Chapter Text
Love is hate.
Hate is love.
And Sasha doesn't know the difference anymore.
Love and hate intertwine, their boundaries blurred.
Driven by them, she moves, drawn towards Marcy amidst the chaos of bodies and debris.
She collides with another body. She doesn't know if they're alive or not. She doesn't care. With determination, she plants her feet, hauls it to the floor, and swings her swords to be sure.
Amidst the mud, adrenaline, and blood, Sasha understands.
Love manifests in the searing energy against her shoulder, a dodge, a concealed dagger exploiting armour's weakness. Love wields her blue heron sword, as crimson as the other, cutting down foes until her wrists ache and then cutting down more.
Love is untamed. Love is hate.
Sasha hates.
And she hates, and hates, and hates.
And every time she hates, another body settles against the dirt.
Hate embeds itself like the arrow in her shoulder, a dagger between her eyes, and a chilling breath that scorches her lungs.
Love finds solace behind cover, blade cleaned, reemerging in a whirlwind because she knows they cut better without all the blood. Love becomes a shoulder against a gut, a shove empowered by the wind's force.
Both hate and love converge in the crushing grip on a fallen toad's throat, a fist dealing a blow against her lip, cracked and bleeding, a sword's edge tracing from a newt's stomach to its throat.
Hate demands her chin's ascent, fueled by the crimson and cobalt hues, breathing life into the viscera. Love remains elusive in a frigid instant, unable to tell in the moment whether it's a frobot or an Amphibian. Hate is realising that she doesn't even care.
Love takes the form of a dagger, it's a sword, it's Barrel's warhammer, it's fire, it's stone, it's her bare hands. She becomes hate driven by love.
She kills. She kills all of them.
The wind howls in protest and the ground quakes like they know that she is a threat.
Good.
She becomes an instrument of death, advancing, evading, and lost in the frenzy of killing. The relentless slaughter continues until she reaches the floating castle, where her rampage persists unchecked.
It's funny.
They think they can stop her now? After everything that’s happened?
She has fought through hundreds of robots and Amphibians, and they think they stand a chance so close to the end?
What makes them think they are any different to the ocean of faces below her feet?
Boiling rage takes over as she cuts them down, getting closer and closer
Love takes the form of a scorching scythe upon her back, searing but bringing a heightened clarity of purpose. With renewed resolution, she drives a sword into the heart of that vile creature. All of its bright orange eyes go dark.
Reinforcements approach. And Andrias isn't there. And she knows that means they've lost. That he knew. The silence is deafening.
But Marcy is here.
Nothing else matters.
Sasha kneels next to her, and she’s still alive. She’s still alive.
And she opens her eyes, looks up at Sasha, and she’s still Marcy.
With heavy breath, delirious, and unfocused chestnut eyes-- but Marcy nonetheless.
Grime shouts at her when the castle crashes back down, the box one gem too few.
She steps onto the snail carriage as Grime swallows and drops his warhammer aside. He looks ready to speak but makes for the reigns instead.
Sasha sits down next to Marcy and they begin the long trek home.
Even as Newtopia fades away, Sasha looks down at her hands.
All day, they had been still.
Now, they begin to tremble, to quake.
She stares at those hands.
She stares.
Those same hands with bloodied fingernails she once had painted blue for Anne's birthday because it was Anne's favourite colour.
She stares at those hands.
Those hands that are no longer hers.
Those hands that are foreign to her wrists and those wrists that are strangers to her arms.
She's burdened by an overwhelming sense of age, as though she perished on the floor of a moss-covered, peat-laden forest a millenia ago, having lain there far longer than she has lived.
Roots have claimed her bones like wild vines on trees, bright red rose thorns piercing her nerves, and earth heaped between the gaps of her muscles.
Her eyes are hollow, her flesh long rotted, antlers sprouting from her skull and curling up towards the sky in a budding, gnarled, twisted, tortured dance.
And she looks at her hands as the red seeps finely into her skin. As Bessie rocks slightly on the uneven terrain. She traces the creases, cuts, and bruises that litter them with her eyes.
