too close. Only the best guards were ever assigned to patrol it, which is how Papyrus saw it. Asgore didn’t like the idea of losing more soldiers than necessary. 

To death, or to propaganda?

To Iro, it was a dull, mind-numbing task. There was nothing more boring than watching the snow slowly rise over hours as if it was paint drying. Nothing moved, nothing happened; Iro was convinced Asgore had never actually BEEN this far out. He fretted over their advances but day in and day out, nothing ever happened. 

Papyrus always said it was because the best guards were put on duty, and no one would ever dare try them. Iro thought it was because there was actually nothing interesting going on. 

“Well,” Papyrus said, glancing to his right, breaking her thoughts. “Do you think we’ll see anything today?”

Iro shrugged, her melancholy almost visible in the way her shoulders slumped. “Doubt it.”

Papyrus huffed and shoved her shoulder lightly. She didn’t resist and toppled into the snow with a soft thud. “Have a little faith, sis,” he teased, grinning down at her. “Surely something will come out of their walls.”

Iro pushed herself up, brushing snow off her robe. “Papyrus, nothing ever comes out of their walls. They’re too smart for that. They know we’re here.”

“As they shouldn’t! We would tear them to pieces!” Papyrus grinned and tapped his foot, staring at the towering structure. “Still… something feels different today.”

Iro rolled her eyes. “You say that every day.”

“And every day I’m right,” Papyrus countered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. He paused, for once, the smile on his face fading. “I don’t know. It’s like the air is… heavier.”

Iro paused. She hated how much she agreed.

Their patrols had become routine: walk the perimeter, watch the wall, report nothing. But lately, the silence felt wrong. It was too intentional. Too expectant. As if the rebellion were waiting for something… or something too prevalent was going on ‌inside, they couldn’t spare any monster to watch the outside. 

Are they… having disagreements among themselves? Iro crossed her arms, rubbing her gloves together for warmth. “Even if something did happen, it wouldn’t be anything we could actually do. Asgore said not to engage.”

Papyrus frowned. “I know. But I don’t trust him.”

Iro blinked. Her brother, the second biggest boot-licker in the kingdom—right after Undye—doesn’t trust the boots he licks? “You don’t?”

Papyrus shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Not after Dad.”

Oh, well he had mentioned that before. The spots on Iro’s skull pulsed sharply. She looked away, swallowing hard, her throat suddenly craving a fistful of snow. “Let’s… not talk about that.”

Papyrus nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on the wall. “Sorry.”

They stood in silence for a moment; the wind brushing past them, carrying faint whispers of magic from the rebellion’s territory. Iro’s eyes glazed over as she stared at the wall, the same wall she’d stared at for months. The same wall that never changed. The same wall that felt like a prison.

Her bones ached with boredom.

Papyrus’ bones ached with dread.

“Hey,” Papyrus said softly, nudging her. “Do you remember when Dad used to take us to the forest? Before all this?”

Iro’s chest tightened. I thought we weren’t talking about dad. “Yeah.”

“He always said the forest talked to him,” Papyrus chuckled. “Said it told him when something was wrong.”

Iro’s voice dropped. “Do you think… that’s what you’re feeling?”

Papyrus didn’t answer right away. He stared at the wall, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.”

She didn’t remember any specific moment Gaster talking about the trees, if they swayed differently, if they gave him information or not. He did talk about how the code would shift when something in the world was changing, and the world would react to it. But that could only mean he could read the code of the world, and would know how to get out of it. 

She wouldn’t put it past her father to know that, but he never shared that kind of knowledge, so it was always left up to myth in her mind. I feel like he would have told us how to do something as important as that before he… 

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” 

Iro glared at her brother as his fingers touched a few of the black spots on her head. “Hey—” 

“You shouldn’t have these many spots. You need to be kind to yourself,” he looked concerned down at her. 

Iro shoved part of the scarf over the back of her head where the spots grew. “I don’t get how you don’t have any.” 

Papyrus paused, before turning his back to her. “I have a few,” he gestured to the three singular dots near his spine. 

“Three dots, wowww.” 

“Hey, they’re still there. We all had them: could never hide our regrets well.” Papyrus sighed, turning back to face her and looking her in the eyes. “But you have so many, at least fifty. You shouldn’t—” 

“I’ll be fine, Paps,” Iro curled up and looked to the dull wall of a tower again. “...They’ll be gone before you know it.” 

