Chapter Text
The sun favors those at the top.
Its kind light only bathes whatever is tallest enough to meet it first, and the mountain is the highest peak for miles. Anyone who sees it on the horizon easily gets a sense of its significance, the mysterious beauty of its hidden ecosystem. It’s littered in greenery and has a gentle slope that is friendly to explorers—full of life, in more ways than one.
What a waste that its sole purpose is as the entrance to humanity’s darkest prison.
No human was ever meant to find it, but perhaps this is what motivated the few who did. The mountain’s maw at the peak is much too tempting, but the cautionary tales have never been enough to properly prepare the fallen few for the long, merciless drop to the bottom of the earth.
This decade's human, of course, is not the first of the fallen, but this doesn’t make his arrival any easier. It’s a pure stroke of luck that he had gracefully landed in a small grouping of soft golden flowers, as if they had been awaiting him.
He’s not entirely sure how he got here. In fact, he’s not entirely sure about anything. When he tries to remember how he landed himself in this hole, he comes up with nothing.
Waking with a groan, he opens his eyes to vision laced in shades of gold, dim streaks of light finding his eyes from far, far above.
The one thing he knows for sure is that whatever happened, he’s supposed to be up there. The thought only brings him a dull sense of dread.
An ache in his head and a sore in his ankle eventually force the human out of his daze, and he mechanically hoists himself up to survey the cave walls that bore over him. He squints confusedly as he looks up toward the narrow opening of light far above him, likely miles above. He considers briefly—very briefly—whether or not he could climb the walls back to where he came, but the incredible steepness and nauseating height of them easily shuts down this idea.
“Hello?” he calls into the darkness, looking anywhere but up. His eyes search the jagged walls for any sign that he’s not alone, that somebody will emerge from nowhere to rescue him.
“Is there anybody else down here?” The remaining silence around him is enough of an answer.
Returning his gaze to the floor, a sense of dread begins to layer onto his already present puzzlement. He takes a quiet moment to ponder just what it means to not know where he came from—he can’t remember why he’s down here, for a start. Beyond that, he can’t seem to recall what it looks like up there, he can’t remember any faces or voices or houses. It’s like he never was, like his life just started when he was dropped down this hole.
He asks himself who he is, and he can’t answer.
Upon this terrible realization, the wonderings of how do I get out are quickly drowned out by the far more pressing panics of where did I come from and why am I here, and he is forced to refocus his attention ahead of him for a different solution in hopes of distracting his scattered mind.
Here, he finds the first evidence of the tampering of a being that isn’t the indifferent mechanisms of nature—two towering pillars lining a tunnel that cuts through the cave, leading to an impenetrable darkness. Sure, vines crawl up and down the pillars and they stand crumbling and withering at the edges, but they’re obviously man-made, obviously a sign of sentient life. A small hope sparks in the human’s chest, enough to pull him away from the flower bed, their sunlight pedals fluttering after him as if in a goodbye.
The moment both of his feet regain their balance, the human stumbles, a sharp pain piercing his ankle and a faint humming playing in his head.
“Shoot,” he whispers with a wince, and his voice echoes back at him. Pushing away the mixed sense of claustrophobia and terrifying openness, he maintains balance and steps forward, walking below the overarching pillars.
The walk through the dark, as the human learns, is a long one, especially when the golden light only sinks further behind him, his slight limp only grows stronger and the ringing only rings louder. The otherwise silence leaves too much room in his head for panicking, but it’s not long before he makes out a light at the end of the tunnel and a relieved grin forces its way to his face and he picks up the pace. Upon reaching it he doesn’t hesitate to step into the light, finding a patch of pale grass surrounded by the stone floor.
“Hello?” he tries again, performing a small circle in another search to find somebody, anybody. “There’s gotta be someone out there,” he calls, quieter so as to not strain his voice. He hopes he doesn’t sound as scared as he is.
More silence.
The human scoffs at nothing and kicks the ground, crossing his arms and returning to examining the desaturated cave he finds him in. He wishes he could be annoyed or angry, but he can’t seem to feel anything other than fear and dread.
