#dododanart

Clay replayed his entire speech in his head, apologizing to Grandma a thousand times for leaving. He knew an uphill battle awaited him. Grandma Rosiepuff wasn’t a troll who forgave easily - if she even knew the word. He mentally prepared himself for the tons of chores he’d do to appease her. He could dust, wash the dishes, even wash Spruce’s smelly gym clothes. Man, did that guy sweat when he worked out! He shuddered at the very thought.

Then there was Branch. The little guy would probably forgive him immediately, throwing his arms around his neck before Clay even fully crossed the threshold. But he still wanted to make it up to him for these last months of absence. He’d even eat that burnt toast his baby brother always made for them just to impress them. 

Leaving had been the most selfish decision he’d ever made. It wasn’t his style. He’d just let his emotions get the best of him after the fight with John Dory. He was still furious at him. No one was going to tell him who he was or what to do... except Grandma. 

He stood before the threshold of the hanging pod. He took a deep breath, ready to spill out the first stream of apologies. He was about to say something, but the voice caught in his throat. 

Silence. 

In a place that always teemed with chaos, a suffocating stillness reigned. There was no sound of Grandma’s grumbling or Branch’s happy chatter. The scratching of Floyd’s pen, writing their next big hit, was missing. There were no sounds of Spruce and JD arguing over who sang better. Nothing. Empty. 

Clay felt a strange knot in his stomach. He took a few steps. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet so loudly, as if the home itself was complaining about the emptiness. A shiver went through him. He expected the house to be quieter, but not like this. 

"Hello?" he called out. No one answered. He looked around uncertainly. He noticed two mugs on the table. One was overturned in a brown, dried-up stain. Rosiepuff would never leave such a mess. 

"Grandma?" he called again, his voice trembling slightly. He peeked into the other room. He ran a finger over the dresser, his fingertips coming away coated in thick, sticky dust. The same dust Grandma had often swatted him and his brothers with a rag for was now everywhere. He wiped his hand on his pants. He swallowed hard. Something was wrong. 

"Branch?" His voice escaped him, high-pitched. Foreign. 

There was none of the chaos he would have expected on evacuation day. No scattered keepsakes, photos, scrapbooks, or clothes lay anywhere. To his grandma, order was sacred, and their home looked as if... No, stop it! He pushed the thought away before it could fully form in his mind. 

The silence was unnatural. Clay’s heart raced. He had to get out of here. He spun around and bolted from the pod. His legs carried him on their own to the plaza at the very top of the Troll Tree. He’d find them there. 

They had to be okay. They probably just left earlier and were already waiting in the tunnels. 

Breathless, he reached the plaza in the tree’s crown, where a massive hole gaped in the center. It led deep into the trunk, all the way underground. To the tunnels meant to whisk all the trolls away to safety. 

Colors swirled all around him. Perhaps more than he had ever seen at their concerts. Trolls were running back and forth. Some were terrified, others simply dead serious. As he slowly descended toward the crowd, the pink figure of King Peppy flashed by. He was carrying little Princess Poppy in his arms. He didn’t let go of her for a second. Further off, he spotted Princess Viva’s yellow hair. They looked busy. Clay wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He scanned the area. He couldn't see that familiar teal anywhere. 

They had to be here. He repeated it like a mantra. His heart pounded harder and harder. Still no sign of teal. The air grew heavier. The hum of voices swelled. He didn't notice when he started crumpling the hem of his jacket in his hands. 

Then he saw him. Wearing Floyd’s oversized leafy vest. Gray. His brother was completely gray. Clay froze. Branch was looking around at the surrounding trolls, but no one was paying him any attention. Adults were guarding their belongings. Someone was shouting escape instructions. It was evacuation day. And he stood there amidst them. Alone. Tears streamed down his little face. His small hands fiddled with Floyd’s fuzzy earring. The only thing he’d managed to grab from home. They told him to come here. To run with the others. 

And Clay just watched. Thoughts raced through his mind, one chasing the next. 

Where was Grandma? She always knew where to hide. Why had she left him? She had to be nearby. 

Except he couldn't see her anywhere. Rosiepuff wouldn't leave Branch alone. Not like this. 

Gray... why was he gray? 

His breathing hitched. The world began to blur into one giant, colorful smear. A sharp pain stabbed his lungs. A shiver wracked his body. The ringing in his ears grew louder and louder. 