It was so easy. Cutting them all down like weeds.
What has she become?
She doesn't know. Not anymore.
If Anne could see her now.
I am done listening to you.
What would she see?
A monster?
I am done trusting you.
It doesn't matter now.
You're a horrible person and I am done being friends with you.
It doesn't matter.
[...]
When her shoes touched the ground in Amphibia, Anne felt everything but the fervour she'd felt to return.
The bright and beautiful and chaotically vibrant island was gone. Replaced with nothing but its tattered skeleton of dead grass, snags and smog so thick she coughed out any breath she dared to inhale.
There was an immediate weight of responsibility to rectify everything, to restore things to their rightful state, in Sprig's presence on her shoulder and the reassuring touch of Polly's little pink hand in her own.
Ironically, it was that striking absence of life that triggered that same sense of being bombarded and overwhelmed that she had felt when she returned home.
It reminded her of news reporters, and classmates, and tired, grieving parents who had swarmed her with questions upon her return, having vanished from the Earth as a trio and reappeared alone.
"Well... let's go home." HopPop chimed in with a solemn breath.
"I wonder what they're gonna think of me!" Polly recovered from her stupor, and bounded about in the grass.
"Yep, I'm guessing you've grown taller than Mrs. Croaker!" Sprig laughed and playfully tousled Polly's fluffy orange mane.
He had grown significantly, even more than Polly. Sprig was now nearly as tall as HopPop, and his unruly hair jutted out from his hat messily.
"Definitely taller than Loggle," Polly remarked with another laugh, and Anne caught herself gazing at them with fondness.
One part of her, a very selfish part, wished they could have stayed in her own world, with her parents, where they would be safe, allowing her to face this hellhole alone. She knew it was wrong of her, Amphibia was more their home than it had ever been hers, but Sprig and Polly were still so young and HopPop's body could hardly keep up with his fighting spirit.
"Okay, HP, work your magic. Which way to Wartwood?" Anne turned her attention to HopPop, who remained motionless. His big blue eyes scanned his surroundings, an air of somberness hanging over his features.
They all understood the gravity of the situation, that their home might be engulfed in war and destruction, but seeing HopPop's shattered expression was another blow altogether, his grief was a weight added onto the dumbbells on her shoulders.
"HP?" Anne's voice was gentle when she reached out her palm, lowering herself to kneel and meet his eyes.
"We're here to make things right," Anne reassured him and it seemed to ground him enough to rub at his teary eyes and clear his throat.
"We're gonna fix this. We have to."
"Yeah, you're right, Anne." HopPop's gaze swept the surroundings until it fixed on a patch of uneven ground in the distance.
"Now, what do you bet that those are the Ruins of Despair?" Anne followed the direction of HopPop's arm, her eyes landing on a patch of uneven ground where dull green smoke billowed out into the clouded air.
"Hey, I think you're right," Anne confirmed, closing one eye as she traced the hazy skyline to the left.
"That would mean Frog Valley is..." She moved slowly, rotating herself with little steps until she came to a stop.
"...right about there, yeah? If we're just past Quarreler's Pass."
"So, we're not far?" Sprig's voice was brimming with enthusiasm.
"Well, last time it took us about half a day to get there," HopPop interposed, as Polly and Sprig's faces lit up with hope.
"Of course, that was with Bessie and the fwagon."
Their expressions fell to the sullen ground with a sense of disappointment.
"Plus," Anne dragged out the word and contorted her face anxiously. "We should probably steer clear of the roads," Anne mixed into the bad news cocktail reluctantly, drawing a frustrated pout from Polly.
"Seriously?" The youngest frog let out a tired groan and folded her body backwards in protest.
"Come on, Polly. We've waited almost six years, what's another day or so?" Sprig offered a comforting smile.
Anne didn't think she'd ever felt more proud of her brother than she did then. The Sprig she'd met on Amphibia would likely be pouting right alongside Polly.
