Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I.

Boots is three. She doesn’t really know what that means, but when someone asks her how old she is, she holds up her index, middle, and ring finger on one hand and proudly tells them, “I’m three!” When she says it, though, it always sounds a bit more like, “I’m free!”

If she were a bit older, a bit wiser, maybe she’d realize that there isn’t much of a difference between the two anyway. Because Gregor is twelve, and Lizzie is eight, and sometimes, there's a pain in their eyes that makes them seem much older, and not very free at all.

Of course, Boots doesn’t understand that yet. Just like she doesn’t understand why the tiny cockroaches in their apartment won’t talk to her. If Temp were there, he would talk to her. But even when she tries the clicking language that she learned from Hazard, the roaches don’t understand her, or maybe they’re so small that their voices are unable to carry. In any case, she misses Temp. Every few days, she asks Gregor if they can go see Temp soon. Gregor never replies.

There’s talk of moving to Virginia. Boots doesn’t really know what that means either, but she thinks that Virginia is far. Maybe another planet. She tugs on Gregor’s sleeve while they’re eating dinner one night. “We see Temp?” She asks him. “Temp in Virginia?”

Gregor doesn’t reply. Their mother does. “No,” she says sharply. “No Temp in Virginia.”

Boots starts to cry. Lizzie tries to comfort her. The rest of dinner is silent.

II.

Boots is five. She’s in kindergarten now, which is a word that she has trouble saying, but she’s pretty sure it’s a big deal. She feels very old. Gregor and Lizzie still look older.

They never move to Virginia. Money is always too much of an issue, and Grandma is always too sick, and there always seems to be something holding them in the city — that's Gregor’s understanding of the situation. He thinks it's a cruel joke that they can't leave. “I’m done,” he wants to say. “I did what I needed to do. I’m done being the warrior now. Let me leave.” But who could he say it to? Who would even listen?

Boots doesn’t know about any of that. Even when she overhears conversations, she’s too young to worry about the consequences. But still, she sees the worry etched in her mother’s face, carved in the crease between her brow. She sees her father’s desperation, even if she doesn’t have a name for it, in his restless fidgeting and uneasy sleep. She sees Lizzie’s anxiety, ever-present and overwhelming, waking her up and shutting her down.

And she sees Gregor. Quiet. Weary. Lost.

Boots doesn’t really understand. She isn’t troubled like the rest of them. But she sees that something is wrong, so she tries to help. She shares her cookies with her family, delighted by the smiles that light up their shadowed faces. She makes them chase her around the house while she wears nothing but her underwear, and dances around in their shoes, and steals their noses by putting her thumb between her fingers. Each laugh she earns feels like a medal, and Boots wears each one with care.

And one day, they’re all sitting together and smiling and talking like nothing is wrong, and it’s a good day, and Boots wants to make it a better day, so she racks her brain for something that will brighten their spirits even more, and then she gets it. A sudden memory, a genius idea. “Gre-go!” She exclaims, reverting to her old pronunciation in her excitement. “Gre-go can we fly? Can we fly on the bats?”

But Gregor’s smile falls, and the room is suddenly silent, and Boots doesn’t know what she did wrong. “The bats,” she repeats emphatically, as if he’s the one who doesn’t understand. A name enters her head. “Ares!”

“I have homework to do,” Gregor says. He goes into his room. Boots is on her dad’s lap as her mom cries silently, and Lizzie picks at a patch of carpet, and Boots still doesn’t know what she did wrong.

III.

Boots is seven. She feels old again, but not old enough.

Gregor is starting high school. Boots has heard him begging Mom and Dad to be homeschooled. They refuse. Mom will say, “You have to go out and be a part of the real world.” Dad will say, “It’s time to be a normal kid again.” Gregor wants to say, “I’m trying. I don’t know how.” But he never does.

Boots doesn’t get it. She likes school. “Are you nervous?” She asks him one night. “Are you nervous about school, Gregor?”

“Yeah,” Gregor replies, offering her a smile. “I’m nervous.”

Old, but not old enough. Boots is old enough to understand that his smile isn’t genuine, but not old enough to understand why.

“Shake the jitters out,” she tells him. “That’s what Lizzie says to do.” To demonstrate, she wiggles her arms and legs and shakes her head all around until she’s dizzy.

Gregor laughs at that, and Boots thinks it’s for real.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knows that something has changed. That her brother used to be different. He used to laugh, and she wouldn’t have to wonder if it was forced or not. There was a time when she didn’t feel so young in comparison, and a time when she didn’t have to act older for him. When she could be Boots, and he could be Gregor, and there was nothing else for them to worry about.

She doesn’t know exactly what changed. Sometimes, though, she pretends not to listen while her parents are talking. Sometimes, they talk about her.

“She was so young,” her mom says one night. “Do you think she remembers? Any of it?”

“I don’t think she understood most of it,” Dad assures her. “There was so much going on. Good and bad.”

“So young,” her mom repeats. “She’s still so young. They all are. Who knows what she saw down there. What Gregor saw…”

They both go quiet after that. They seem to worry about Gregor most of all. And they use that phrase a lot. Down there. Like they’re afraid to say what there really is. Boots has heard it, though. Her dad slipped up once, said the name of the place that they all seem to agonize over. The Underland.

Boots sees flashes in her head. Giant animals, bats and rats. A palace. A city. Darkness. But her parents are right. She doesn’t understand.

IV.

Boots is nine, but she prefers the term “almost ten." Ten is a big deal. Gregor is eighteen, though, which is, apparently, a bigger deal. Their parents talk about things like graduation, and college, and Mrs. Cormaci keeps giving him random gifts. (“What use does a woman like me have for a coffee maker? I should be cutting down on caffeine, Gregor, really. But you, Mister College Boy? You’re going to need this. Trust me. Oh, you’re going to love college. I had some great times there, like when my friend Tammy and I…”)

Gregor tells Mom and Dad to keep the coffee maker. He won’t be too far, anyway. He’s going to college in the state for cheaper tuition, or something like that. Boots is glad she doesn’t have to worry about college yet. For once, she savors being young, even if everyone else is finally talking about how old she’s getting.

They mostly talk about Gregor, though. And he is older. He’s an adult, and he looks like one, and he acts like one. It’s hard to imagine him as her brother sometimes. Lizzie, at fourteen, actually seems to connect with him. Boots remembers when that used to be her. Sometimes, she doesn’t savor being young at all.

And then Boots is ten. Gregor is graduating. Everyone cries and cheers when he gets his diploma. It’s summer, and everything is bittersweet because Gregor is leaving soon. He won’t be far, but it’ll be far enough to matter.

“Are you nervous?” Boots asks him one day. He’s in the midst of packing his things, but he stops to give her his attention. “About college?”

He shrugs a bit. “Yeah,” he says. Then he winks. “But I’ve faced scarier things.”

Boots wants to ask him what he means. She wants to ask why the grate in the laundry room is boarded up. She wants to ask why he saves the roaches in their apartment instead of killing them, and why it’s a habit that she’s picked up on, too. She wants to ask about the nightmares. She wants to ask why he makes clicking noises when the power goes out. She wants to ask why he looks up at the night sky, at the bats that fly in front of the moon. She wants to ask about the scars that mark his skin, scars that have been there for as long as she can remember, as if by destiny.

There are many things that Boots could ask. Maybe Gregor would have answers for her. Maybe he couldn’t possibly answer any of it. Maybe the truth is more complicated than she could ever know, a story that would take time to tell, time that they didn’t have, and a story that had to be told right.

So she doesn’t ask about any of those things. Instead, she remembers that name, the one that her dad let slip so many years ago. “Do you miss it?” Boots asks him. “The Underland?”

Gregor is quiet for a long time. It reminds her of the days when she was less careful with her words, and Gregor wouldn’t give her a reply. Now, she waits patiently. She thinks he will answer her, as long as she gives him the time to figure out what he wants to say.

“Yes. I do,” he says finally. “But it’s not my place there anymore.”

“What about me? Did I have a place there?”

He smiles fondly at that. “You did,” he answers. His eyes are somewhere far away. “You were a princess.”

A princess. It’s like a word straight out of a fairytale. And suddenly, her heart aches for this world that she cannot remember, this life that she lived before her real life began. “Can we ever go back?” She asks. There’s desperation in her voice that she didn’t expect. “Can I see it again?”

Gregor’s smile becomes pained. He takes his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a photo. Boots takes it gingerly in her hands. After staring at it a moment, she realizes with a jolt that it’s a picture of him. He was younger, no older than twelve. Not all of his scars were there yet, but the ones that were present were much more pronounced than they are now. And there's a girl beside him. Skin so pale that Boots can see the veins inside. Her hair is silver, resting on her shoulders like it was commanded to do so. The crown atop her head is angled to one side, violet eyes shining. Her attempt at regality is countered by the childlike joy that they both seem to share in the photo. They were so young.

“She looks like a princess,” Boots says, pointing at the girl.

“A queen,” Gregor corrects her. There’s a strange pride in his voice. “She’s old enough to rule by now. I bet she’s doing a great job.”

