Chapter Text
When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.
—Ada Limón, "Instructions on Not Giving Up"
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Anne’s brow furrows as she takes Marcy’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Because you don’t have to. You don’t owe him anything.”
“Olivia asked me the same question.” Marcy places a hand on Anne’s cheek. “I don’t have to do this, but I think I need to. For myself.” She gives her girlfriend a reassuring smile. Some things never change, like the size of Anne’s heart. It’s one of the things Marcy loves most about her, among many others.
Sasha has been standing beside Anne quietly, a hand on her chin as she observes Marcy. It’s a thing she does now, her own way of showing concern: reading her girlfriends’ expressions, body language, tone of voice. Being a licensed therapist tends to do that to a person, but Marcy wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I think she’s ready,” Sasha says as she places a hand on Anne’s shoulders. She looks Marcy in the eye, her gaze soft yet intense. “Sometimes it helps to talk about these things. It can be cathartic. But…it can also hurt. A lot. Just know that you can back out anytime. Run back here as soon as you feel like it’s too much. Got that, Wu?”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Marcy gives a small salute before moving in to hug her girlfriends. They stay there for a while, simply basking in the joy of being together in Amphibia again. Marcy can hear laughter, even from the back door of the Plantars’ home. The frog family prepared a hearty lunch to celebrate the girls’ return and were now exchanging jokes with Grime, Olivia, Yunan, and other members of the former resistance team. Marcy can hear her baby sister laughing as Frobo gives her a piggyback ride.
No matter what happens, things are good. She just needs to find the missing piece she’s been seeking for fifteen years.
“He’s just past that small hill over there, near the water well.” Anne says, pointing straight ahead. She and Sasha give Marcy a kiss, a reminder that she always has a home to return to.
***
True enough, Marcy finds Andrias hunched beneath a gnarled oak next to the well. By the looks of it, the tree is probably one of oldest in Wartwood now, among the few that survived the former King’s invasion. It’s a little ironic, seeing him sheltered by something he once sought to destroy.
She hesitates, just for a moment, before making her way towards the giant amphibian. She wonders if he can hear the crunching sound of fall leaves beneath her feet, if he’ll recognize her after all these years. Her heart races as she contemplates what to say—
***
“Hi.” A familiar voice, soft and cautious. “It’s…it’s me, Marcy.”
Andrias says nothing at first. All he sees is darkness. He blinks, trying to envision the young girl as he remembers her. But he knows she’s no longer a child—far from it. He can hear the difference in the timbre of her voice: it’s a little deeper now, laced with a certain weariness that comes with age.
The newt shifts his position, trying to straighten himself. His body feels stiff and heavy. Even simple movements like this have become an ordeal since he started refusing repairs. He’s been having trouble breathing too, each inhale becoming increasingly laborious. Yet despite his mechanical failures, he’s never felt more alive.
Life’s value lies in its temporality: it’s a cliché and indisputable fact that he’s finally come to understand. Andrias doesn’t mind his lack of sight, doesn’t mind that he’s fading. But when he hears Marcy’s voice, a part of him wishes he could see her, just once; then he’ll never ask for anything again. But the other part of him—the one he’s gotten to know intimately—reminds him that he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t try to refute it. He knows it’s true.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth for the first time in fifteen years.
***
Marcy watches the giant newt, his milky white eyes looking past her. He can’t see anymore, she thinks to herself. There’s a loud creaking sound as he stirs, like an unoiled gate being pushed open. A large, rusty shackle is wrapped around his sole wrist, while another is locked onto an ankle. His beard is long and matted, a number of leaves trapped within it. In place of his royal armor is a shabby brown tunic and a dark hooded cloak that’s frayed around the edges. He looks much smaller than Marcy remembers.
Her palms begin to sweat, her heart rate quickening. She thought she was ready for this, she really did.Just know that you can back out anytime. Run back here as soon as you feel like it’s too much. Marcy takes a deep breath through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. She doesn’t have to do this, but she wants to. She needs to.
“Hey, kiddo.” Andrias’ voice is a low, reverberating rumble.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she says, trying to keep the conversation natural.