In fact, he might have been even more vehement in his protests, nagging and pleading and bounding himself from surface to surface in a full-blown chorus of objections.
This was not to say, however, that a teenage Sprig didn't have his moments.
Polly rebounded swiftly and trudged over to Frobo where she started relaying the information.
"Okay, Plantars, home's about a day and a half that-a-way. If we head over to the mountains and stay pretty close we should be able to bypass the frobot factories and come out near Toad Tower."
The frogs all nodded in eager accord.
"Given how dark the sky already is, it's tough to judge the time, but I'd say we got a few hours of daylight left before we need to set up camp."
Anne adjusted her backpack, pulling it a little tighter against her back, and then took the first step off the road.
"No time like the present." Anne offered reassurance with an open smile.
About three hours into their trek, HopPop's knees had given out, and Anne had managed to prop him up on top of her bulky backpack.
The terrain surrounding The Ruins of Despair was rough and parched, as if the soil had been drained of life, leaving behind only withering plants in its aftermath and seeping a dull ache into Anne's unready shoes.
She wished she had been able to change her shoes before they leapt through the portal, but with the FBI chasing them relentlessly, time was a luxury they couldn't afford. She'd have to make do until they reached Wartwood.
Polly remained uncharacteristically quiet, occasionally breaking her silence only to share explanations with Frobo, who she had chosen to sit on, crossing her legs.
"I feel you, Frobes," Anne murmured softly, nodding at the decapitated robot. Polly and her friends back home had managed to upgrade Frobo's remote control car look to make him more built and taller but the robot was still more car than frog - or in Polly's case, more taxi than companion.
"Hey, Anne?" Sprig's voice carried a quiet note amidst the backdrop of HopPop's snoring and Polly's soft, sleepy breaths.
"Yeah?" She whispered back.
"Do you think they'll be alright? Everyone back in Wartwood? I don't want to stress out HopPop or Polly, but everything looks so bad." Sprig fretted, his fingers twisting his hat while his gaze remained fixed on his feet.
"They have to be okay. The folks in Wartwood are super resilient, after all, and they have Croaker and Stumpy. Wally's a force to be reckoned with too."
"I hope you're right," Sprig sighed, his smile carrying a hint of teary-eyed hope.
"I really miss Ivy."
Throughout their time trapped on Earth, Sprig hadn't often mentioned Ivy, whether he was preoccupied with evading pursuit or intentionally sidestepping the painful topic. However, his birthday reflections had gradually taken on a more routine and bittersweet quality with each passing year and Anne would be glad to see them reunited.
"I know," Anne replied softly.
She halted near some trees, prompting HopPop to stir awake with a grumble.
"Sorry, Anne. I reckon that chase took a toll on me more than I'd expected," HopPop apologised guiltily.
"Don't worry, HP. I think we could all use some RnR," Anne chuckled dryly, rummaging through the contents of her bag until she located the compact tent her parents had hurriedly packed.
The tent quickly expanded into its full size, and Anne realised that they would all be quite snug inside, crammed like sardines. Yet, having shared her bed with the Plantars for so long, until her parents converted the spare room for them, Anne was accustomed to the tight sleeping arrangements.
With a careful tenderness, Anne scooped up Polly in her arms, nestling herself and the Plantars within the confines of the tent. She settled against the tent's back, which was supported by a sturdy but ailing tree, and cradled the young frog close.
"Keep an eye out, would'ya Frobo?" HopPop requested warmly.
"You make sure you rest, now, kids. We got a long day tomorrow."
Anne reluctantly nodded, unsure that she could even keep her eyes open any longer if she wanted to, and extended her arms for Polly to tuck herself away in them.
"G'night, kids."
"Night, HopPop," Anne and Sprig echoed in exhausted unison.
Despite her heavy and sore eyes, Anne was simply unable to fall asleep, and she suspected, from the frequent shifting of a sleeping bag beside her, that Sprig was just as restless.