“Can we go find out?”

But he takes the photo from her and returns it to his wallet. “Maybe one day,” he says. Boots isn’t sure if she believes him, but she doesn’t press the topic. She leaves him to continue packing, taking one last look at the scars on his arms, legs, face, and wonders how else the Underland has hurt him.

V.

Margaret is eleven. She’s starting middle school soon, so it’s about time she drops the childish nickname. It hasn’t applied for a long time anyway. She isn’t the little girl who steals her family’s shoes anymore.

Gregor is in college. He’s close enough to visit every so often, but he’s mostly busy. College stuff. Whatever.

Lizzie is going into her junior year. She’s worried, which is nothing new, but this time it’s about AP classes and deciding where she’s going to go to college in a few years. Sometimes, Margaret resents being the youngest.

Not that she’s eager to go anywhere. If anything, she’s eager to stay. There have been talks of moving again. Grandma died a few years ago. Money is still an issue, but once Lizzie and Gregor are both in college…

Margaret tunes out those conversations that her parents have. She wants to scream, “What about me? What if I don’t want to leave?” But she doesn’t.

She wouldn’t be leaving much behind. She thinks that she’d miss the city and some of her friends. But most of all, she thinks of the Underland. Even when she knows she shouldn’t.

No one in their apartment has mentioned the Underland, by name or otherwise, since Gregor left. Margaret has a feeling she was the last to ever bring it up. She doesn’t dare bring it up again. Not now. Not when she understands so little, and when it’s impacted her family so much.

But she thinks about it. That grate in the laundry room. The girl from the photo, who looked so impossibly young, but was now a queen. She thinks about how she, Margaret, was once a princess. And when she sleeps, she dreams of cockroaches and castles and flying.

VI.

Margaret is thirteen. She lives with her mom, her dad, and basically Mrs. Cormaci at this point, but that’s it. Lizzie is in college. She got accepted somewhere prestigious on a full-ride scholarship, further than Gregor but not too far. It doesn’t matter. They’re moving.

It isn’t a hypothetical anymore. Mom and Dad have started packing boxes. Mrs. Cormaci, more than anyone, is sad to see them go. In a month, they’ll be on the farm in Virginia, and Margaret will be starting anew.

She’s mostly okay with it. She’s only surprised that it took so long. But the extra time has given her the confidence to make her mind up about something, and she’s determined to see her plan through.

Mom and Dad don't pay much mind to the grate in the laundry room anymore. Maybe things would be different if Gregor were still home, or even Lizzie, but Margaret is supposed to have forgotten all about the Underland. And besides, the grate has been blocked off for years. No one could possibly fall through it by mistake without deliberately uncovering it. 

Which is exactly what Margaret intends to do.

When she unscrews the plank of wood concealing the hole in the ground, Margaret immediately recognizes the danger. She could fit through the grate easily now, and she could definitely fit through it when she was two years old. It's dark inside and appears bottomless, though Margaret is well aware that there is a bottom, and that the danger only increases upon reaching it. She peers into the hole for a few seconds more, then loses her nerve and goes back up to her apartment.

On her second trip into the laundry room, she brings a flashlight. It doesn’t feel like enough. She leaves again.

On her third trip, she has a bag filled with flashlights, batteries, water bottles, any snacks she could forage from the cabinet, and her dad’s winter shoes. They don’t fit, but they’re more appropriate for the journey than her own beat-up sneakers. She throws the bag through the grate. There’s no changing her mind anymore. She waits a moment, but she never hears the bag hit the ground.

Not wanting to let herself hesitate any longer, Margaret—Boots, she thinks with a smile, remembering her dad's shoes on her feet—lowers herself into the hole and lets go.

She’s falling. No, not falling. Flying. She’s moving quickly, but she’s safe, she’s sure of it. The air is gently carrying her to the ground. It’s a familiar sensation. She thinks: I’ve missed this.

Time passes. She isn’t sure how much. She can’t find it in herself to be afraid. She thinks: Courage only counts when you can count. She doesn’t know where the phrase comes from, which makes her certain that it’s from the Underland. She feels alive.

More time passes. How much time is passing? She feels impatient. If everything goes smoothly, she can be back home soon enough that her parents will never know she was here. But that can’t happen if she never stops falling.

And then she’s on the ground. She barely feels the impact, only recognizes that her back is now pressed against something hard and cold.

Boots gets to her feet. Fumbles for a flashlight in her bag. Shines it all around her. Her heart is in her throat, but she’s here. She’s made it back to the place that she’s only been able to remember in flashes. The place where she’s a princess. The place that her brother misses so much, but might never face again.

Old wounds. Just by being here, Boots is reopening old wounds. Fueling the fear in her parents’ hearts, the anxiety that plagues Lizzie. The pain that will always follow Gregor. Pain that she would never understand. Scars, inside and out.

She thinks: I shouldn’t be here.

Panic seizes her. She shouldn’t be here. This is a mistake. She’s risking all of the good years that they’ve had just for, what? So she can see what she was missing out on? The story that everyone else was able to be a part of, even Mrs. Cormaci, and that Boots can’t even remember?

Do they want to? She wonders. Do they want to remember? Do they envy me for forgetting it all?

No, that’s not right. She hasn’t forgotten all of it. She remembers people with eyes that sparkled kindly, and hands reaching out to hold her, to protect her. She remembers soaring through the air. She remembers cockroaches dancing for her. She remembers warm baths and root beer and shared food and laughter and friendship.

It wasn’t all bad. For every scar, there‘s a memory of a friendly face or a funny story. And for that reason, Boots has to think that it was all worth it. She has to think that Gregor will never want to forget it. She knows she needs closure on the world that she has already forgotten.

There’s a clicking from behind her. Boots turns, shining her light at the tunnel, ready to face whatever is there. She thinks: I won’t stay long. She thinks: I’ve been waiting for this for years. And again, she thinks: I’ve missed this. So much.

Something emerges from the shadows. Boots catches its face in the beam of her light. The giant roach looks astonished. “Be you, the princess, be you?”

“I am the princess,” she confirms. Boots offers Temp her widest smile. “Hi, you.”

Chapter Text

Familiar. It all feels so familiar. Boots barely remembers her last visit to the Underland, can’t recall any one event with even a hint of clarity, but now she’s riding on Temp’s back as he brings her to Regalia’s arena, and it’s so familiar that it hurts. Until she saw the giant cockroach’s face in the tunnel, the whole thing hadn’t quite felt real. Now it feels more real than anything else she’s ever known. Now Boots can’t imagine being anywhere else.

The brightness of the arena is like an assault on her eyes as she and Temp emerge from the tunnel. She holds up a hand to block out the light so she can get a look at the crowd, the dozens who have gasped at her arrival. Not just humans, but bats, roaches, even a few rats are peering down at her. Boots can’t help herself. She remembers what Gregor said about her being a princess and gives a regal wave to the audience, cupping her hand and rotating her wrist back and forth. Excited murmurs fill the silence and Boots feels a grin spread across her face. She’s here.

Some of the bats that were flying around the arena have landed in the field to get a better look at her. At first glance, all of their riders are strangers to her, but she realizes a lot of time has passed since the last time she saw them. The faces that she can already barely recall would look a lot older now anyway. But one boy dismounts a silky brown bat, his mouth wide open as he stares at her, and Boots notices something odd about his appearance. He looks… like her. Like an Overlander.

“Can you stop here please, Temp?” Boots asks the roach kindly. Temp obeys immediately and allows her to slide off of his back. Boots does so gracefully, meeting the eyes of the strange boy. He’s a few years older than her, closer to Lizzie’s age. His hair is dark, the curls blatantly contrasting the silver that nearly every other Underlander has on their head. And upon even closer inspection, she finds that his eyes are an almost unnatural shade of deep green.

“Do I know you?” Boots asks him. That’s too uncertain, she thinks. You’re a princess. Be commanding. Firm. “Tell me who you are,” she amends, straightening her posture. Temp makes supportive clicking noises from beside her.

Recognition flashes in the boy’s eyes as he looks from her to the roach. “You’re Boots,” he says in surprise.

Boots laughs. “Duh. I know who I am. Who are you?”

But the rest of the bats have fluttered to the ground now, and every creature in the arena is climbing out of the stands to get a look at her. Even young children who couldn’t have possibly met her ten years ago seem amazed by her appearance. Boots may not know everyone here, but they all sure seem to know her.

“I’m Hazard,” the boy says slowly. “Do you remember me?”

The name, startlingly, does ring a bell, but Boots isn’t immediately able to put a finger on who he is. He looks crestfallen when she doesn’t reply right away. Were we friends? She thinks. They must have been. Hazard, Hazard, Hazard…

“The jungle,” she says abruptly, snapping her fingers excitedly. “We met in the jungle. You were friends with a big lizard and… and you could talk to it.” She thinks that all sounds right. The memories are vague, and she could not expand on them anymore if she tried, but they’re there.

Hazard nods enthusiastically. “And to the crawlers. And sometimes spinners and stingers. You and I learned together. Do you not still speak crawler?”