He didn’t believe her at first until she forced a smile. He reciprocated it and glanced back to the tower. 

An hour passed, maybe two. The wind howled and the snow grew in the millimeters. The wall croaked, its ever-stagnant state never changing. No sunlight meant no appealing color shifts for the eyes to enjoy. 

Iro became convinced the monsters with insomnia could find good, hard sleep watching this wall. She sighed and stood up fully, brushing off the last of the snow. “Let’s just go, Papyrus. There’s nothing here.”

Papyrus tapped his foot again, harder this time. His soul pulsed with unease, a faint tremor Iro could almost feel through the ground. “But…” He grunted, knowing what Iro would say, as she had any day: a feeling’s just a feeling. His bad feelings meant, likely, nothing here, as nothing had ever changed when he had them. Eventually, and followed Iro as she turned away.

They took three steps.

Four.

Five.

The wind shifted,, slicing through the air like a warning. A deep, resonant click echoed through the storm.

Both skeletons froze. That was not a familiar noise. 

The sound didn’t belong to the wind, or the trees, or the distant hum of magic. It was mechanical. A sound neither of them had ever heard from the rebellion’s wall.

Papyrus whipped his head around so fast his cape nearly flew off. Iro’s jaw dropped, her soul thudding violently against her ribs.

The massive door embedded in the rebellion’s wall was opening. There was a door? By the looks of it, there was nothing to be seen. It was just a blank slate. Yet, part of the lower wall hitched open slowly, making a faint creaking noise. 

Snow swirled around the widening crack of light, casting long shadows across the frozen ground. The runes lining the wall flickered, reacting to the shift in the code. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Papyrus’ hands trembled. “Iro—” he whispered. 

Iro’s bones locked in place. No way I just jinxed myself. 

The door groaned as it continued to open, its heavy frame pushing against years of ice buildup. A gust of warm air spilled out from within — warm, impossibly warm for Snowdin — carrying the faint scent of earth and something unfamiliar.

Something from the touch of the sun. 

Iro’s breath hitched.

Papyrus’ eyes widened, glowing faintly with instinctive magic.

A figure stepped out. Small, shivering, wrapped in torn clothing and clutching their arm as if it hurt to move.

It was a human.

A real human.

Papyrus inhaled sharply, his voice barely a whisper. “Iro… that’s—”

“I know.”

Gaster’s words came flying back into her mind just as fast as Asgore’s instructions did. 

Never let Asgore near the humans, ever! Do not let him know when they come!

Tell me immediately when the humans arrive, as it is foretold they will. We shall throw a feast for them, and always keep our eyes on them. Don’t fail me.

The instructions froze her in place more than the ice did. 

“We should look like we’re doing something before Undye gives us a good talking to,” Papyrus said, forcing a smile as he raised his sword.

A “talking to” was a generous understatement, but it made Iro grin anyway. She lifted her katanas and the two fell into familiar motions: basic drills, nothing fancy, just enough to look busy.

“So,” Iro said between strikes, “what did the king ask of you this time?”

Papyrus parried half-heartedly. “He wanted me to teach some of the other kids the techniques we learned with the swords.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Heh. What’s not boring to you?”

Iro scoffed. “Anything that doesn’t involve babysitting.”

Papyrus chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His swings were slow, distracted. His stance was off. His shoulders slumped between movements.

Iro lowered her swords. “Paps… you’re barely trying.”

“I know.” He exhaled, long and heavy. “I just… can’t shake it. This feeling. It’s like the air is different. Like the ground is waiting for something.”

Iro frowned. “You’ve had bad feelings before.”

“Not like this.” Papyrus’ voice dropped. “This one feels… big.”

Iro hated how that made her chest tighten. Papyrus’ instincts had saved them more than once. She didn’t want to admit it, but her mind had started drifting the same direction — toward that uneasy, invisible shift in the underground.

She twirled her swords, trying to shake it off. “Well, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it when it comes.”

Papyrus nodded, but his eyes stayed on the horizon. “Do you think… we’re fighting on the wrong side?” 

Iro opened her mouth to answer, but the wind shifted—sharp, sudden, carrying a familiar scent of lavender and ash. Papyrus froze. Iro felt her soul tighten. Oh, gosh, please let the wind drown out the question you just asked—

Footsteps approached through the snow, heavy and deliberate. The crunch of ice under armor echoed across the clearing. A tall shadow emerged between the trees, framed by drifting flakes.