Then, a voice.
A short and cheerful greeting from behind, one that is so loud and sudden that the human nearly jumps back up the ceiling where he came.
“Hi!” it says, welcoming and friendly, coated with a sickly sweetness. The human performs a slow turn over his shoulder to hesitantly find the source of it.
In the pale grass stands a person around the same height as the human, who instantly feels a wave of relief upon the realization that he’s no longer alone. This new person wears a bright green jacket and dark blonde hair tangled with small golden petals.
“Heh—hello,” the human says, waving nervously.
“You’re new around here, right?”
The human nods, but he can’t seem to get himself to relax. The stranger stands with relaxed posture, his arms behind his back, and for a moment the human believes that he’s grinning, but he realizes that he has no face—or, rather, his face is completely obscured by a smooth, porcelain mask. The human feels sick staring at the smile painted on it.
Before he can think any better, the shaken question tumbles out of his mouth, “Who are you?”
The stranger giggles, but there isn’t the slightest change in the plastic smile on his mask.
“Well, I’m a monster, aren’t I?”
The human’s shoulders relax fractionally as he frowns quizzically. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, he thinks, but doesn’t say it.
“What’s your name?”
A few more moments of tense consideration cushion the break between question and answer. The human hadn’t even thought of that. In the midst of his foggy, empty memories, this is one thing he’s sure of.
“Ranboo,” he responds on instinct.
“Ranboo, huh?” the monster repeats, his plastic grin gaining some kind of new feeling to it—warmth or something sinister, Ranboo can’t tell.
More uncomfortable silence before he asks timidly, “What’s… what’s yours?”
“My name?” the monster giggles. “Nobody’s asked me that in a long time. You can just call me Dream.”
Ranboo nods at Dream, though he doesn’t have it in him to say that it’s nice to meet him. Instead, Ranboo shivers as he looks around the dark room and asks hurriedly, finally submitting to asking the only living being for possibly miles, “Hey, where… where am I?”
“Oh, that’s right!” Dream straightens up as if in excitement and answers, “Welcome to the underground! You’re a human, right? You’re new?”
Glancing at his hands, Ranboo answers, “I… think so?”
“Good, good. You’re probably really confused, then—don’t worry, I can help you out!”
Suddenly interested now that they’re finally getting somewhere, Ranboo perks up and turns closer to Dream.
“So, how familiar are you with magic?”
At Ranboo’s confused expression, Dream shakes his head and continues, “I didn’t think so. You see, magic is super important here in the underground. Everybody has it, and it’s actually customary for us to heal each other with it! I see that you got a little banged up back there, want me to heal you?”
Ranboo hesitates, not sure yet how much he wants to trust it, but he moves forward a step closer. Dream laughs at his tentativeness.
“Don’t be shy,” he says cheerfully. “I don’t bite!”
“Uh… y’know, I don’t think…” Ranboo starts, but he doesn’t have enough time to properly explain himself before Dream shakes his head.
“Oh, come on, now!” he chirps, and he takes charge by stepping forward to Ranboo. Before Ranboo has the sense to back away, Dream lunges forward and captures his arm within his surprisingly strong grip, one hand still behind his back.
“Hey!” Ranboo shouts in protest, but although he tugs away, he can’t seem to free his arm.
Dream only laughs. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me!”
“Actually, I don’t think I want your help, thanks!”
Dream stares up at him, the painted smiley face vacant of emotion. Then, he shrugs.
“Suit yourself.”
Without a moment of hesitation, his other arm swings forward from behind his back, and tight in his grip is a sharpened black dagger. Ranboo yelps at the revelation of it, and it’s only by instinct that he manages to pull away just as the weapon tears up through the air right where his chest had been just moments before.