"Sorry, kid!" someone bumped hard into his shoulder. Large, purple hands caught him before he could fall. "You okay?" 

He didn’t answer. For a moment, Clay lost sight of Branch. His heart sped up again. He tore himself away from the stranger troll. He bolted forward. To where he had just seen his little brother. Defenseless. Terrified. 

"Clay!" Branch let out the moment he saw his brother. Barely intelligible, sounding more like a wail than a name. 

Clay felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. He dropped to his knees and pulled his brother close, nearly crushing him in his embrace. Branch buried himself in his chest, a stream of chaotic words spilling from his lips. Something about singing, apologies, Grandma... 

Clay gritted his teeth. He didn't listen. He didn't want to listen. What Branch was mumbling just didn't make sense. It was shock... Grandma couldn't... be gone? 

"We have to run," Clay cut him off, standing up abruptly. His voice sounded hard now, as if trying to drown out those stupid thoughts. He grabbed his little brother's gray hand. "I won't let go." 

They headed where the rest of the trolls were going. Deep into the tunnels. They had to escape before the Bergens realized what was happening. 

Clay didn’t hesitate for a second, stepping into the darkness. He felt Branch’s grip become almost painful. He turned back and flashed his brother a reassuring smile, even though his own heart was hammering like crazy. Small, terrified eyes stared back at him with hope. 

The trolls marched ahead of them. In a silence that was foreign to them, almost unnatural. Pinpricks of torchlight flickered in the distance. The faint light barely scattered the gloom, but it had to be enough. Clay navigated around protruding boulders, lifting Branch over obstacles time and again. 

His younger brother hadn’t said a word since they entered. As if he were afraid the Bergens would hear him. Clay felt the same way. He felt as though his heart was beating louder and louder. Like it could be heard from a mile away. All he could hear was the crunch of sand beneath their feet and the heavy breathing of the crowd. The air was stifling, thick with dust and the smell of damp earth. Every now and then, clumps of dirt showered onto his hair and down his collar, sending a shiver of anxiety down his spine. 

We’re safe in the tunnels, he repeated to himself. The Bergens won't find us. 

In the distance, he heard the echoes of King Peppy’s words. No troll left behind. The words were like a spell that gave them strength. The King’s pink silhouette darted among the trolls. Peppy helped the weak, smiled, gave hope. As he passed them, he ruffled Branch’s hair. Branch smiled for a brief moment, and the King disappeared into the depths of the tunnel. Clay could only see his torch. Flickering with a bright flame. The trolls walked with a bit more of a spring in their step. The tunnels didn't seem so tight to Clay anymore. 

He wasn’t sure how long they had been walking. Branch’s pace was getting slower and slower. Clay stopped for a moment. He watched the other trolls. They weren't slowing down. But it didn't escape his notice that some of the kids were being carried by older trolls. Clay scolded himself in his thoughts. He could have thought of that sooner. He might be used to hours of dance training, but even his legs were starting to ache, let alone a kid like Branch. He scooped him up into his arms. The little one immediately snuggled into his jacket. Clay watched him as they walked. He saw him kneading Floyd’s earring. That soft fuzz. Rubbing his small fingers against it. Breathing steadily. But Clay saw it. Those dried tear tracks. The dust on his cheeks. That once-teal hair. 

They were gray. Clay found himself wondering why again. What had happened while he was gone? When none of his older brothers were there for Branch. He lacked the courage to ask. He lifted his gaze, focusing on the torches in the distance. 

Suddenly, the earth above their heads trembled. Harder than before. The ceiling responded with a dull rumble, and sand rained down on the trolls. The march slowed. Panic began to thicken in the air. A shiver went down Clay’s spine. He looked at his little brother. Tears were gathering in his eyes again. Thumping. Whispers spread through the tunnel. Someone was urging someone else on. Another troll shoved past. Someone ran ahead. More rocks broke loose from the ceiling. Before he realized it, he was running, clutching Branch to his chest. All he could hear was his quiet sobbing. 

The Bergens were right above them. The thumping grew louder. A deep, guttural cackle echoed around them. Someone behind them screamed in terror. The ringing in his ears intensified. He couldn't hear the trolls calling behind him. Someone screamed that the Bergens had found them. Rocks crashed down on another troll. The tunnel behind them brightened. Clay felt a blast of fresh air. He sped up. He had to run. Another shockwave knocked him off his feet. Then came the pain. A searing pain in his right side. Clay pushed himself up from the ground. Everything was blurry. His head was swimming. Something wet trickled down his cheek and chin. He wiped it with his hand. The dark liquid on his hand mixed with the dust on his palm. The skin on his cheek burned. 