King Asgore.

His cape fluttered behind him, catching the wind like a banner. His expression was soft, almost fatherly—yet his eyes held that same unreadable depth that made Iro’s bones ache. They had been that way since the day they took she and her brother in, as if they had no other emotion to portray in front of them. 

As if he was hiding something. 

“Children,” he greeted, voice warm enough to melt the surrounding frost. “Training so early in the morning? How diligent.”

Papyrus straightened immediately, sword at his side. “Your Majesty! We were just practicing our forms.”

Iro lowered her katanas but didn’t bow. She felt the spots on her skull pulse again, growing with each resenting thought. They made her head ache. 

Asgore’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long before continuing. “You both have grown,” he said, stepping closer. “Stronger, sharper, more capable than most monsters your age.”

Papyrus beamed at the praise. Iro didn’t. She thought it would be obvious why they were ahead, they knew how to learn on their own, thanks to their father. The others had peas for brains. Her head ached more at the thought of her dad. No, not now. She pressed the middle of her skull. 

Asgore’s smile widened, focusing on Papyrus. “It is good to see such dedication. The underground needs protectors like you.”

Papyrus’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, sir. We try our best.”

Asgore nodded, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Speaking of protection… I have a task for you.”

Iro felt Papyrus tense beside her. “A task?” Papyrus echoed.

“Yes.” Asgore’s tone shifted—still gentle, but with an undercurrent of command. “The rebellion has gained ground near the eastern border. Their walls have expanded. Their presence grows bolder.”

Papyrus swallowed. “We… noticed that.”

“I’m sure you did,” Asgore said, smiling as if Papyrus had pleased him. “Which is why I want the two of you to patrol the perimeter today. Observe their movements. Report anything unusual.”

Iro’s grip tightened on her katanas. “Sir… isn’t that usually assigned to senior guards?”

Asgore turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You are senior guards now, Iro.”

Her soul throbbed. Right. I guess that much time has passed. 

“Is your head hurting, soldier?” The king probed. “What seems to be an issue?” 

“Just a headache, sire—” Iro tried to brush it off. 

“Those spots on your head don’t lie. Maybe ease up a bit.” 

Iro could’ve sworn she snapped the katana hilt in two with how hard she gripped it, and the crack she heard from it. Are you TRYING to piss me off—

Papyrus stepped forward. “Your Majesty, we haven’t been briefed on the rebellion’s new territory yet. Shouldn’t Undye—”

“Undye is handling other matters,” Astore interrupted, his voice firm. “And I trust you both more than anyone else.”

Papyrus blinked, stunned. His eyes shined with promise, and his hands turned into fists as he waved them up and down eagerly as if he was still a boy. 

Iro didn’t buy it. Way to give us the boring job.

Asgore approached them, placing a large hand on Papyrus’s shoulder. “You have your father’s heart,” he said softly. “And your sister has his strength. Together, you are unstoppable. Gaster would be so proud of you too.”

Papyrus’s eyes softened at the mention of Gaster, he lowered his head and didn’t meet the king’s eyes. He took a moment to silence himself in order to honor his father in passing. 

Iro’s spots burned, they grew slowly, becoming more and more clustered. She had no reason to be upset at Asgore talking about her dad, but it was the way he said his name, the undertone, of what felt like disrespect rather than a good memory, that pissed her off. Can you still not put your disagreement with him aside and respect him in memory? 

Asgore stepped back, his cape sweeping across the snow. “Patrol the border until sunset. Do not engage. Do not provoke. Simply watch.” He paused, then added with a quiet intensity: “And do not let Toriel’s rebels deceive you. They are misguided and dangerous. They would tear this kingdom apart if given the chance, as you know. Do not engage in any conversation.”

Papyrus nodded slowly. “We understand.”

Iro didn’t respond. 

Asgore’s gaze flicked to her again. “Iro… do you understand?”

She forced her voice steady. “Yes, sire.”

“Good.” His smile returned, warm and heavy. “I expect a full report when you return.”

He turned, walking back toward the castle path. Snow swirled around him as he disappeared into the trees, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the cold.

Papyrus exhaled shakily. “Well… that’s new.”

Iro stared at the path Asgore had taken, her bones tight with unease. “He’s pushing us closer.”