The force of Ranboo’s instinctual draw backward had sent him tumbling to the ground in a panic, and as he scrambles to right himself, he catches a glimpse of Dream hunched over, his dagger raised high into the air, his porcelain face pointed at the ground and his shoulders trembling in laughter—though this time, it’s suddenly sinister, a low chuckle that all too quickly evolves into a cackle. Ranboo squirms uncomfortably, his head jerking around to look back where he had come from.
“Ah, that’s a shame!” Dream laughs. “I really thought I could fool you! Well, if you’re gonna be like that, we might as well make this quick.”
“What was that?” Ranboo fires. The question from before returns: “Who are you?” Though, this time, it’s asked with more of an accusatory tone than a fearful one. Dream only laughs, and Ranboo is forced to accept that he won’t get an answer so long as the other is in control. He scrambles back onto his feet and into a defensive position, Dream springs back up with the sharpened weapon firmly in his grip.
“I’m sure you’ve realized this by now, but you stumbled your way into a very dangerous place, Ranboo. This is much different from the world you came from. You’ll have to fight to survive from now on, and if you don’t—!”
He takes a single step backward, his fingers tightening around the handle. Ranboo mutters with a wince, “Oh, no.”
“Then you’ll die!”
Without another thought, Ranboo’s legs backtrack hurriedly, almost tripping over themselves as Dream lunges forward again at a terrifying speed.
Oh, I’m dead, Ranboo thinks miserably as he winces his eyes closed to the outstretched hand that is inches away from taking hold of his arm, knowing that he can’t hope to run fast enough away.
“Hey!”
Instinctually, Ranboo’s eyes fly open and immediately land on Dream, who suddenly isn’t sprinting at him anymore. Instead, he’s frozen in place, turning to look over his shoulder toward where the new voice had come from.
“Uhg,” he mutters, seemingly annoyed, before returning to a relaxed, straightened position. “I guess we’re out of time,” he says, slipping his arms behind his back once again to hide the black dagger. “But we’ll finish this later. You can count on that.”
Ranboo blinks and Dream is gone. He whirls his head around the small room, desperately searching for where he could have disappeared to, in shock of how quickly the situation had escalated and how much quicker it had ended. He gulps dryly and straightens himself up, willing his limbs to stop shaking before he looks back up quizzically, remembering the new voice that had so mercifully intervened.
“Hello?” he calls not for the first time, squinting confusedly into the darkness. Then, from the shadows, he realizes the footsteps coming his way, light and quick on the stone floor, that precede the arrival of a far more welcoming figure than the previous one.
“Hey,” the voice says as it approaches. It’s a woman’s voice, toned with worry and warmth, and its owner finally properly emerges. The woman doesn’t walk with much height, but she carries a sort of commanding presence, one that’s more reassuring than threatening. She wears a simple white and red tunic with puffy sleeves traveling only to her elbows, and thick, white curls of hair pool from her head down to her back. Her eyes find Ranboo and her expression breaks out into a softer, almost apologetic smile.
“Hey, kid!” she says, her strides reaching the patch of pale grass. “I heard shouting, is everything alright in here?”
Ranboo swallows against his dry throat and works against the overwhelming relief that finally, there’s another person, to ask hesitantly, “Do you know who that was?”
The woman looks back and forth through the room, confused.
“No, sorry. I didn’t get here in time before they ran off. Trust me, if I did, they wouldn’t be getting away that easily.”
Despite the lack of confirmation, Ranboo can’t stop a short sigh of relief. Already trusting her infinitely more than the monster calling himself Dream, he asks, “Uhm, do you know where we are?”
The woman grins again and responds patiently, “Oh, yeah, sorry—welcome to the underground, kid! You must’ve had a tough time getting all the way down here, you’re covered in bruises! How about I take you back to my place? I can heal you when we get back there.”
Ranboo hesitates. “Are you sure this isn’t a trick?”
The woman looks startled, confused, but she coaxes her face into another apologetic smile. “Of course not! I want to help you! I’ve got some stuff back at home to help you out, what do you say?”
Ranboo sweeps a hesitant glance throughout the room and, remembering that he’s clean out of options, he nods. The woman grins and turns on her heel, chirping, “Sweet. Right this way, then!”