Boots shakes her head. “I guess I stopped practicing when I got back to the Overland. I was really little back then.”

Hazard’s face brightens. “Well, that is no issue. Temp and I can teach you again now that you are here.”

Learning to speak crawler again? Boots can think of nothing she’d love more. But where will she find the time? She wants to see the city, to reconnect with more faces from her past. “I can’t stay long,” she warns Hazard. “I have to go back home and… and…”

And what? What is waiting for her back home that’s more exciting, more valuable than this? The farm in Virginia? Her parents will worry, but she can send a letter upstairs and let them know where she is, though chances are they’ll figure it out on their own. They’re no stranger to their children disappearing down here. Boots disregards the guilt that twists in her chest. She wants to be here. Gregor may have been pulled into this world against his will, but Boots wants to be here. Why shouldn’t she stay?

“Actually,” she says, “I guess I have some time.”

Hazard gestures to his bat. “Ride you with us?”

Boots would be delighted. She straightens the bag around her shoulder and mounts the large brown bat, sitting behind Hazard as Temp scurries aboard and takes the rear. The bat introduces himself as Atlas before merrily departing for the city. She knows she’s seen it all before, but Boots still gasps as the beautiful stone buildings of Regalia materialize below her, crowds of people milling about in the dim light, looking as small as ants from this high off the ground. Well, Overland-sized ants.

“What brings you to us?” Hazard asks, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Thought it was time I paid you all a visit,” Boots says breezily. “The rest of my family was eager to leave the Underland behind for good, but I could never get this place out of my head.”

“They won’t be joining you?”

“Who, my family?” Boots almost laughs at the thought. “Definitely not.” Temp clicks nervously from behind her. “What is it, Temp?” But the roach just shakes his head, his antennae bobbing up and down.

“He worries about you traveling alone,” Hazard translates. “We have never hosted you here without your brother’s company.”

Boots thinks of Gregor away at college, probably too wrapped up in classes and homework to wonder how she’s doing right now. She wonders if he still thinks of the Underland. If he still misses it. It must feel like another lifetime for him in the same way that it does for her. Well, the way it did for her. Now that Boots is here again, it’s like she never left at all.

“Gregor is busy,” she says, shrugging. “And besides, I’m older now. Even older than he was when he used to visit.”

“True, this is, true,” Temp agrees, though he still seems anxious.

“Land us at the high hall of the palace, Atlas,” Hazard says.

Palace? Boots turns away from Temp and feels her eyes widen at the fortress that has appeared in the distance. Shadow engulfs them as they draw nearer to the palace and Boots feels small in comparison to the massive structure before her, but she forces herself to sit up straight all the same.

Atlas lands in what Boots assumes is the high hall. She carefully dismounts, gingerly patting the bat and helping Temp to the ground. “You are a natural flier,” Atlas says appreciatively, stretching his wings.

“Isn’t everyone here a natural flier?”

“Not the little ones,” Hazard replies. “Even Underland children have to learn the correct way to fly. Atlas assists with training sometimes.”

“And you do not fly regularly,” Atlas remarks, “yet you need no training at all. Strange, is it not?”

Boots doesn’t think it is all that strange, but she doesn’t say so. She thinks it just further proves what she already knows: She’s meant to be here.

Atlas bids them farewell and takes off again, evidently having business elsewhere. Hazard beckons for Boots and Temp to follow him. “Come,” he says, “let us find my cousin.”

“Who’s your cousin?”

He grins, leading the way down the long, wide corridor. “The Queen.”

The flicker of pride Boots felt from Atlas’ praise is quickly extinguished and replaced with nerves. She didn’t realize she’d be meeting royalty so soon. Sure, Gregor had told her that she was a princess herself, but what did that mean exactly? She never had time to get any clarification.

She nods politely at the palace guards they pass on the way. Temp emulates her, deeply bowing his head. Everyone seems to do a double-take when they see her, though Boots isn’t sure if it’s because they recognize her, specifically, or if it’s merely her Overland appearance that attracts attention. Regardless, she keeps her chin up, imagining a crown atop her curly head. Being a princess starts with acting like one.

They arrive outside of an ornate stone door. Hazard knocks lightly and calls, “It’s me, cousin. I bring a guest.”

“Come in,” a voice replies from inside the room. Hazard smiles encouragingly at Boots and disappears inside.

She takes a deep breath. “You coming, Temp?”

“Wants me to, the Princess, wants me to?”

“Of course I do,” Boots assures him. She forces her arms to rest firmly at her sides rather than swing back and forth, then fixes her posture once more. “Let’s go.”

The bedroom is large and lavish. Boots could’ve easily guessed that royalty lives here just from the sheer size of the place. There’s a certain cleanliness to it, a certain polish, and a warm glow emanating from the many torches on the walls. A silky, purple curtain is drawn in front of a square window. A stone shelf, holding nothing but a thin gold crown and something that looks like a photograph, is positioned above a queen-sized bed, which the Queen herself is sitting upon. Her back is straight, her hair long and silver. She smiles at Hazard before her purple eyes come to rest on Boots, scrutinizing her.

“You are an Overlander,” the Queen says in surprise, looking warily at Hazard for confirmation.

Boots, on the other hand, has vanquished her nerves. A queen, she remembers Gregor telling her. She’s old enough to rule by now. And Boots suddenly feels very silly for being so worried about meeting Regalia’s leader. They’ve already met many times before.

“You’re Luxa,” she replies, almost laughing aloud at the realization.

Luxa’s eyes widen. It’s only now that she notices Temp’s presence. Seeing the roach in proximity to Boots seems to help Luxa put the pieces together in the same way that Hazard did.

“Boots,” the Queen whispers.

Boots grins. “Hi, Your Majesty.”

“Isn’t it great, cousin?” Hazard says cheerfully. “Boots has come to visit us.”

But Luxa’s pale face has somehow gone even paler, and she shakes her head back and forth, her lips very thin. “Oh no,” she says quietly. “No, no, no. Boots, what brings you back here? What is it? What has happened?” She rises from the bed and crosses the room, taking Boots by the shoulders. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing!” Boots yelps, extracting herself from the Queen’s grasp. “I just wanted to see you guys!”

That brings Luxa up short. She opens her mouth, trying out the unfamiliar sequence of words. “To… see us?”

“And the Underland,” Boots adds sheepishly. “I just wanted to see what it was like down here, that’s all.” She crosses her arms. Uncrosses them. Clasps her hands in front of her. “It’s, um, good to see you?”

Luxa’s expression is now one of bewilderment. She looks again at Hazard, who offers a shrug. “Overland customs are strange,” he gently reminds her. “We are happy to have Boots with us again, though, are we not?”

Temp clicks his agreement and Boots pats him on the back, beginning to feel as if the roach is the only thing that makes any sense to her.

“Of course,” Luxa manages, her voice strained. “Yes, of course we are. But… But Boots, surely you haven’t traveled all this way just to say hello?”

“Well, not just hello,” Boots says, growing frustrated. This was not the welcome she was hoping for. “I’d like to see more of the palace. And the city. And Hazard said I can learn to talk to the roaches again. Oh, and what about that training that Atlas mentioned? Could I see how that works? And—”

“My, Boots, how long do you plan on staying? What of your family? Won’t they worry? Unless…” Luxa glances at the doorway, eagerly leaning forward to see if anyone else is waiting to reveal themselves in the corridor. No one appears.

“They’re not here,” Boots confirms.

Luxa returns to her bed, sitting down heavily. “No,” she agrees sadly. “They are not.”

By now, Boots has just about had it. “Look,” she says hotly, “I’m sorry that you’re stuck with just me, but you’ve been very rude, you know. I’d like to see more of the palace.”

Hazard taps the tips of his index fingers together, anxiously studying his cousin. “Luxa?”

The Queen does not reply. Temp nudges Boots with one antenna. “Ride you, Princess, ride you?”

“Sure,” Boots says, glaring at Luxa. She and the roach can travel on their own. Hazard, too, if he wants. They don’t need to be weighed down by someone who clearly doesn’t want them here. She climbs onto Temp’s back. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Luxa says finally, and Temp freezes immediately. “I apologize. I have not been hospitable. I must admit that your arrival has shocked me.”

“Me as well,” Hazard says. “How did you even get here?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Boots says, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “I just went through the grate in our laundry room.”

The cousins share a look of confusion. “You arranged for a flier to meet you?” Luxa asks.

“What? No.” Who did these people think she was? How was she supposed to arrange a ride with a bat from a world that she’s been cut off from for ten years? “Was I supposed to?”

Luxa gapes at her. It would’ve gotten on Boots' nerves, which are wearing thin from this conversation, but the fear is apparent on Hazard’s face, too, and she gets the feeling that she really did do something wrong. “What?” She asks.

“You are lucky,” the Queen says. “The currents are what allowed you to survive the fall.”

“Right, so what’s the big deal—”

“However,” Luxa continues, her voice as hard as steel, “the currents can not always be relied on to be active. Had you journeyed through the grate at another time, you may have reached the bottom much too rapidly and lost your life on impact.”