“To what?” Papyrus asked.

Iro didn’t answer. She didn’t know.

But she felt it—deep in her soul, in the spots crawling across her skull, in the way the wind seemed to whisper warnings through the trees.

Something was coming.

And Asgore wanted them standing right in front of it.

***

Still wearing Papyrus’ scarf, Iro didn’t let him take it back as they wandered toward the edge of their territory. The fabric trailed behind her like a banner, brushing the snow with every step. Papyrus didn’t complain. He never did when she needed it.

The border was quiet today—too quiet. Snowdin’s usual hum of distant monster chatter was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness that pressed against their bones. The rebellion’s wall loomed ahead, tall and imposing, its surface lined with runes that flickered faintly in the cold.

The rebellion had finally gained some land. It was well protected, reinforced with magic and guarded by monsters who didn’t hesitate to attack anyone who came too close. Only the best guards were ever assigned to patrol it, which is how Papyrus saw it. Asgore didn’t like the idea of losing more soldiers than necessary. 

To death, or to propaganda?

To Iro, it was a dull, mind-numbing task. There was nothing more boring than watching the snow slowly rise over hours as if it was paint drying. Nothing moved, nothing happened; Iro was convinced Asgore had never actually BEEN this far out. He fretted over their advances but day in and day out, nothing ever happened. 

Papyrus always said it was because the best guards were put on duty, and no one would ever dare try them. Iro thought it was because there was actually nothing interesting going on. 

“Well,” Papyrus said, glancing to his right, breaking her thoughts. “Do you think we’ll see anything today?”

Iro shrugged, her melancholy almost visible in the way her shoulders slumped. “Doubt it.”

Papyrus huffed and shoved her shoulder lightly. She didn’t resist and toppled into the snow with a soft thud. “Have a little faith, sis,” he teased, grinning down at her. “Surely something will come out of their walls.”

Iro pushed herself up, brushing snow off her robe. “Papyrus, nothing ever comes out of their walls. They’re too smart for that. They know we’re here.”

“As they shouldn’t! We would tear them to pieces!” Papyrus grinned and tapped his foot, staring at the towering structure. “Still… something feels different today.”

Iro rolled her eyes. “You say that every day.”

“And every day I’m right,” Papyrus countered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. He paused, for once, the smile on his face fading. “I don’t know. It’s like the air is… heavier.”

Iro paused. She hated how much she agreed.

Their patrols had become routine: walk the perimeter, watch the wall, report nothing. But lately, the silence felt wrong. It was too intentional. Too expectant. As if the rebellion were waiting for something… or something too prevalent was going on ‌inside, they couldn’t spare any monster to watch the outside. 

Are they… having disagreements among themselves? Iro crossed her arms, rubbing her gloves together for warmth. “Even if something did happen, it wouldn’t be anything we could actually do. Asgore said not to engage.”

Papyrus frowned. “I know. But I don’t trust him.”

Iro blinked. Her brother, the second biggest boot-licker in the kingdom—right after Undye—doesn’t trust the boots he licks? “You don’t?”

Papyrus shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Not after Dad.”

Oh, well he had mentioned that before. The spots on Iro’s skull pulsed sharply. She looked away, swallowing hard, her throat suddenly craving a fistful of snow. “Let’s… not talk about that.”

Papyrus nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on the wall. “Sorry.”

They stood in silence for a moment; the wind brushing past them, carrying faint whispers of magic from the rebellion’s territory. Iro’s eyes glazed over as she stared at the wall, the same wall she’d stared at for months. The same wall that never changed. The same wall that felt like a prison.

Her bones ached with boredom.

Papyrus’ bones ached with dread.

“Hey,” Papyrus said softly, nudging her. “Do you remember when Dad used to take us to the forest? Before all this?”

Iro’s chest tightened. I thought we weren’t talking about dad. “Yeah.”

“He always said the forest talked to him,” Papyrus chuckled. “Said it told him when something was wrong.”

Iro’s voice dropped. “Do you think… that’s what you’re feeling?”

Papyrus didn’t answer right away. He stared at the wall, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.”

She didn’t remember any specific moment Gaster talking about the trees, if they swayed differently, if they gave him information or not. He did talk about how the code would shift when something in the world was changing, and the world would react to it. But that could only mean he could read the code of the world, and would know how to get out of it. 