The darkness that she had emerged from, as Ranboo realizes, is not another blank, dark void, but more pillars, this time in the formation of a doorway carved into the stone wall. They are just as weathered as the overgrown pillars from before, but these ones are tinted a softer purple and no vines had slithered their way up them.
The woman leads him through the doorway, and a short, dark hallway brings them to a place that is properly lit— finally, Ranboo thinks, even if he has to squint against the painful shift in lighting.
“So,” he starts, sensing that he has time to talk, “When you say we’re underground… what does that mean?”
The white haired woman leads him up a short walk of marble stairs and responds, “The underground? You mean you’ve never heard of it? I mean…I guess it’s just like how it sounds, we’re underground. Home of the monsters.” She pauses for a short chuckle. “Your new home, you could say.”
Ranboo frowns, his gaze sliding from the bright red leaves that he found scattered on the ground and back up to the woman ahead of him. “Home of the who, sorry?”
Pausing with her hand hovering over the stone door that they had approached, the woman turns to him with a quizzical smile. Here, in the proper lighting, Ranboo can finally see her face, he finally sees her— her white hair that is more than curly, but with the consistency of something more like wool, and the two soft animal-like ears in place of the expected human ones. His mouth goes slack as his eyes slide away from her distinctly non-human nose and to the wooly tail that peeks below her fluttery red shirt. Rather than shoes, two hooves stand at the ends of her legs and… Ranboo swallows dryly.
“Ah,” he says, working up a shy smile, “you’re not…”
“Human?” the woman finishes, still entertaining a short grin. "'Course not, silly! I'm—oh!”
She stops herself with a sudden palm to her forehead, slapping herself as if in a scold for forgetting something. "Sorry, I'm all over the place—I haven't introduced myself!" She raises her hand to hold it outstretched to Ranboo and says proudly, "I'm Puffy! I'm something of a guardian of these ruins, the barrier between you humans and the rest of the monster world. Seeing as you've stumbled down here, I'll be taking care of you."
Ranboo studies her grin and considers the palm reaching up for him, deciding that there's not much about Puffy that he can find not to trust. He’d already been witness to flying magical bullets conducted by a sinister sentient blob, this isn’t much of a stretch. Human or monster—it doesn't change much, does it?
He completes the handshake and a slim smile grows in earnest. "Thanks. I'm, uh, Ranboo. It's nice to meet you."
"And you," Puffy returns, giving his hand a rough shake before pulling away and once again facing the doorway she had led them to. "If you've never heard of the underground, then you've got a lot more catching up to do than I thought."
"Sorry," Ranboo says with an awkward scratch to the back of his head. Distantly, he wonders if this knowledge that he's supposedly lacking is part of the collection of memories that he finds himself missing.
"No sweat," Puffy assures him, gesturing at him to follow her through the door. "It's pretty simple, really—you humans live up on the surface, and us monsters stay here under the mountain. Humans fall through the mountain every couple years, and it's my job to take care of you while you're here." She looks over her shoulder at Ranboo with a smile that almost seems sorrowful. "It's been a while since I've seen one. I'm glad to have you."
"I'm glad to be here," Ranboo responds on instinct, though he says it with a tone that would suggest that it's a question, as if he's unsure of his own honesty.
Puffy chuckles as she leads him through a hall to a new room, one with vines crawling up the opposite walls and the path interrupted by short bridges suspended over quiet rivers that flow from underneath one wall to the other.
“Why are the monsters underground? Doesn't it get… I dunno, dark down here?"
For once, Puffy doesn't meet Ranboo's eyes when she answers.
"It does. Get dark, I mean. And cold. And violent." Ranboo frowns at the subtle change in her tone, the change to something more morose. "But that doesn't mean we can just leave."
"I'm sorry—"
"We’ve got lots more walking to do, remember to keep up," she interrupts, walking with newfound briskness, leaving Ranboo behind in his confusion and unfinished apology. He blinks in surprise at the return of her casualty, processes the new information, and continues to follow her lead.