Hazard flinches. Temp clicks sorrowfully, his antennae drooping. From where she sits on his shell, Boots swallows a lump in her throat. She’d been concerned with what would await her in the Underland. She hadn’t realized that the journey itself could have killed her.

Luxa’s face has not changed. She stares at Boots, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” Boots says, struggling to meet her eyes. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Then you should not have come,” Luxa says simply. “There is much about the Underland that you are unaware of. It was foolish to return here in ignorance.”

The words are meant to be more of a criticism than a blatant insult, but Boots can’t help but shrink under the weight of them regardless. “Sorry,” she mumbles again.

“I am not the one who needs an apology,” Luxa says briskly. “You will be apologizing to your family upon your return. Hazard, where is your bond?”

“Atlas has departed for the stadium,” he answers nervously.

“We shall take Aurora, then,” Luxa decides.

“Wait,” Boots says slowly. “Where—”

“To the Central Park entrance.”

“Hang on—”

“Boots may find her way home from there.”

“No!” Boots shouts. Luxa looks at her so sharply that her gaze could cut through the air, but Boots presses on. “I don’t want to go back. Not yet.”

“Did you not hear what I—”

“I heard you,” Boots says. “And you’re right. I don’t know much about the Underland. But I want to learn. I’ve spent years remembering this place through dreams and secondhand memories, and I’ve missed it too much to leave now that I’ve finally made my way back!”

The brief silence that follows is unbearable. Boots’ hands shake slightly with anticipation and she clenches them into fists at her sides, staring defiantly at Luxa. Hazard shifts from foot to foot, glancing between them. Temp is very still beneath Boots, and she wonders if he would take off were she to command it. Who would he listen to? Her or Luxa? A princess or the Queen?

Luxa closes her eyes, breathes deeply, then opens them again. Her gaze has softened. “You think of the Underland fondly,” she observes.

Surprised by the change in tone but not at all deterred, Boots replies truthfully, “I do.”

“You should know that it is not all happy memories down here,” Luxa says sadly. “Though peaceful times have endured as of late, there is still much conflict. Much fear. I would not even go as far as to promise your complete safety.”

Boots had been expecting this. She was not so foolish as to believe her trip would be one without risk. “I know it’s not perfect,” she admits. “That’s why my family never talks about it. That’s why… That’s why Gregor could never come back.”

Luxa’s face changes almost imperceptibly, an odd mix of wistfulness and despair contorting her features. “How is he?” She asks. From the desperation in the Queen’s voice, Boots thinks she’s been holding onto the question this whole time.

“He’s okay,” she replies. “He’s in college. That’s a kind of school in the Overland. He’s graduating soon though, and he got really good grades and everything. So… So he’s good.” Boots isn’t sure what kind of school system Luxa is familiar with in the Underland, but she hangs onto every word like it means everything to her. “I can tell you more,” Boots says. “I can tell you anything you want to know. But only if you let me stay.”

Luxa sighs deeply. “Boots—”

“Please.” Boots dismounts Temp and joins Luxa on her bed, vaguely impressed by how soft the material is. “Just for a little bit. My family is getting ready to move to Virginia, which is really far away, and I’ll never be able to come back here once we’re there. Luxa, please . This is my last chance.”

Luxa considers this, pushing silver hair out of her face. “You could not go outside of Regalia,” she warns.

That idea hadn’t even crossed Boots’ mind. “Fine by me,” she says.

“And your family? You are aware of the pain you must be causing them with your disappearance? Does this not discourage you?”

Boots winces. A little late for that. “I’m already here. Might as well make it count.”

The resolve in her voice seems to finally convince Luxa, who nods once. “Alright,” the Queen says. “Alright. You may stay in the Underland for a few days—”

Boots’ heart leaps.

“—but that is it. I will sprout wings and fly you up to Central Park myself if I have to. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear,” Boots says breathlessly. “We are so unbelievably clear. Thank you, Luxa. Your Majesty. Thank you so much.”

Luxa laughs and the tension in the room dissipates. She stands, holding out a hand to Boots. “Let us get started on that list of yours, shall we?”

They set off through the palace accompanied by Temp and Hazard, who gladly work together to catch her up on what’s changed since she was last here. It’s all a lot of nonsense to Boots, seeing as she can hardly remember what the Underland was like while she was last here, but she listens eagerly nonetheless.

“There have been no wars,” Hazard tells her enthusiastically.

“No wars, there have been, no wars,” Temp agrees, almost in a sing-song sort of way, despite the roach being rather pitchy.

“Of course, things were a little touch and go for a while,” Hazard admits. “The gnawers and humans did not want anything to do with one another. It felt like a fight would break out any moment whenever the two species were forced together. But in the past few years, things have begun to change. In no small part thanks to my cousin coming of age,” he adds, beaming at Luxa. “Now everyone is doing their part to coexist. It is… It is what my father would’ve wanted.”

Boots racks her brain for memories of Hazard’s father. She remembers a man from the jungle with kind eyes who kept her well-fed, but that’s all she can recall. Still, she thinks of the stadium earlier, of the rats sitting amongst humans, bats, and cockroaches alike. “I’m sure he would be very proud,” Boots tells Hazard, and she’s sure that it’s the truth.

Luxa rests a hand on Hazard’s shoulder as he wipes his eyes. “Shall we see the Prophecy Room?” She asks.

Boots nods eagerly. Prophecies. She definitely remembers those. At the very least, she’s heard the word thrown around a lot, even after she last left the Underland, and she knows in her heart that the prophecies were crucial to her experience here.

“The prophecies of Bartholomew of Sandwich,” Luxa says grandly, gesturing at a wooden door. Boots pulls on the handle and steps inside.

The room is so dimly lit that for a moment, Boots thinks there’s some sort of elaborate wallpaper on the walls. Upon closer inspection, she finds that it is not wallpaper at all, but engravings. Words that have been carved into the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor. Stanza after stanza after stanza, prophecy after prophecy. She could spend all night reading them and still not have read them all. But Boots doesn’t have that kind of time.

“Which ones are important?” She asks. “Which ones are about… about…”

“About you?” Luxa finishes, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “A handful of them. The Prophecy of Gray is just over there.”

Boots darts to where Luxa is pointing, reaching for a torch so quickly that she nearly drops it, holding the flame up to the wall so she can read. A grin spreads across her face when she reaches the second stanza. An Overland warrior, a son of the sun. “Gregor!” She exclaims. “Wow, he was even more important than I remembered.”

“You were quite important, too,” Luxa remarks. “Temp and the other crawlers would have followed you anywhere.”

“True, this is, true,” Temp says, clicking fondly.

“What does the prophecy mean?” Boots asks.

“You would like a full interpretation?”

“Please,” Boots says. She knows it will take up a lot of time, but it is this that she has longed for more than anything. To truly understand all that she and her family have endured. To hear the stories they have kept hidden for so many years. To remember, remember, remember.

So Luxa walks her through the prophecies, one by one. How the twelve questers embarked on the Prophecy of Gray with Ripred guiding them. King Gorger’s death, Henry’s betrayal, Ares and Gregor becoming bonds. The Prophecy of Bane, how it was believed that Boots was meant to die, and how her brother let The Bane live. Luxa spares no details, nor does Temp when he occasionally chimes in, and over an hour has passed when Boots stops them at the Prophecy of Blood.

“It’s written backwards,” Boots says, frowning at the words engraved on the floor. She can only sort of make out what they say if she concentrates really hard, but one particular word jumps out at her.

Princess.

She rests a hand on the floor, running her index finger across the backwards letters. “Is that me?” She asks, her voice a near whisper.

“Yes,” Luxa replies. “The crawlers named you their princess when they first met you. I must say, the kindness you extended to every species taught me a great lesson. If not for you, I do not think I would be the queen I am today.”

Boots feels inexplicable tears welling up in her eyes. Perhaps she is not true royalty, but her title is even better. It is one of destiny. Her being a princess was foretold hundreds of years ago, and that somehow makes it even more valuable to her.

Temp clicks from beside her. She pats him on the head. “Thank you,” Boots says, though she doesn’t know exactly what she’s thanking him for. For being a friend? For believing in her? For all of it, she thinks. For all of it.

“Welcome, you are, welcome,” Temp says shyly.

“Shall we continue with the Prophecy of Blood?” Luxa asks, crouching beside her. But Hazard’s voice comes from across the room before Boots can answer.

“Wait,” he says. His back is to them as he squints at some writing on the wall.

“What is it?” Luxa calls. Her cousin does not answer her or even indicate that he heard her. In a hushed voice, Luxa says to Boots, “Perhaps we should skip this prophecy for now. It may bring back some upsetting memories for him.”

Hazard glances back at them, shaking his head. “No,” he says, “it’s not that. Come take a look at this.”

Curious, Boots, Luxa, and Temp join him at the wall, grabbing a torch on the way. “What’s wrong?” Boots asks, trying to find the prophecy he’d been examining. Hazard points wordlessly to one in particular, his eyes wide.

“Read it,” he instructs them.

Luxa holds the torch where Hazard indicated and they all begin to read.