She wouldn’t put it past her father to know that, but he never shared that kind of knowledge, so it was always left up to myth in her mind. I feel like he would have told us how to do something as important as that before he… 

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” 

Iro glared at her brother as his fingers touched a few of the black spots on her head. “Hey—” 

“You shouldn’t have these many spots. You need to be kind to yourself,” he looked concerned down at her. 

Iro shoved part of the scarf over the back of her head where the spots grew. “I don’t get how you don’t have any.” 

Papyrus paused, before turning his back to her. “I have a few,” he gestured to the three singular dots near his spine. 

“Three dots, wowww.” 

“Hey, they’re still there. We all had them: could never hide our regrets well.” Papyrus sighed, turning back to face her and looking her in the eyes. “But you have so many, at least fifty. You shouldn’t—” 

“I’ll be fine, Paps,” Iro curled up and looked to the dull wall of a tower again. “...They’ll be gone before you know it.” 

He didn’t believe her at first until she forced a smile. He reciprocated it and glanced back to the tower. 

An hour passed, maybe two. The wind howled and the snow grew in the millimeters. The wall croaked, its ever-stagnant state never changing. No sunlight meant no appealing color shifts for the eyes to enjoy. 

Iro became convinced the monsters with insomnia could find good, hard sleep watching this wall. She sighed and stood up fully, brushing off the last of the snow. “Let’s just go, Papyrus. There’s nothing here.”

Papyrus tapped his foot again, harder this time. His soul pulsed with unease, a faint tremor Iro could almost feel through the ground. “But…” He grunted, knowing what Iro would say, as she had any day: a feeling’s just a feeling. His bad feelings meant, likely, nothing here, as nothing had ever changed when he had them. Eventually, and followed Iro as she turned away.

They took three steps.

Four.

Five.

The wind shifted,, slicing through the air like a warning. A deep, resonant click echoed through the storm.

Both skeletons froze. That was not a familiar noise. 

The sound didn’t belong to the wind, or the trees, or the distant hum of magic. It was mechanical. A sound neither of them had ever heard from the rebellion’s wall.

Papyrus whipped his head around so fast his cape nearly flew off. Iro’s jaw dropped, her soul thudding violently against her ribs.

The massive door embedded in the rebellion’s wall was opening. There was a door? By the looks of it, there was nothing to be seen. It was just a blank slate. Yet, part of the lower wall hitched open slowly, making a faint creaking noise. 

Snow swirled around the widening crack of light, casting long shadows across the frozen ground. The runes lining the wall flickered, reacting to the shift in the code. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Papyrus’ hands trembled. “Iro—” he whispered. 

Iro’s bones locked in place. No way I just jinxed myself. 

The door groaned as it continued to open, its heavy frame pushing against years of ice buildup. A gust of warm air spilled out from within — warm, impossibly warm for Snowdin — carrying the faint scent of earth and something unfamiliar.

Something from the touch of the sun. 

Iro’s breath hitched.

Papyrus’ eyes widened, glowing faintly with instinctive magic.

A figure stepped out. Small, shivering, wrapped in torn clothing and clutching their arm as if it hurt to move.

It was a human.

A real human.

Papyrus inhaled sharply, his voice barely a whisper. “Iro… that’s—”

“I know.”

Gaster’s words came flying back into her mind just as fast as Asgore’s instructions did. 

Never let Asgore near the humans, ever! Do not let him know when they come!

Tell me immediately when the humans arrive, as it is foretold they will. We shall throw a feast for them, and always keep our eyes on them. Don’t fail me.

The instructions froze her in place more than the ice did. 

“We should look like we’re doing something before Undye gives us a good talking to,” Papyrus said, forcing a smile as he raised his sword.

A “talking to” was a generous understatement, but it made Iro grin anyway. She lifted her katanas and the two fell into familiar motions: basic drills, nothing fancy, just enough to look busy.

“So,” Iro said between strikes, “what did the king ask of you this time?”

Papyrus parried half-heartedly. “He wanted me to teach some of the other kids the techniques we learned with the swords.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Heh. What’s not boring to you?”

Iro scoffed. “Anything that doesn’t involve babysitting.”

Papyrus chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His swings were slow, distracted. His stance was off. His shoulders slumped between movements.

Iro lowered her swords. “Paps… you’re barely trying.”

“I know.” He exhaled, long and heavy. “I just… can’t shake it. This feeling. It’s like the air is different. Like the ground is waiting for something.”