They pass through a short room that Puffy beelines through, not acknowledging the old mat on the floor or the stitched, stuffed—as Ranboo guesses—training dummy straight ahead.
"What's that for?" he asks, giving it a confused glance.
"Not you." Puffy's tone is lighthearted, but her words are definitive. "That's for training you to fight, but you won't need to any time soon. Not on my watch."
Ranboo nods even though she can't see him, even though he can't tear his intrigued eyes away from the piles of stuffing that had never been cleaned from the floor.
He follows her through yet another hallway and into what had to be the hundredth room, and all the immeasurable time of walking finally starts to catch up to him. His feet begin to sore and the cuts on his face and arm still haven't faded. His head returns to aching and the sharpness in his ankle shows itself again—at the risk of sounding whiny and ungrateful, Ranboo can't stop himself from asking, "Uh, how much longer until we get there?"
Puffy chuckles. "Tired, are you?"
"Mhm."
His response forces her to stop, to turn to him with a hand on her hip and a contemplating smile on her face. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to rest here a while, would it?"
She taps her chin with more contemplation as Ranboo looks on in silence before she declares, "Tell you what—I've got some housekeeping to do, and you're probably exhausted after everything… How about you wait here? I'll go up ahead and get things sorted while you rest, how's that sound?"
Ranboo furrows his eyebrows in his own consideration of the new plan, and decides, "I… think I can do that, yeah."
Puffy grins anew, seemingly satisfied with her problem solving. "It’s settled then. Remember, don't leave this room. There are other monsters up ahead and I don't want you getting into trouble on your own. Just wait for me here, I'll be back for you, alright?"
Ranboo nods in confirmation. "Got it."
"Good," Puffy says with a warm smile, and she stands in silence with crossed arms as if unsure how or when to depart, or maybe she’s only hesitant to do so.
"Well," she eventually starts, "I'll be off. Be good, alright? I won't take long."
"I'll be here," Ranboo promises, giving a half salute that earns a chuckle.
"Seeya," Puffy says with her own salute, and she turns on her heel and slips through the door, this time with no humans trailing behind.
What follows her departure is silence.
Ranboo feels safe enough in slumping against the bright violet walls and letting his feet rest, but with relaxation comes incredible silence, a loneliness so gnawing that it has him cross his arms over his chest in imagined defense.
He tries to conjure up something peaceful to calm himself. He comes up with nothing. He reaches for the comforts of past life, something that will fill the silence with at least melancholic nostalgia, but there’s nothing more than the quietest whiff of distant summer days. There’s nothing familiar in this dark purple hallway to force déjà vu, and he’s left with emptiness.
Rest, Ranboo tells himself, you know you need it. He closes his eyes, but the light from the bracketed torches along the walls seeps through his eyelids and pries them open again. The floor has the illusion of coolness and comfort but is hard where he sits on it, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder now that he has nothing else to distract from it. He gives the room a sweeping glance and lets himself realize how long he’ll be waiting here, alone with his cuts and bruises and panicked thoughts that are sure to resurface. He glances to the door Puffy had left from and wonders what she had warned him against, wonders whether or not it would be worth it to go against the warning.
The quiet frightens him more than the idea of whatever lies ahead.
Even if the room is welcoming and if the promise of rest is warm, the door beckons Ranboo, it pushes him to do what he’s been doing since he first fell and keep going. Puffy really can’t expect him to stay in the ruins forever, can she? It’s safest here, true, but… whatever danger lies before him is sure to be safer than the quiet around him, the hallway behind that seems to grow longer every time he swivels his head around to face it—surely it is. He can sit here as long as he pleases, but he’ll never get any closer to the surface. The answers aren’t going to spell themselves out in the cracks on the floor, and who knows how long he’ll have to sit here in deafening silence before the memories flood back to him, if they ever do.
A dry gulp as he listens for footsteps that have long since faded, and he lifts himself off the floor.