Branch! He wasn't in his arms. Panic hit him harder than the fall. He looked around desperately and saw him a few meters away. The little one was just pushing himself up on trembling hands, searching for him with his eyes. 

A few rocks crashed down right next to him. He wanted to get up. To go to his brother. His gaze was locked on him. The whole tunnel shook. He fell again. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt no pain. He only watched Branch. The kid curled into a ball. More and more rocks were falling. It looked like the entire ceiling was about to collapse. Clay got up. He tried. His legs buckled under him. Dust rose into the air. It was becoming harder and harder to spot his brother. 

And then he saw a pink blur. A bright light, next to his little brother. King Peppy. Clay watched as the troll picked up his brother, looking around. He held him tight, securely. He didn't want the little troll to break free. He was screaming Clay's name so loud it pierced through the roar of the collapsing corridor. King Peppy stepped back, eyeing the cracking ceiling. 

Their eyes met. Clay reached out toward his brother, even though a wall of falling debris already separated them. The King who had promised them freedom. Peace. Joy. No troll left behind had echoed through the tunnels just moments ago. A cold shiver ran through him. He lifted himself off the ground. 

"I have to... I have to..." Clay rasped, but the tunnel collapsed with a deafening crash. He had to be with him. That was his little brother. He had to take care of him. He saw King Peppy’s brow furrow. And in his eyes, he saw something that froze him to the bone. 

The tunnel collapsed. One last muffled echo of "No troll left behind" still reached him. 

It had been a lie from the very start. A false hope. Clay slumped to the ground before the wall that had severed him from his brother. He didn't hear the screams of the trolls behind him. He didn't see the massive paws of the Bergens breaking into the tunnels behind him. A lump formed in his throat. He touched the cold rock and felt something inside his chest snap. Tears flowed silently down his ashen cheeks. 

I failed. I failed. I failed. 

He felt like he couldn't catch his breath. His bright yellow hair began to lose its luster. It slowly turned gray, fading along with the words echoing in his mind. 

The silence that fell was worse than the roar of the collapsing tunnel itself. Clay’s ears rang so persistently that it drowned out the beating of his own heart. He no longer felt the stinging of his cut cheek or the dust coating his throat. He felt only the cold, unyielding weight of the boulders beneath his fingers. The very same ones that had just cut off his path to his brother. 

For him, nothing existed anymore. There was no Bergentown to run from, no kingdom to save. There was no hope. Only this wall. The grayness slowly consumed the last remnants of color on his hands.

Then, he felt a touch on his shoulder. The hand was small and cold as ice. It was trembling violently. Clay didn't flinch. He felt he couldn't pull away from that rock. As if letting go would strip him of his last shred of consciousness. But the hand gripped his shoulder tighter. It hurt. From the thick cloud of settling dust emerged a face he barely recognized. Viva. Her bright yellow hair, usually so proud and shiny, was frizzed out in all directions, covered in a thick layer of grime. He couldn't find the spark in her eyes that he had seen back in the tree canopy. He saw in them only the same emptiness he felt himself. They looked at each other in silence. Two terrified kids who had no clue what to do.

Another impact. Falling rocks. Dust blocking everything out. A crash. The screams of trolls. Viva recoiled sharply. The corridor was as bright as day. She squinted. Something was in front of them. A silver blur smashed its way inside, crumbling the rocks with ease. 

A shovel. 

A deep cackle above their heads. Raspy, so familiar. She had heard it many times, but never this close. Viva flinched. Her breath became short, ragged. Another strike of the shovel. The hole grew larger. She fell to the ground. She wasn't sure if it was from the shockwave or if her legs were shaking that badly. She wanted her father to be here so badly. He always knew what to do. She watched the shovel dig into the earth again. No one was screaming anymore. A few trolls huddled against the walls. Terrified, trying to hide. Their colors were fading so fast. 

Viva looked at Clay. He was completely gray. The others around him were losing their colors too, staring with empty eyes at the widening hole in the ceiling. 

It can’t end like this, she thought. She was trembling all over. Her heart hammered like crazy. The ringing in her ears drowned out the next impact. Someone, something... she thought frantically, looking around. This cannot be the end. 