Anne quietly slipped out of the tent, taking care to avoid stepping on HopPop or Polly. She didn't need to glance back to know that Sprig had followed her, briefly holding the tent's entrance open for him to join her.
The night had descended upon Amphibia, wrapping everything in a chilling darkness. The factories glowed in the night like fireflies in the distance. They exhaled their smog in the night as a dragon, bleeding and hot, and a vibrant neon green that promised, in a whisper, destruction.
Anne pulled herself wearily beneath the shelter of a nearby tree, seeking asylum in its shadows. Sprig followed in silence, and for a moment, it felt like just over six years ago, sitting on a balcony with a boy who was so much the same yet so different.
"You're worried too, then?" Sprig asked and she almost rolled her eyes at the obviousness of it, because of course she was, but he's Sprig, and she knew he meant well. So, she sighed instead and patted the patch of grass beside her.
He hesitated for a brief moment before settling down next to her, crossing his little pink legs like he used to when he was eleven.
"Are you thinking about them?" Sprig's question cut through the heavy air, and Anne must have allowed her exhaustion to briefly betray her thoughts, because he hastily added, "Sasha and Marcy."
Oh.
Anne didn't like thinking about them, not anymore. Not since years apart had twisted her longing into a bitter resentment, wishing they had been better, wishing Sasha had been a better person so then they could all be home, and happy.
And safe.
The confession lingered in the back of her throat, the raw honesty clawing its way out.
"No," she lied instead, like a coward, and avoided the depths of those painful memories.
"I think about Ivy all the time. What do you think will happen to SprIvy?" Sprig's question was soft, whispered into the crook of his elbow.
"What? You and Ivy are perfect for each other!" Anne objected, welcoming the distraction with open arms.
"I'm sure she's missed you just as much, dude. You two belong together."
"Yeah. Maybe." Sprig sighed.
"I just... it's been so long. What if she's changed? What if I"ve changed?" He returned his hands to playing with his worn old hat.
"I..." Anne breathed in a sharp breath. "I don't know, dude. But I know that Ivy cared a lot about you. Even if SprIvy isn't what it was, she'll definitely be happy to see you."
"And... Marcy and Sasha?"
Sprig had mentioned Ivy only sparingly, but Anne couldn't recall the last time she had spoken Marcy or Sasha's names aloud.
Perhaps at Sasha's funeral.
"I just hope Marcy's still alive," Anne admitted, her voice strained, her eyes tingling with unshed tears.
"I don't even know how to feel about Sasha," Anne confessed bitterly. As the years passed and their return seemed increasingly impossible, blame had grown like a festering wound within her.
All she did was blame, and blame, and blame.
Sasha was to blame.
If Sasha hadn't been such a terrible friend to Anne, she wouldn't have inadvertently pushed Marcy aside.
If Sasha had shown even a shred of genuine care for Marcy, perhaps Marcy wouldn't have resorted to lying to them
Anne was to blame.
If Anne had stood up to Sasha sooner, maybe she could have kept herself and Marcy safe from the blonde tyrant.
If Anne hadn't placed such blind trust in Sasha and Marcy, perhaps they would have gone home after the dinner. Happy and safe and better.
Marcy was to blame.
For tricking them with that stupid music box.
But Marcy was the only one who had paid the price. A flaming sword crashed through her chest like a warning.
"Do you hate her?" Sprig asked cautiously.
"No... maybe... I dunno. Everything is so messy right now." Anne grumbled and buried her face in her palms.
"I don't. I think I should... but I don't," Sprig admitted with candour.
Anne raised her head, ready to respond, but halted when Sprig exhaled sharply through his nose.
"I know she tried to kill HopPop and then me. And she betrayed us in Newtopia, but..." his words trailed off, and he took on a contemplative expression.
"She was just a kid. I did stupid stuff all the time. Heck, I nearly got Mrs. Croaker killed because she didn't like me." He chuckled fondly, and Anne couldn't help but join in because Sprig had definitely changed.
"You've grown into quite the wise old frog, Sprig," Anne remarked with a smile, patting him on the back and observing as his gentle features transformed into a mock-offended expression.