THE PROPHECY OF CHANGE

TIME HAS PASSED

THERE’S PEACE AT LAST

BUT SOMETHING WILL DISTURB IT

GOOD TIMES WILL FADE

MINDS WILL BE SWAYED

FOR THERE IS EVIL LURKING

WHAT’S DONE IS DONE

WHAT’S WON IS WON

BUT THERE’S STILL WAR TO FIGHT

SHE MUST RETURN

IF YOU’RE TO LEARN

HOW TO REGAIN YOUR LIGHT

THE CRAWLERS’ FRIEND

SHE MUST DESCEND

IF YOU’RE TO FIND YOUR WAY

IN DEADLY DARK

SHE IS THE SPARK

TO SAVE YOU FROM DECAY

Boots can’t tear her eyes away from the prophecy. Her heart has begun beating very fast in her chest. The crawlers’ friend must descend… no, it can’t be.

“Why have you shown us this, Hazard?” Luxa asks, her voice quivering slightly.

“You don’t see?” Hazard says incredulously, looking meaningfully at Boots. “It sounds like it is about—”

“It sounds like it is nonsense,” Luxa interrupts.

“But cousin—”

“Where else would you like to go, Boots? Shall we stop at the museum?”

Boots doesn’t answer her. She’s begun tracing the letters on the wall, her lips parted in awe. Her part to play in the Underland isn’t over after all, not by a long shot. Her story has yet to even begin.

I am here, she thinks, because I am fated to be. And what a wonderful thing that is to discover.

“Boots?”

“Walk me through it,” Boots says to Luxa, still not taking her eyes off of the prophecy. “Line by line.”

There’s a moment’s pause. Then:

“Time has passed,” Luxa says. “That could refer to time elapsing, or the completion of the Prophecy of Time, which is believed to be the predecessor to this prophecy.”

Boots nods, making a mental note to read over the Prophecy of Time. “Go on.”

“There’s peace,” Luxa continues. “That is true of present-day Regalia. We have kept out of conflict with the gnawers for several years now. But… But the prophecy says that something is going to change that.”

“Any idea what that could be?”

The Queen shakes her head. “No, not specifically. It must be something or someone we are not expecting. And something that can sway minds, as the first stanza says.”

Some sort of secret evil to disrupt the peace that Regalia has fought to achieve. “Maybe it will make people believe that peace isn’t the answer,” Boots guesses.

“Yes, perhaps.”

“Keep going.”

Luxa clears her throat. “What’s done is done,” she quotes shakily. “What’s won is won. But there’s… there’s still war left to fight. Meaning that we can not change the past, but that there is more fighting in our future. And… And then…” She trails off, wrapping her arms around herself. “Boots—”

“Keep going,” Boots says firmly.

Hazard and Temp exchange looks of unease. Luxa presses on. “She must return if you’re to learn… oh, Boots, it can be talking about anyone!”

“The crawlers’ friend,” Boots counters, tapping the final stanza. “She must descend. It’s me, Luxa! Why won’t you believe that it’s me?”

“Of course I believe it!” Luxa snaps, throwing her hands up. “Of course I do, Boots! Why do you think I wanted to send you home? I was trying to protect you from this!”

“You knew?” Boots rounds on her. “You knew there was a prophecy about me? Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve sent for me in the Overland! I would’ve—”

“I do not care what the prophecy demands,” Luxa says. “Your safety is more important. Think of your family.”

“I—”

“Think of your brother. Think of all he has suffered at the hands of the writing on these very walls! And you expect me to ask the same of you?”

“You aren’t asking anything of me,” Boots argues. “It’s my choice.”

“It is the wrong choice.”

Boots lets out a groan of frustration. Why doesn’t Luxa understand how much she needs this? How much she has longed for this exact opportunity? She’s finally being presented with the chance to do something, to be a part of something that’s bigger than herself. How could anyone expect her to turn her back on that?

“It’s still mine to make,” she says.

“It absolutely is not. I am the Queen.”

“And I’m the Princess.”

Luxa scoffs. “Perhaps to the crawlers! You hold no status above me.”

“Then I’ll go with the crawlers!” Boots retorts. “Temp and I will figure out the prophecy on our own. We don’t need you to do it.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Enough!” Hazard yells. “Both of you, please! You’re scaring Temp.”

Boots and Luxa both turn their gaze to the roach. Sure enough, the poor guy is shaking like a leaf. “No more, you do, no more,” he pleads. Shame washes over Boots, both for her childish screaming and for speaking of Temp as if he hasn’t been beside her this whole time. Some friend to the crawlers she is.

“Sorry Temp,” she says.

“I am also sorry,” Luxa mutters.

“And where’s my apology?”

All four of them jump and whirl towards the sound of a new voice. At first, Boots can’t make out the shape that’s standing in the doorway to the Prophecy Room. Then it moves forward, and she takes an involuntary step back from the large, hulking mass of brown rat that’s strolling leisurely towards them. Her eyes fixate on the scars over his eye, two lines intersecting to make an ‘X’.

“Well?” The rat says. “I’m waiting. I don’t enjoy listening to all of your yapping, you know.”

“Are you trying to scare us half to death, Ripred?” Luxa asks, though she sounds more annoyed than afraid.

Ripred. Boots knows that name. And not from her own memories, but from her sister’s. Lizzie, who spoke just as rarely of the Underland as their mother, and certainly feared it just as much. But when she did speak, she spoke fondly of the rat. He was kind to me, she told Boots one day, years and years ago. And he understood me. Not many people did back then.

Looking at the rat now, Boots wonders if Lizzie had possibly encountered a different rat named Ripred. Maybe it’s a common name down here.

The rat’s eyes dart to her, then to Temp, then back to her. “I’ll be damned,” he says. “Haven’t seen you in a hot minute, Princess.”

So it is the same Ripred. “You knew my brother,” Boots says carefully.

“I was a friend of the family,” Ripred agrees, picking at his teeth with his claws.

“And… And you were nice to Lizzie.”

The rat’s eyes soften. He takes his paw out of his mouth. “And how is she?” He asks, his tone losing a bit of its nonchalance.

“She’s okay,” Boots replies. “She’s good. She’s in college. That’s, um, a kind of school in the Overland—”

“Don’t patronize me, kid, I know what college is. I expect she got in somewhere good?”

Boots isn’t sure why this very old, strange rat took a liking to her nerdy older sister, but she decides not to question it. “Obviously.”

Ripred barks a laugh. “Glad to hear it. What of Gregor, then? He’s got the rager thing under control, yeah?”

“I… I don’t know what that is,” Boots admits. “But probably? I mean, he’s doing alright, so… yeah,” she finishes lamely.

The rat makes a sound of approval. Boots gets the feeling that he was fond of her brother just as he was fond of Lizzie, even if he wouldn’t as readily admit it. She can’t help but wonder what he thinks of her. “Were we… Were we friends?” She asks awkwardly, cringing at how dreadfully young she sounds.

Ripred snorts. “Me and you? You were just about the most annoying pup I’ve ever met. High maintenance, too. But I’m not upset to see you still alive, if that counts for anything.” He looks at her curiously. “Why are you here anyway? Don’t tell me Luxa dragged you down here for that load of garbage,” he says, using his tail to gesture at the Prophecy of Change.

“On the contrary,” Luxa replies, frowning, “I am trying to talk her out of it. Boots came of her own accord for a bit of sightseeing.”

“Did she now? Well, then I suppose the crawlers’ friend has made her descent.”

Boots nods eagerly. “I have!” She exclaims. “See, Luxa, he underst—”

But Ripred has begun laughing so hard that he can’t even stand upright, and Luxa is shaking her head wearily. “He is joking, Boots,” she says. And then, with just a hint of distaste in her voice: “Ripred does not believe in the prophecies of Sandwich.”

And Boots’ whole world comes crashing down.

“Not only that,” Luxa continues, “but he has ushered in a new era of skepticism. It is rather unprecedented, the number of Underlanders who now criticize the words of— would you please get a grip!” That last part is directed at Ripred, who hasn’t stopped howling with laughter. “You are making a fool of yourself.”

The rat manages to regain his composure, though he’s still chortling by the time he can finally speak. “I am too old to worry about looking like a fool, Your Highness.”

“And the rest of us grow older the longer you grace us with your presence,” Luxa quips.

“Wait,” Boots says, her mind still spinning. “You don’t… You don’t believe in the prophecies?”

“My, she’s a quick one,” Ripred says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “No, Boots, I do not. I think everything Sandwich has ever written is a bunch of self-fulfilling—”

“Ripred,” Luxa warns.

Boots turns to her in desperation. “Do you?” She asks. “Do you believe in them?”

The Queen hesitates. “I think… I think perhaps some of them lack validity. But to disregard all of them?” She thinks for a moment, looking between Ripred and the prophecies inscribed on the wall behind her, then finally turns back to Boots. “I do not know. Many of them make much sense.”

Ripred sighs heavily. “Because you all force them to make sense. You act in accordance with whatever old Sandwich told you to do, and when things don’t work out exactly, you bend his words to make them fit.”