Iro frowned. “You’ve had bad feelings before.”

“Not like this.” Papyrus’ voice dropped. “This one feels… big.”

Iro hated how that made her chest tighten. Papyrus’ instincts had saved them more than once. She didn’t want to admit it, but her mind had started drifting the same direction — toward that uneasy, invisible shift in the underground.

She twirled her swords, trying to shake it off. “Well, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it when it comes.”

Papyrus nodded, but his eyes stayed on the horizon. “Do you think… we’re fighting on the wrong side?” 

Iro opened her mouth to answer, but the wind shifted—sharp, sudden, carrying a familiar scent of lavender and ash. Papyrus froze. Iro felt her soul tighten. Oh, gosh, please let the wind drown out the question you just asked—

Footsteps approached through the snow, heavy and deliberate. The crunch of ice under armor echoed across the clearing. A tall shadow emerged between the trees, framed by drifting flakes.

King Asgore.

His cape fluttered behind him, catching the wind like a banner. His expression was soft, almost fatherly—yet his eyes held that same unreadable depth that made Iro’s bones ache. They had been that way since the day they took she and her brother in, as if they had no other emotion to portray in front of them. 

As if he was hiding something. 

“Children,” he greeted, voice warm enough to melt the surrounding frost. “Training so early in the morning? How diligent.”

Papyrus straightened immediately, sword at his side. “Your Majesty! We were just practicing our forms.”

Iro lowered her katanas but didn’t bow. She felt the spots on her skull pulse again, growing with each resenting thought. They made her head ache. 

Asgore’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long before continuing. “You both have grown,” he said, stepping closer. “Stronger, sharper, more capable than most monsters your age.”

Papyrus beamed at the praise. Iro didn’t. She thought it would be obvious why they were ahead, they knew how to learn on their own, thanks to their father. The others had peas for brains. Her head ached more at the thought of her dad. No, not now. She pressed the middle of her skull. 

Asgore’s smile widened, focusing on Papyrus. “It is good to see such dedication. The underground needs protectors like you.”

Papyrus’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, sir. We try our best.”

Asgore nodded, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Speaking of protection… I have a task for you.”

Iro felt Papyrus tense beside her. “A task?” Papyrus echoed.

“Yes.” Asgore’s tone shifted—still gentle, but with an undercurrent of command. “The rebellion has gained ground near the eastern border. Their walls have expanded. Their presence grows bolder.”

Papyrus swallowed. “We… noticed that.”

“I’m sure you did,” Asgore said, smiling as if Papyrus had pleased him. “Which is why I want the two of you to patrol the perimeter today. Observe their movements. Report anything unusual.”

Iro’s grip tightened on her katanas. “Sir… isn’t that usually assigned to senior guards?”

Asgore turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You are senior guards now, Iro.”

Her soul throbbed. Right. I guess that much time has passed. 

“Is your head hurting, soldier?” The king probed. “What seems to be an issue?” 

“Just a headache, sire—” Iro tried to brush it off. 

“Those spots on your head don’t lie. Maybe ease up a bit.” 

Iro could’ve sworn she snapped the katana hilt in two with how hard she gripped it, and the crack she heard from it. Are you TRYING to piss me off—

Papyrus stepped forward. “Your Majesty, we haven’t been briefed on the rebellion’s new territory yet. Shouldn’t Undye—”

“Undye is handling other matters,” Astore interrupted, his voice firm. “And I trust you both more than anyone else.”

Papyrus blinked, stunned. His eyes shined with promise, and his hands turned into fists as he waved them up and down eagerly as if he was still a boy. 

Iro didn’t buy it. Way to give us the boring job.

Asgore approached them, placing a large hand on Papyrus’s shoulder. “You have your father’s heart,” he said softly. “And your sister has his strength. Together, you are unstoppable. Gaster would be so proud of you too.”

Papyrus’s eyes softened at the mention of Gaster, he lowered his head and didn’t meet the king’s eyes. He took a moment to silence himself in order to honor his father in passing. 

Iro’s spots burned, they grew slowly, becoming more and more clustered. She had no reason to be upset at Asgore talking about her dad, but it was the way he said his name, the undertone, of what felt like disrespect rather than a good memory, that pissed her off. Can you still not put your disagreement with him aside and respect him in memory? 