"Hey, I'm not old! If anyone's old, it's you," he retorted playfully, and Anne couldn't help the tug of her lips; she had missed it.
"We should get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be another long day," Anne gently guided Sprig back toward the tent and slipped back inside. She settled into her place between Polly, who quickly nuzzled against Anne's arm, and Sprig, who nestled into the sleeping bag.
"Hey, Anne?" Sprig whispered, rolling onto his side to face her.
"Hm?" Anne mumbled sleepily in response.
"They're gonna be okay," Sprig assured her. Anne nodded, her eyelids growing heavy with fatigue. She hoped so too.
[...]
The sun, unrelenting in its fiery gaze, showed no mercy, even beneath the hazy shroud of smoggy clouds.
With the compacted tent safely nestled back into her trademark pink bag, Anne took on the role of an intrepid pack mule once more, hoisting HopPop onto her shoulders. Together, they trudged across the arid fields.
HopPop had initially attempted to voice his protests, but Anne had promptly dismissed them with reassurances that now felt like taunting echoes with each footfall.
The heat weighed upon them, an additional layer that clung to their clothing and skin. Anne released a weary sigh.
"Water?" HopPop pleaded.
"Sure, HP." she conceded, passing back the water with a discomforted groan.
"Ugh, everything takes forever in the heat." Polly grumbled, dried to a lighter shade of magenta, as she trudged alongside Sprig.
"Why not just ride Frobo again?" Sprig suggested, his gaze darting between his sister and the robot.
" Why not just ride Frobo again? " Polly repeated in a mocking tone; and regardless of how many times she heard it, the impression was uncomfortably accurate.
"He's a robot, Sprig."
Sprig squinted his eyes, as if somehow intense concentration could conjure the answer before him, to no avail.
"Metal, Sprig, metal," Polly deadpanned, swinging her arm out melodramatically to point at Frobo. "The sun heats metal."
"Ohhhhh," the realisation dawned on Sprig. "That sucks."
Anne, despite being human, couldn't quite match the resilience Sprig displayed despite being cold-blooded.
"How aren't you melting in this heat?" Anne grumbled.
"I'm just really excited to get home," Sprig explained, as though his enthusiasm alone could defy both biology and the harsh sun's scorching heat.
"Hamlet just can't wait to get back to his Ophelia," HopPop remarked with an affectionate roll of his eyes.
"Remind me why I introduced you to Shakespeare again?" Anne teased.
"And it's usually Romeo and Juliet."
"But don't they both die?" HopPop sounded appalled.
"So do Hamlet and Ophelia!" Anne protested, turning her head to give HopPop a pointed look.
HopPop grumbled something incoherent under his breath, but Anne could tell there was no real bite behind it.
"Are we almost there?" Polly nagged once more, stretching out her words to underscore her impatience.
Anne felt heavy and tired all too suddenly.
Polly reluctantly dragged her feet, and Anne's attention was suddenly snatched away as she realized that Sprig had vanished from her sight.
"Sprig?"
No response.
"Sprig?" Panic tainted her voice now as she twirled around, tightening her biceps to ensure she was still carrying the elderly frog on her shoulders, but there was no sign of Sprig.
"Where's Sprig? He was just-" Anne gasped, inhaling air into her throat as if it were water in a parched desert.
Her head spun, and she barely registered the wobbling in her knees as they crumpled, meeting the unforgiving earth.
"Anne!"
The voice reached her ears, distorted by the oppressive heat. It sounded an awful lot like Sprig, but Sprig was missing, and Anne felt so warm and dizzy.
Why was she panicking? She should be looking for Sprig, not... not what?
Her head felt dense and heavy, and she couldn't help but wonder how dehydrated she was.
For the second time since arriving in Amphibia, Anne succumbed to exhaustion, crumbling to the ground in a dishevelled heap.
Anne, despite being a Californian, despised the heat more than anything. She loathed extreme temperatures, but the heat was the worst.