The shovel appeared in the opening again. Thud. Something inside Viva snapped. She didn't even know when she moved. Her body took the lead. Her thick, bright yellow hair shot out like a whip. It coiled around the shovel handle. It took seconds, though for her, time stood still. All the trolls were staring at her. She clenched her hands into fists. 

"No troll left behind!" she screamed with all her pent-up anger and helplessness, and the handle of the shovel slammed into the Bergen's jaw with full force. The corridor shook with the monster's mighty roar of pain. This time, Viva didn't fall. She stood on one of the boulders, breathing heavily, dust swirling around her. 

"No troll left behind!" she repeated. Her cry sounded different than her father's. She had no illusions left. 

To Clay, that slogan sounded like an order, not a promise. They might have been the same words King Peppy whispered just minutes ago in the dark corridors. But these held a wild strength. Rage. 

"We can't give up now!" Viva shouted, her voice echoing through the collapsing tunnels. She was saying what she needed to hear herself. "We can take them! We’ll escape! Together!" 

Clay’s heart slowed. The ground beneath his fingers didn't feel so distant anymore. The dust in the air didn't choke him quite as much. His color brightened shyly. Someone started chanting along with Viva. No troll left behind. Trolls were getting up from the ground. Emerging from hiding. Colors were returning. 

"We will fight!" she yelled, jumping down from the rock. She reached out her hand to Clay. He grabbed it without hesitation, pulling himself up. 

They ran. As fast as their legs could carry them. They didn't slow down. Viva led them through the maze of crumbling tunnels. This time, it wasn't a scream of despair that rang out, but battle cries. Clay didn't leave her side for a step. When needed, he grabbed shovels himself, striking at Bergen paws. And when there were none, he threw stones. He was scared, but he couldn't stop. The warmth of hope spread through his body, right down to the tips of his hair. 

I'll find him. He promised himself in his spirit. I'll find Branch, Floyd, Spruce. Even JD. They're alive. We'll be together with Grandma. 

...

Clay jerked awake violently. He felt something grabbing him, tightening around him tighter and tighter. He gasped desperately for air, but his lungs burned like fire. He tasted dust in his mouth. Choking, acrid. 

He opened his eyes. He wasn't in the tunnels. His breath wheezed. He was staring at a smooth, bright plastic ceiling. His heart hammered against his ribs. A paralyzing pain tore through his chest. Heavy as the boulder he hadn’t managed to move. He lay motionless, tears streaming down his cheeks. His whole body was tense, ready for an escape that never ended. The room was silent, pierced only by his wheezing, ragged breathing. 

He hated the silence. That emptiness. It reminded him of their abandoned pod. Of Branch, whom he had left behind. 

He remained still for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. He loosened his grip on the blanket. 

It’s fine, he repeated in his thoughts. He was safe. No matter how much this pervasive silence suffocated him, it was what kept them safe. Thanks to it, the Bergens couldn't find them. 

His clothes clung to his skin with cold sweat, and a few strands of hair blocked his view. That tightness in his chest again... He hated this nightmare. It haunted him almost every night, refusing to let him breathe. He just wanted to stop being afraid for a moment. The pain intensified again. He squeezed his eyelids shut with all his might. His thoughts began to race. 

Viva is wrong. The stabbing pain in his chest took his breath away. They aren't dead. 

He couldn't breathe. He didn't need proof. Viva wanted it. She kept saying she wouldn't let him go anywhere without proof that the others survived. She wouldn't let any troll leave. It was too risky, too dangerous... Clay felt like he was starting to suffocate again. 

"They're alive," he stammered into the void. His heart slowly decelerated. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Branch is alive." 

A quiet sob escaped his lips. He took a deep, trembling breath. 

"Floyd is alive." With every name, his voice grew steadier, his breath deeper. "Spruce is alive. John Dory is alive." 

He raised a trembling hand to his face. His fingertips brushed the scar on his cheek. It didn't burn. It was rough. 

He rolled onto his side and wrapped himself tighter in the blanket. He knew he had to fall asleep before the sun rose over the golf course. He thought of their hanging pod, whispering his brothers' names. 

Branch, Floyd, Spruce, JD... 

He repeated them quieter and quieter, until his body finally relaxed completely. He still felt fear, but it was a tamed fear. That gentle prickling in his chest he had already gotten used to over all these years. He thought of his brothers. He imagined them safe and sound. Secure, somewhere out there, on the other side of the rubble. His breathing was deep, calm, and steady. He lay relaxed, huddled in the blanket.