Asgore stepped back, his cape sweeping across the snow. “Patrol the border until sunset. Do not engage. Do not provoke. Simply watch.” He paused, then added with a quiet intensity: “And do not let Toriel’s rebels deceive you. They are misguided and dangerous. They would tear this kingdom apart if given the chance, as you know. Do not engage in any conversation.”

Papyrus nodded slowly. “We understand.”

Iro didn’t respond. 

Asgore’s gaze flicked to her again. “Iro… do you understand?”

She forced her voice steady. “Yes, sire.”

“Good.” His smile returned, warm and heavy. “I expect a full report when you return.”

He turned, walking back toward the castle path. Snow swirled around him as he disappeared into the trees, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the cold.

Papyrus exhaled shakily. “Well… that’s new.”

Iro stared at the path Asgore had taken, her bones tight with unease. “He’s pushing us closer.”

“To what?” Papyrus asked.

Iro didn’t answer. She didn’t know.

But she felt it—deep in her soul, in the spots crawling across her skull, in the way the wind seemed to whisper warnings through the trees.

Something was coming.

And Asgore wanted them standing right in front of it.

***

Still wearing Papyrus’ scarf, Iro didn’t let him take it back as they wandered toward the edge of their territory. The fabric trailed behind her like a banner, brushing the snow with every step. Papyrus didn’t complain. He never did when she needed it.

The border was quiet today—too quiet. Snowdin’s usual hum of distant monster chatter was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness that pressed against their bones. The rebellion’s wall loomed ahead, tall and imposing, its surface lined with runes that flickered faintly in the cold.

The rebellion had finally gained some land. It was well protected, reinforced with magic and guarded by monsters who didn’t hesitate to attack anyone who came too close. Only the best guards were ever assigned to patrol it, which is how Papyrus saw it. Asgore didn’t like the idea of losing more soldiers than necessary. 

To death, or to propaganda?

To Iro, it was a dull, mind-numbing task. There was nothing more boring than watching the snow slowly rise over hours as if it was paint drying. Nothing moved, nothing happened; Iro was convinced Asgore had never actually BEEN this far out. He fretted over their advances but day in and day out, nothing ever happened. 

Papyrus always said it was because the best guards were put on duty, and no one would ever dare try them. Iro thought it was because there was actually nothing interesting going on. 

“Well,” Papyrus said, glancing to his right, breaking her thoughts. “Do you think we’ll see anything today?”

Iro shrugged, her melancholy almost visible in the way her shoulders slumped. “Doubt it.”

Papyrus huffed and shoved her shoulder lightly. She didn’t resist and toppled into the snow with a soft thud. “Have a little faith, sis,” he teased, grinning down at her. “Surely something will come out of their walls.”

Iro pushed herself up, brushing snow off her robe. “Papyrus, nothing ever comes out of their walls. They’re too smart for that. They know we’re here.”

“As they shouldn’t! We would tear them to pieces!” Papyrus grinned and tapped his foot, staring at the towering structure. “Still… something feels different today.”

Iro rolled her eyes. “You say that every day.”

“And every day I’m right,” Papyrus countered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. He paused, for once, the smile on his face fading. “I don’t know. It’s like the air is… heavier.”

Iro paused. She hated how much she agreed.

Their patrols had become routine: walk the perimeter, watch the wall, report nothing. But lately, the silence felt wrong. It was too intentional. Too expectant. As if the rebellion were waiting for something… or something too prevalent was going on ‌inside, they couldn’t spare any monster to watch the outside. 

Are they… having disagreements among themselves? Iro crossed her arms, rubbing her gloves together for warmth. “Even if something did happen, it wouldn’t be anything we could actually do. Asgore said not to engage.”

Papyrus frowned. “I know. But I don’t trust him.”

Iro blinked. Her brother, the second biggest boot-licker in the kingdom—right after Undye—doesn’t trust the boots he licks? “You don’t?”

Papyrus shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Not after Dad.”

Oh, well he had mentioned that before. The spots on Iro’s skull pulsed sharply. She looked away, swallowing hard, her throat suddenly craving a fistful of snow. “Let’s… not talk about that.”

Papyrus nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on the wall. “Sorry.”

They stood in silence for a moment; the wind brushing past them, carrying faint whispers of magic from the rebellion’s territory. Iro’s eyes glazed over as she stared at the wall, the same wall she’d stared at for months. The same wall that never changed. The same wall that felt like a prison.