“That is not—”

“It is true, and somewhere deep down, you know it. You’re just stubborn as all hell and refuse to reject what has been taught to you since you were young.”

Smoke might as well be coming out of Luxa’s ears. “ I’m stubborn? How do you have any right to call me—”

“Hazard,” Boots interjects, “what about you?”

But Ripred lets out a laugh before Hazard can respond. “Of course he believes in the prophecies,” the rat says. “That boy still believes in the Marks of Secret.”

“Which proved useful in the Prophecy of Secret,” Luxa says, her cheeks as close to red as Boots has ever seen them.

“You mean the nursery rhyme?” Ripred asks innocently. Boots gets the feeling that someone in this room is going to die within the next few minutes, and it’s hardly the most pressing issue on her mind.

She looks at Temp. The roach skitters about uncomfortably, making agitated clicking sounds. “Temp?” Boots addresses him imploringly.

“The princess, you are, the princess,” Temp says, not fully looking at her.

“But do you believe?” She prompts him. “Do you believe in the prophecies?”

His clicking gets even faster, ruffling a set of wings on his back that Boots hadn’t even noticed. “The princess, you are, the princess,” he repeats.

“The crawler agrees with me,” Ripred says, as if this settles everything. “And so do a great deal of Regalia’s citizens.”

“A great deal more of them would kill you in cold blood for the ideas you have expressed,” Luxa sneers.

“Because they’re set in their ways,” Ripred replies, lazily flicking his tail. “And besides, there’s less of them than you think. People are beginning to see reason.”

They all fall silent, Luxa apparently at a loss of an argument that can rival Ripred’s. Hazard twiddles his thumbs. Temp’s antennae twitch. Boots doesn’t know what to think. In her mind, the prophecies have always been an absolute defining component of the time her family spent in the Underland. She may not remember the specifics herself, but she’s heard bits and pieces at home. Wasn’t Luxa just describing the events of the first two prophecies to her? Why shouldn’t any of that be real?

No, Boots needs them to be real. If the prophecies aren’t real, then what was any of it for? Why did her family suffer? Why couldn’t their time in the Underland have been one of peace rather than war? And why, why, why should she be a princess? Temp still believes her to be one, that much is true. But would she have earned that title if the roaches hadn’t believed her arrival to be one of destiny?

There’s too much hanging in the balance. The prophecies must be real, they must be. Otherwise, what would Boots do? Who would she be?

“What if you’re wrong?” She asks Ripred.

The rat raises an eyebrow. “Wrong?”

“Is that such a difficult concept for you to grasp?” Luxa grumbles.

“You’re no expert,” Boots says. “Why should you get to decide what is or isn’t destiny?”

Ripred rolls his eyes. “I’m not deciding anything. Merely stating my opinions. Opinions that your brother agreed with, mind you.”

Boots and Luxa both flinch as if they’ve been slapped in the face. “Gregor didn’t—” Luxa starts at the same time that Boots says, “No he didn’t.”

“Are you familiar with the Prophecy of Time, Princess?” Ripred asks. “It’s a good one.”

Luxa looks like she wants to stop him from whatever path he’s going down, but she seems curious, too. “What does that prophecy have to do with this?”

Ripred wordlessly turns around and walks to the corner of the room, then stops and looks at the ceiling. The other four follow suit, all of them peering up at the prophecy engraved above them. “Read it,” Ripred tells Boots. She has to squint to make out what it says, but she obeys. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to be looking for until she reaches the final stanza, and her heart skips a beat.

WHEN THE WARRIOR HAS BEEN KILLED

“But… But Gregor didn’t… he didn’t die,” she stammers, looking at Ripred in alarm. “He’s the Warrior, right? He didn’t—”

“Correct,” the rat says, baring his teeth in a smile. Luxa lets out a huff. “Something you’d like to add, Your Highness?”

“It was a metaphorical death,” she says. “You and I both witnessed it firsthand, Ripred. He smashed Sandwich’s sword, thus killing the Warrior.”

“Also true,” Ripred concedes. “But the Overlander was prepared for a much more literal death. Oh yes, he was ready to lose his life in the fight—”

“Stop,” Luxa says.

“—against The Bane.”

“Stop it. Boots should not hear this.”

In truth, Boots has grown considerably tense while Ripred began discussing the hypothetical death of her brother, but she shakes her head. “Keep going,” she tells Ripred. He does not hesitate to do so.

“He was prepared to die,” Ripred continues, “because he believed it was his only option. Because that was the future that Sandwich had decided for him. Do you want to know what changed his mind?”

Boots can guess from the smugness in his voice. “You.”

“Me,” Ripred says happily. “I told him he had a fighting shot, no matter what Sandwich had to say about it, because the prophecies are self-fulfilling bull—”

“Ripred.”

“Apologies, Your Highness. You get the point. But the difference between you lot and Gregor is that he had the sense to take my words to heart. That’s how he survived, and that is why he made such a dramatic show of smashing his sword.” Ripred leans back on his haunches. “I rest my case.”

Luxa furrows her brow, at war with herself. But there’s one thing that Boots doesn’t understand.

“He still did it, though,” she points out. “He still fulfilled the prophecy.”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Ripred snarls, at his wits end. “Don’t you know what self-fulfilling means?”

“But a self-fulfilled prophecy is still a fulfilled one. What if Sandwich knew it was going to happen in that exact way?”

“Yes,” Luxa says, lifting her head. “What if the self-fulfilling nature of the prophecy was also predestined?”

And for a moment— just a moment — Ripred falters. It’s all Boots needs to know that maybe not everything is lost after all. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know! But that’s not the point. The point is that by living and dying by these prophecies, we are forsaking our right to choose our own futures!”

“But what if that is our destiny as well?” Luxa asks. Ripred looks like he might kill her, so much so that Hazard steps between them, but the rat just closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“You know what?” He says slowly. “Fine. If you wish to detract the meaning from your lives by attributing everything to destiny, that’s fine by me. If you, Luxa, wish to rule Regalia based on the words of a man named Bartholomew of Sandwich , then you go right ahead. And if you, Boots, wish to cause your family even more suffering just because you think you’re needed for this Prophecy of Strange—”

“Change,” Hazard corrects quietly.

“I know what I said!” Ripred spits. He whips his tail at Boots’ feet. “Do whatever you think you have to do. But hear me when I say that you are both going to waste your lives if you worry yourselves with the words of this half-witted, egocentric, so-called prophet!”

The rat is practically foaming at the mouth by the time he’s finished his speech. Temp has been gradually scurrying away and now sits all the way in the opposite corner of the room, trembling. Hazard has given up on contributing to this conversation and absentmindedly runs his hand along the walls. Boots and Luxa have not moved. Though they argued before Ripred’s arrival, they are now united for a common cause: Proving the rat wrong.

“We shall see about that,” Luxa says fiercely, resting a hand on Boots’ shoulder. “Come, Boots. Let us decipher the rest of the prophecy.”

“Surprised you don’t have it memorized,” Ripred mutters, then loudly adds, “You’re wasting your time! There is no imminent threat to the Underland!”

Boots can’t bring herself to argue with him. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand just how much of her life, her family’s lives, were reliant on what the prophecies foretold. How Sandwich’s word being true is the only thing that could make it all worth it. How Boots doesn’t know what she’d do if it was all for nothing. But most of all, she thinks of this new prophecy, the Prophecy of Change, and how maybe, just maybe, she has the chance to make a difference. Maybe she still has a new adventure awaiting her, one that she’ll remember this time. She needs that to be real more than anything else. Whether it be self-fulfilling or a fate predetermined long before she was born, Boots longs for a destiny of her own.

She doesn’t bother explaining all of that to Ripred. How could she? How could he ever truly understand? Instead, she settles on saying one final retort before halting this argument for good.

Boots opens her mouth to say whatever flippant comment comes to her mind, but the words never get to leave her lips. At that moment, someone in the corridor lets out a long, shrill scream.

Chapter Text

Boots can’t recall if she’s ever seen a dead body before.

She must have, she’s sure of it. With all of the war and everything. In fact, even in the two prophecies that Luxa just spent an hour recounting to her, Boots can say with absolute certainty that she has seen multiple dead bodies before, even if she doesn’t remember them.

Regardless, none of her past experience matters now. Because Boots is positive that she is currently looking down at a corpse.

Standing amongst the crowd that has gathered around the young man that lies sprawled on the ground, his eyes open and glazed over, Boots starts to tremble. She senses Temp and Luxa at her sides, Ripred and Hazard close behind. For a long while, nobody moves. Each and every Underlander is as still as the dead body on the ground, frozen with shock.

It’s Luxa who finally breaks the trance. She steps forward into the circle and crouches down to search for the man’s pulse.

He’s dead, Boots thinks, startlingly matter-of-fact. She must know that he’s dead. Everyone can see it.

“Your Highness,” Ripred starts to say, “I don’t think he’s—”

“I know,” Luxa replies softly. “I know.” She rises, exhaling wearily, then addresses the rest of the corridor. “Who can tell me what has happened here?”