“Why are you here?” he asks, his eyebrows knitting in…was it confusion? Displeasure? It wasn’t meant to be a rude statement, Marcy knows this—but she still feels a pang in her chest.
“I just…I wanted to talk. The girls and I…we found a way here, thanks to some friends back home.” She twists the hem of her shirt, directing her gaze to the ground.
“You have better things to do than start a dialogue with me.” The smile on Andrias’ face is gone now, replaced with a scowl. “You should know better than this. Go back to your friends, kid. Leave me be.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand to drive the point home, but something inside Marcy snaps.
“I didn’t spend months mustering up the courage to face you, and I mean really face you, for nothing!” she exclaims, clenching her fists to stop her hands from trembling. “So answer this: why did you run that sword through me, all those years ago?”
Andrias stays quiet, his face impassive. Marcy lets out a huff of frustration and waits for a response. No answer comes.
“You know what, I can’t believe you! I thought you’d at least try to—”
“I don’t deserve to give an excuse.” Andrias interrupts, hanging his head and looking older than she’s ever seen him.
“I’m not asking for an excuse. I’m asking for an explanation.” Marcy sighs, the fight in her leaving as soon as it came. She walks closer to the giant newt and takes a seat beside him. “Listen. It’s been fifteen years, and maybe that’s not a big number to you, but it is to me. That’s more than a decade of human life, and for that past decade, I’ve had nothing but the same fucking nightmare on loop.”
Marcy instinctively places a hand on her chest, the phantom pain throbbing as she speaks. “You know, I’ve developed this habit of constantly looking back, of checking to see who’s behind me. I visibly shake when I see sharp objects. I still jump at the slightest touch from anyone but my friends,” she whispers, clutching the fabric of her shirt. “All I’m asking for is a reason. Something that I can trace this all back to.”
Andrias says nothing. He stares into the distance, gazing at something Marcy can’t see. But somehow, she knows he’s listening. It’s a start.
“You don’t have to explain why you uploaded the souls of a thousand ancient newts into my brain, I get it. I saw it all. That’s a shitload of daddy issues that can’t be fixed overnight.” Marcy takes another deep breath, pausing before she continues. “But the sword. That moment I held the box and opened the portal. Why? You could’ve grabbed me or taken the box. Really, there were a billion possibilities, but you made that choice.”
“It was a gut reaction,” Andrias replies, still gazing off into the distance. “A terrible one. You…reminded me of a friend.”
“You stabbed your friend?” Marcy asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No…well, not really. We had a…falling out.” Andrias sighs as he scratches the back of his head. “She was the one who stole the music box. That moment I saw you holding it, I thought you might do the same. Take it away. Back when I fought that friend…I almost stabbed her. But I didn’t, and everything fell apart because of that. At least, that was the lie I told myself.”
He pauses, wincing as though the memory itself was hurting him. “When I ran that sword through you, I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I wanted to do was make up for my failures. I hadn’t realized that I was doing the opposite.”
Marcy replies with a small hm, constructing her next words carefully. “You were projecting and I was your punching bag. Alright, fine. So none of it mattered to you? All those times we spent together?”
Andrias opens his mouth, as if he’s about to say something. He closes it and stays silent.
“Okay, I got it. It was all some stupid act.” She swallows, a painful lump forming at the back of her throat. “You were the first adult figure who actually seemed to listen and care about my interests. Do you know how damaging it is to trust someone so deeply, only to realize that you’re being used? Strung along?” Marcy’s voice cracks, and suddenly, she’s thirteen again, pouring her heart out over a game of Flipwart. Stupid, stupid, stupid—that was the mantra in her guilt-ridden head for years.
“I was just a kid, Andrias.” Marcy doesn’t want to cry, but she does. She covers her face as warm tears slide down her cheeks. “I was just a fucking kid.”
“I know,” the newt replies in a whisper.
“I can’t forgive you,” she says, choking back a sob, still covering her wet face.
“I know. You shouldn’t.”
“I hate you.”
“That’s only natural.”
“But I don’t want to forget you. Isn’t that crazy?” Marcy lets out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. “I wanted to figure out why things ended the way they did, and this silly part of me wishes that it could’ve been different.”
Andrias only gives a small nod in response.