Her bones ached with boredom.

Papyrus’ bones ached with dread.

“Hey,” Papyrus said softly, nudging her. “Do you remember when Dad used to take us to the forest? Before all this?”

Iro’s chest tightened. I thought we weren’t talking about dad. “Yeah.”

“He always said the forest talked to him,” Papyrus chuckled. “Said it told him when something was wrong.”

Iro’s voice dropped. “Do you think… that’s what you’re feeling?”

Papyrus didn’t answer right away. He stared at the wall, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.”

She didn’t remember any specific moment Gaster talking about the trees, if they swayed differently, if they gave him information or not. He did talk about how the code would shift when something in the world was changing, and the world would react to it. But that could only mean he could read the code of the world, and would know how to get out of it. 

She wouldn’t put it past her father to know that, but he never shared that kind of knowledge, so it was always left up to myth in her mind. I feel like he would have told us how to do something as important as that before he… 

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” 

Iro glared at her brother as his fingers touched a few of the black spots on her head. “Hey—” 

“You shouldn’t have these many spots. You need to be kind to yourself,” he looked concerned down at her. 

Iro shoved part of the scarf over the back of her head where the spots grew. “I don’t get how you don’t have any.” 

Papyrus paused, before turning his back to her. “I have a few,” he gestured to the three singular dots near his spine. 

“Three dots, wowww.” 

“Hey, they’re still there. We all had them: could never hide our regrets well.” Papyrus sighed, turning back to face her and looking her in the eyes. “But you have so many, at least fifty. You shouldn’t—” 

“I’ll be fine, Paps,” Iro curled up and looked to the dull wall of a tower again. “...They’ll be gone before you know it.” 

He didn’t believe her at first until she forced a smile. He reciprocated it and glanced back to the tower. 

An hour passed, maybe two. The wind howled and the snow grew in the millimeters. The wall croaked, its ever-stagnant state never changing. No sunlight meant no appealing color shifts for the eyes to enjoy. 

Iro became convinced the monsters with insomnia could find good, hard sleep watching this wall. She sighed and stood up fully, brushing off the last of the snow. “Let’s just go, Papyrus. There’s nothing here.”

Papyrus tapped his foot again, harder this time. His soul pulsed with unease, a faint tremor Iro could almost feel through the ground. “But…” He grunted, knowing what Iro would say, as she had any day: a feeling’s just a feeling. His bad feelings meant, likely, nothing here, as nothing had ever changed when he had them. Eventually, and followed Iro as she turned away.

They took three steps.

Four.

Five.

The wind shifted,, slicing through the air like a warning. A deep, resonant click echoed through the storm.

Both skeletons froze. That was not a familiar noise. 

The sound didn’t belong to the wind, or the trees, or the distant hum of magic. It was mechanical. A sound neither of them had ever heard from the rebellion’s wall.

Papyrus whipped his head around so fast his cape nearly flew off. Iro’s jaw dropped, her soul thudding violently against her ribs.

The massive door embedded in the rebellion’s wall was opening. There was a door? By the looks of it, there was nothing to be seen. It was just a blank slate. Yet, part of the lower wall hitched open slowly, making a faint creaking noise. 

Snow swirled around the widening crack of light, casting long shadows across the frozen ground. The runes lining the wall flickered, reacting to the shift in the code. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Papyrus’ hands trembled. “Iro—” he whispered. 

Iro’s bones locked in place. No way I just jinxed myself. 

The door groaned as it continued to open, its heavy frame pushing against years of ice buildup. A gust of warm air spilled out from within — warm, impossibly warm for Snowdin — carrying the faint scent of earth and something unfamiliar.

Something from the touch of the sun. 

Iro’s breath hitched.

Papyrus’ eyes widened, glowing faintly with instinctive magic.

A figure stepped out. Small, shivering, wrapped in torn clothing and clutching their arm as if it hurt to move.

It was a human.

A real human.

Papyrus inhaled sharply, his voice barely a whisper. “Iro… that’s—”

“I know.”

Gaster’s words came flying back into her mind just as fast as Asgore’s instructions did. 

Never let Asgore near the humans, ever! Do not let him know when they come!

Tell me immediately when the humans arrive, as it is foretold they will. We shall throw a feast for them, and always keep our eyes on them. Don’t fail me.

The instructions froze her in place more than the ice did.