A handful of people all start to speak at once, but one voice carries above the rest. “He just collapsed, Your Highness,” a woman squeaks. “It was so sudden. One moment, we were walking down the corridor together, and then, just like that, he was on the ground. He… He started writhing, and— and then—” A sob bursts from her throat. “And then nothing,” she finishes, her voice thick.

Luxa takes the woman’s hands in hers. “Can you tell me his name? And yours?”

The woman takes a shuddering breath. “Deron,” she answers. “His name is… He was called Deron. I am called Lucinth. He… He was like a brother to me, Your Highness, I— I cannot—”

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Lucinth.” Luxa squeezes her hands. “Deron’s life and memory shall not be forgotten. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of why this has happened, so that his death will not have been in vain.”

“You… You are most gracious, Your Highness,” Lucinth chokes out. Then she falls into Luxa’s arms, violently weeping, unable to maintain her composure any longer.

Luxa holds the woman gently as she cries. A few armored Underlanders (Boots presumes them to be guards of some sort) begin to discreetly take Deron’s body away. “It will be okay,” Luxa soothes Lucinth. “I swear it. If I could have his light restored, I would do so in an instant. Instead, his light shall live on in you.”

Boots turns to Temp, who has bowed his head sorrowfully. “What does she mean?” Boots whispers. “What light is she talking about?”

“Life, it be, life,” Temp hisses back.

“What, they mean the same thing?”

“They’re used interchangeably down here,” Ripred says from somewhere behind her. “Come on, Princess. We should go.”

There’s quiet shuffling as the crowd begins to disperse, but Boots doesn’t move. The wheels are turning in her head. “She must return,” she says under her breath. “She must return if you’re to learn how to regain your light.” She first thought that the prophecy was referring to literal light, but maybe…

“Boots,” Hazard implores in a hushed, somber tone. “Please, come. Let us give them privacy.”

“But I—”

“Pardon me.” A stout, gray rat steps forward. “Your Highness, if I may?”

Luxa releases Lucinth, who is taken into the arms of another Underlander, and turns to the rat. “Yes, Flyfur?”

“I believe it is worth noting that us gnawers experienced a loss under similar circumstances,” Flyfur says. “A sudden collapse, then seizing, then nothing. It occurred just over a fortnight ago.”

“That information is most helpful,” Luxa replies. “If you have any other details about this event that may shed light on the situation, I am sure I speak on behalf of all Underlanders when I say—”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Flyfur interrupts, “but I think you are missing the point. One of our own passed away for unknown reasons, yet there was no investigation into the matter.”

Luxa blanches. “Oh! I… I apologize, I do not believe I was made aware of such a thing.”

Flyfur peers behind her to look at Ripred. “Are you quite certain? My brother, Sixclaw, said he communicated this to Ripred. Your Highness,” Flyfur adds, bowing her head to the larger rat.

Ripred snorts. “No need for formalities, Flyfur. I didn’t watch your mother nearly drown to death in quicksand for you to address me as royalty.” He flicks his tail. “In any case, I believe the blame for this issue falls to me. I did hear from Sixclaw about the death of the gnawer, but I neglected to pass this on to Queen Luxa. Nothing personal, just a slip of the memory. Old age and whatnot. Of course, the Queen and I will make sure to get to the bottom of this, for both humans and gnawers.”

Temp makes an indignant clicking sound. “And the crawlers,” Boots chimes in.

Flyfur looks at Boots as if noticing her presence for the first time, her jaw dropping. “An Overlander!”

“Not just any Overlander.” Boots strides forward, squaring her shoulders and puffing out her chest. She extends her hand to Flyfur—she’s not sure if handshaking is something that rats do, but the principle of the thing can’t hurt—and says, loudly enough for those still lingering nearby to hear, “I am Margaret, better known as Boots, and Princess to the crawlers. My brother, Gregor, was your Warrior.”

Flyfur’s eyes widen, and she hastily shakes Boots’ hand. “The Princess,” she echoes, awed. A few other Underlanders begin murmuring excitedly and gathering around once more.

“That’s enough, Boots,” Luxa says warningly, her voice a tad too high. “Everyone, we must be on our way now!”

Nobody listens to her; Boots has their attention now. She lets go of Flyfur’s claw and addresses her audience. “I have come to the Underland, like my brother before me, to play my part in one of Sandwich’s prophecies,” Boots announces. “I will help you regain your light, as promised in the Prophecy of Change. I will not rest until everyone, no matter the species, feels safe in the Underland once more. The crawlers’ friend has made her descent!”

Too much? Boots thinks as the last few words leave her mouth. But the corridor erupts into cheers. Lucinth throws her arms around her in a tight embrace and thanks her repeatedly. Flyfur and several of the others even bow their heads in respect. Temp appears at her side, supportive as always, though he’s clicking anxiously.

Ripred, meanwhile, says a few choice words that Boots’ mother would scold her for repeating.

Luxa grabs Boots by the arm. “We must be off now!” She insists. “Best wishes to you all! Fly you high!”

Boots allows herself to be pulled away, beaming, as Luxa escorts her back to the Prophecy Room without a word. Temp and Hazard fall into place at Boots’ sides, Ripred tailing behind.

“You’ve been quiet,” Boots says to Hazard. “Aren’t you excited?”

A crease has formed between Hazard’s eyebrows, his lips pinched tightly together. “A man has died, Boots,” he says quietly. “And one of the gnawers. Does that not alarm you? Are you not at all saddened?”

The image of Deron’s dead body on the ground returns to her, a coldness sweeping through Boots all over again. She suppresses a shiver. “Of course it does,” she answers truthfully. “But we have a chance to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

“Do you really believe that? Or do you merely wish it to be true?”

Boots glowers at him. “You don’t believe in the prophecies either, then?”

“I didn’t say that.” Hazard pauses at the entrance to the Prophecy Room and looks at her, his gaze steady.

He looks so grown up, Boots marvels. It’s easy to forget that he’s only a few years older than her.

“I do not know what I believe,” Hazard admits. “But that matters not. I am asking what you believe.”

Before Boots can reply, Ripred forcefully nudges her forward. “Let’s go,” he grumbles. “We’ve got our work cut out for us now because of you.”

Boots follows him into the room. She looks over her shoulder for Hazard, only to catch a glimpse of him continuing down the corridor, away from the Prophecy Room. Luxa clears her throat to recapture Boots’ attention.

“What,” Luxa begins, deadly calm, “were you thinking? ”

“That prophecy is about me, and you know it,” Boots snaps. “You can try to protect me from it all you want, but you can’t escape fate.”

“This is not your battle to fight. You are not responsible for anyone’s lives. That is too much to ask of you.”

“Nobody is asking me—”

“You are a child!” Luxa exclaims shrilly. “You are thirteen years old, Boots! You may feel grown now, but you are far too young to concern yourself with such big troubles.”

“Gregor was—”

“Do not bring him into this.”

“But he—!”

Ripred whacks his tail against the floor, the sound echoing around the stony room. “Enough!” He bellows. “You—” He jabs his tail at Boots. “If you don’t want to act like a pup, then you won’t be treated like a pup. You want to have your silly little adventure where no one gets hurt and everybody lives happily ever after? Fantastic. But don’t expect us to drag you out by your neck when things get ugly. Don’t expect us to be the ones to tell your family that you got yourself killed by being a spoiled brat .”

“Ripred—” 

“And you —” Ripred slices his tail through the air and points it at Luxa. “I relayed that information from Sixclaw to you the same day I heard it. Did you really not look into it?”

Luxa folds her arms across her chest. “There… There has been much to oversee as of late. I got distracted, I swear, I—”

“Oh, sure,” Ripred spits. “When a human gets a scrape on their knee, all of Regalia comes to the rescue. Same for the fliers. Hell, same for the crawlers! But us gnawers could be tearing each other limb from limb, and none of your lot would even notice.”

“Ripred, I swear ,” Luxa implores, “you must believe me. I am trying so hard to undo the divide between our species, a divide that was erected by the rulers who precede me. I wish for a world in which we can be equals, and I make strides towards that world every day! It was a mistake, and nothing more.” 

She extends her hand towards him, which, in Ripred’s current state, Boots thinks is certainly a death wish. But to her surprise, Ripred takes Luxa’s hand in hers, abruptly placated.

“As I save my life,” Luxa tells him. Boots isn’t sure what the phrase means, but it sounds like a promise.

Ripred sighs, leaning back on his haunches. “I know,” he says. “I know, as your friend and as your bond, that it was just a mistake. But the other gnawers don’t. And I may be bonded to you, but I have a responsibility to them as their leader. I backed you up this time, but if I have to go against you in the future, don’t doubt that I will.”

Luxa smiles. “Oh, I’m counting on it. Who would I be without you countering me at every turn?”

“A lot weaker and a lot dumber, I reckon.”

Boots isn’t quite sure what to think about the interaction taking place before her. From everything she’s seen of Luxa and Ripred so far, the last thing Boots expected them to be was friends. Or bonds, whatever that means. All of their arguing seemed too much and too heavy to be the result of companionship.