“But I know we can never go back to the way things were.“ She sniffs, wiping her face with her jacket sleeve. “I just need you to know how I’m feeling. How I’ve been feeling, all these years. Maybe that’s enough.”
The cold autumn air hangs still, and for a while, the two of them are quiet.
“Those times I spent with you did mean something, Marcy. I was just too foolish to realize it,” Andrias says, breaking the silence. He takes a deep breath, his chest rattling with the sound of a thousand metal gears. “Perhaps my greatest punishment is living with the fact that I’ll never get that friendship back.”
Marcy looks at the old newt and notices that his eyes are glistening. It’s strange to know that the ancient being sitting beside her was once a kid, too. But seeing him now, frail and terrified of facing her again, she starts to understand that the line between childhood and adulthood has always been a blurry one.
Marcy opens her sling bag and pulls out a bulky green book. She runs her hand down the length of its worn cover. “Um…I know this is a bit of a swerve…but I brought the second Cynthia Coven book. The one you never got to read.” She sighs, placing the book on the leaf-strewn ground. “I thought I could give it to you, y’know, so you’d have something to keep you entertained. But I don’t think you can read it now.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it, nonetheless.” Andrias is gazing at the horizon, but there’s a small smile on his face now. “I don’t suppose you could fill me in?”
Marcy snorts, rolling her eyes. “Well, to be completely honest, it’s the worst book in the series. I mean, thinking about it now, it would’ve made your life sentence so much worse. Looootss of lazy writing.”
Then she hears it: a chuckle, a genuine one, rumbling from deep inside Andrias’ chest. She wonders if he ever allowed himself to laugh these past few years. If he had a reason to.
“Could I, perhaps, make a simple request?” he asks softly.
Marcy squints and crosses her arms. “Depends on the request.”
“Can you tell me a story?” Andrias takes a shaky breath that sounds like a wheeze. “You were…always good at that.”
“What kind of story?” Marcy asks, curious and slightly confused at the odd request.
“Yours.” Andrias closes his eyes and a peaceful smile settles on his face. “What great adventures have you had?”
“I…” she trails off, taken aback by that statement. She thinks about how weird it might be, to share that part of her life with someone who’s no longer a friend. But not a stranger, either.
Andrias is wheezing now, his eyes still closed. He doesn’t push or prod her. No mind games, no lies. She listens to his irregular breathing and realizes something. It can’t be… she thinks, not wanting to entertain the possibility.
“Okay. I’ll indulge you, just this once,” she says, “but it’s a long story.”
“I have time,” the newt replies without missing a beat.
So Marcy tells her story and Andrias listens. It feels both familiar and alien, like finding a childhood stuffed toy that no longer looks the same. Discolored and rough around the edges, but all the nostalgia still there. People say nostalgia is nothing but wishful thinking, an oversimplification of a complicated past. But Marcy thinks it has its uses too. Maybe it can remind people of life’s significance, give them a reason to hold onto it, despite everything.
The sky is a dark orange when she reaches the last part of her story.
“Mr.X and Terri found a way to power up a portal. It takes a lot of energy, so we can’t hop from world to world too often. Now I’m here, with you…” She trails off, noticing that Andrias’ chest has gone still. He looks like he’s sleeping, but she knows that isn’t the case. She knew the moment he made his final request.
Marcy continues to sit beneath the oak tree. She can’t tell how much time has passed. The air is colder as the evening settles in. The broken pieces of the moon she and her girlfriends destroyed are still floating in the sky. She watches the jagged rocks, remembering how Andrias sent his robots to help them. Her eyes ache from crying, her jacket sleeve damp and heavy. She doesn’t want to worry anyone by showing up to dinner with a puffy face, but she knows she’ll have to return soon.
Marcy stands up and brushes herself off. Something catches her attention, right before she leaves. Andrias’ hand is open, palm facing up. There’s something at the center: a gold, miniscule object. A pin. Her pin. At that moment, she understands what he wanted to do before he took his last breath. Or rather, what he wanted to say through a simple act. Here, take this. Thank you. I’m sorry. I haven’t forgotten you.
Marcy takes the pin and rests a hand on the behemoth’s thumb. “Goodbye, ‘Drias.”