But maybe it’s just the opposite. Maybe companionship is the prerequisite for that kind of heaviness. Maybe you can only have an argument that carries that much weight when it’s with someone you know and trust more than anyone else.

Whatever the reason, Boots is sure as hell glad that the attention isn’t on her. She side-steps over to Temp and whispers, “Wanna get out of here?”

“Ride you, Princess, ride you?”

Boots winces. Temp isn’t the best at volume control. “Yeah, sounds great, buddy,” she says hastily, climbing onto his back.

“Boots?” Luxa calls. “Where are you—?”

“Step on the gas, Temp!” Boots yelps.

Temp, thankfully, understands her request, speeding out of the room and down the corridor. “Where, we ride, where?”

“Good question,” Boots says. She glances behind her and gasps at the sight of Luxa on Ripred’s back, the two of them already gaining on Boots . “Let’s focus on getting away from these guys. Sharp right!”

“A place, I know, a place!” Temp chirps, obeying her direction. “Take us, I can, take us!”

“Perfect. Take us there, as fast as those legs of yours can move.” Boots holds on tight to the hard shell of his back as Temp picks up speed. The corridors get more and more densely populated the further they travel, so Boots takes it upon herself to assure the many startled faces. “No need to worry!” She yells. “It’s just me, the Princess, attending to some… princessly duties!”

But even Boots can’t take herself seriously. The mental image of herself, a thirteen-year-old girl, clutching the back of a giant cockroach and sprinting down the hall of a castle, being chased by the Queen and a giant rat, is more than enough to get her giggling. “This is crazy!” She shouts through her laughter. “This is so… so…”

Her laughter morphs into screams as Temp climbs up to the nearest window and jumps out.

Boots hardly has time to process that they’re falling before Temp’s wings pop out from under his shell and begin fluttering rapidly. She holds on for dear life, her hair billowing behind her as the city of Regalia comes into view below. Temp clicks and chirps, ascending and descending in sharp, arbitrary intervals.

“Heavier, you are, heavier,” he says weakly.

“Than when I was three? No kidding!” Boots shouts back. “Are you sure you can keep us in the air?”

No sooner than the words leave her mouth, Temp starts to fall—taking Boots down with him.

It’s not the same as when she fell into the Underland earlier today. For one thing, that fall was by choice, and there had been currents to carry her safely downward. That’s not the only difference that Boots takes issue with, though. When she was falling into the Underland, she couldn’t see the ground.

Now, as she plummets through the air on Temp’s back, the roach feebly flapping his wings in a desperate attempt to keep them airborne, Boots has a clear view of the stony ground getting closer and closer. And for the first time since arriving, she feels a horrible, gripping fear.

Not like this. Boots shuts her eyes tight, barely holding back a cry of fear. Not like this. Please, not like—

And then she lands. The gentle impact surprises her, and she bounces backwards off of Temp’s back, not onto the ground, but onto something soft and furry. Boots opens her eyes and finds herself on a small, reddish-brown bat.

“Hello, Overlander,” the bat purrs, her voice smooth and sweet. “It appears I will be your tour guide this evening. Where would you like to go?”

Boots looks over her shoulder. Luxa is already in pursuit on a golden bat, Ripred running after them on the ground, and all of them are catching up fast.

“Away,” Boots answers. “Get me as far away from the palace as possible. Please,” she adds, not wanting to leave a bad first impression. “Uh, I’m Boots, by the way. This is Temp.”

“Temp, I be, Temp,” the roach agrees weakly, evidently shaken by their abrupt landing.

“It is lovely to meet you, Boots and Temp,” the bat responds. “I am called Eris. Is that the Queen behind us?”

“Um. Yes,” Boots admits. “Queen Luxa and I are old friends. We go way back. We’re having a bit of a… disagreement right now, though, so…?”

Boots trails off, unsure how Eris will react to Boots instructing her to evade the Queen. But with one big, majestic flap of her wings, Eris sets off at thrice the speed she was previously flying, putting considerable distance between them and Luxa.

“Thank you,” Boots says, sighing in relief. “I’m not going to get you in any trouble, am I?”

“The way I see it, the whims of an Overlander are far more significant than the desires of the Queen,” Eris answers cooly. “And besides, a little bit of trouble never hurt anybody.”

Boots grins, leaning against Temp and allowing herself to relax as they zip between Regalia’s towering buildings and approach a more bland, barren landscape. “I think you and I are going to get along swimmingly, Eris.”

“Yes, I think so, too. What business have you in the Underland?”

“I just thought I’d pop down for a visit,” Boots answers, attempting to sound nonchalant about the matter, as if it were a quick, easy decision rather than one that was weighing on her for weeks. She winces, thoughts of her family coming to mind. How long has she been down here now? Have they noticed that she’s gone? Will they know where she is?

She shakes the worries from her head. She can’t think about that right now. “Anyway,” Boots goes on, “now I’m trying to fulfill my role in the Prophecy of Change. No big deal.”

“I am afraid I must confess that I am not familiar with that prophecy,” Eris says.

“Oh. Really?” Boots scratches her head. “It seems like a pretty important one.”

“I thought you said it was not a big deal.”

“Well, yeah. Not a big deal for me. Because I’m, like, a pro at prophecies. I’ve done a bunch of them already with my brother. Did you know Gregor?”

“No,” Eris replies, “I do not believe so.”

“Well, you’ve definitely heard of him. He was the Warrior.”

“Who?”

“The— You—” Boots sputters. “Oh, come on, you must know him! He did the Prophecy of Gray, and the Prophecy of Bane, and… and… others,” Boots finishes lamely.

“Oh, hang on a moment. Is he the one from the statue?”

Boots sits up a little straighter. “Statue? There’s a statue of Gregor down here?”

“No, not of him exactly, but—”

“Temp,” Boots interrupts, addressing the roach impatiently, “would you settle down, please?”

Temp has been standing at attention for the entirety of their flight so far, surveying their surroundings on high alert, and flinching at even the quietest sound or the tiniest motion. “Take us, where does she, take us?” He asks, in what Boots thinks is supposed to be a whisper.

Boots shrugs. “I don’t know. Hey, Eris, where are you taking us?”

“You did not provide very clear instructions,” Eris says, “so I have decided to pick a direction and fly in it until you tell me to stop.”

“Oh. Okay.” Boots looks behind her. No sign of Luxa or Ripred or the golden bat. “Um, stop. I mean, please.”

Eris glides to a nearby ledge and lands. Temp scuttles off in a hurry. Boots manages to dismount somewhat gracefully, and takes a minute to stretch once back on solid ground.

“Thanks,” she tells the bat. “So, where are we?”

Eris ruffles her wings. “The outskirts of the Dead Lands.”

“The what lands?!”

Eris laughs—Boots thinks it’s a laugh, at least—and says, “Do not worry, Overlander. The Dead Lands are quite desolate, but the name means much less these days than it used to. We are in no danger here, I promise.”

Boots looks to Temp for confirmation, though doesn’t glean much from his quiet chittering, other than what seems to be his normal baseline of anxiety. “Right,” she says slowly. “So, nothing lives out here?”

“Oh, I did not say that.” Eris nods her head in the direction they were flying in, where the wide, open land abruptly narrows into a small opening going through the earth. “Much of the gnawer population lives beyond that tunnel.”

“The gnawers?” Boots stands on her tippy-toes, looking for any sign of life in the tunnel, but even if she wasn’t so far away, she has a feeling all she’d be able to see is inky blackness. “In deadly dark, she is the spark,” Boots says under her breath. An idea striking her, she takes her bag off of her shoulders and grabs one of the many flashlights she brought with her from the Overland.

Temp clicks agitatedly. “Rat bad,” he says shortly. Then, after a pause, clarifies: “Rat sometimes bad.”

“Human sometimes bad, too,” Boots counters, flicking on her flashlight. “And roaches— I mean, crawlers. We’re going in.”

Eris looks at her, confused. “You wish to see the gnawers, Overlander?”

“A gnawer died, suddenly and without warning, a few weeks ago. Today, a human experienced the same fate.” Boots returns her bag to her shoulders and stands tall, her resolve hardening. “It’s up to me to find out why.”

“Well then,” Eris says, “I am glad I get to be a part of such an important journey. Will you mount up?”

Boots takes her place on Eris’ back. Temp, to his credit, doesn’t hesitate before climbing on behind her. “The Princess, I follow, the Princess,” he says, leaving no room for debate.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, buddy,” Boots tells him, giving him a pat on the head. “Let’s fly, Eris.”

Eris leaps from the rock ledge and soars elegantly downwards, and she flies so close to the ground that the claws on her toes are nearly scraping against it. She comes to a halt at the entrance to the tunnel and asks, “Ready?”

Boots points her flashlight straight ahead into the darkness, from which no sound can be heard except for a soft, steady dripping. She takes a big, deep breath and holds it in her lungs for three, four, five seconds, then exhales. This is it. This is the start of everything that she’s been waiting for. This is her chance to finally become the person she’s always known she could be.

“Yes,” Boots replies. “I’m ready.”