Sasha, on the other hand, loved the heat but couldn't stand the cold. Marcy didn't care much about the temperature outside; she spent most of her time indoors either way.
Anne swung her tennis racket, narrowly missing the ball. Stupid heat.
Sasha lounged on nearby benches, sunbathing with utter contentment while Anne felt like she might pass out on the scorching court.
She picked up the ball and served it, sending it across the court to the girl she was supposed to be practising with. She wasn't even sure what her name was. Jenny? Janine? It hardly mattered.
The grass surrounding them was pale and brittle from dehydration, and Anne felt like a mirror.
Lost in her thoughts, she looked up from the banal grass a moment too late. A small, yellow meteorite collided with her face. The force knocked her flat, and for a fleeting moment, Anne contemplated simply conceding and lying there forever, whether in shame or sheer exhaustion.
The sun bore down mercilessly on Anne as she resigned herself to her fate, the heat making it nearly impossible to move. But just as she was prepared to accept her future as Tennis Court Puddle, a shadow suddenly covered her and, for a brief moment, she feared her coach was about to chew her ear off.
"Wow. That was embarrassing." Sasha couldn't help but let out a genuine giggle, and Anne was sure she'd found her new favourite sound.
Sasha was different when the sun was blazing. Marcy had once mentioned something about the sun and brain chemicals, but Anne could hardly function enough to remember.
Her eyes, bright cerulean blue, glowing in the face of the warm sun, softened.
Regardless, Sasha usually seemed happier when the sun was shining. It was during moments like those that she didn't want to steal, cheat, or lie.
Anne never wanted to steal, cheat or lie anyway. But when you are friends with someone, you have to help them to get what they want no matter how you have to do it, even if deep down, you don't really want to.
"Girl, are you okay?" Sasha inquired, her head tilted inquisitively like a puppy. Anne couldn't help but smile; she'd endure the heat if it meant having this laid-back Sasha around all the time.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just..." Anne groaned, mustering the energy to pull herself into a sitting position. "Way too hot."
Sasha chuckled once more and reached out to help Anne to her feet. "Let's go find Marcy and grab some ice cream," she suggested, extending her hand for Anne to take.
Anne knew her palms were probably sweaty from the heat, and Sasha might even comment on it, but she took her friend's hand anyway, allowing Sasha to lead her away from the tennis courts and toward the school.
Anne jolted upright as if she had just escaped a nightmare, scanning her surroundings for any signs of danger. She found herself propped loosely against a withering tree.
"Guys?" She managed to croak past her parched lips.
"Anne!" HopPop, Polly, and Sprig chorused in relieved unison.
"Are you okay now?" Polly asked, her voice smaller than usual, as she wrapped her tiny hand around Anne's wrist.
"Yeah... I'm fine," Anne reassured them. "I'm sorry I worried you guys."
With great effort, Anne pulled herself upright against what she initially thought was a tree. She turned her head only to be met with mossy stone bricks neatly stacked together. Toad Tower.
"How did you even get me here?" Anne questioned, her memory hazy about the distance they'd travelled. And given HopPop's legs...
"We had a little help," Sprig admitted, stepping aside to reveal a circle of heavily armoured Amphibians gathered around a map.
"Who...?" Anne trailed off, her exhaustion making her speech falter.
"You won't believe it," Sprig beamed at her. "Hey, guys, Anne's awake!" He called out, and the four warriors sprang into action so swiftly that Anne had to blink to fully comprehend the sudden burst of movement.
The group removed their helmets, revealing Wally, Mrs. Croaker, Maddie, and... Loggle?
"Yeah, Polly, I don't think you're taller than Loggle." Anne quipped, dumbstruck.
Loggle had grown immensely, now about five times the size Anne remembered him being. Mrs. Croaker's face held new, cold-looking scars, and she seemed tougher than ever. While Wally hadn't changed much, his demeanour held a seriousness that the old Wally might have laughed at.
Maddie had experienced the most significant growth. She now stood taller than Sprig, and her pink hair flowed down to her shoulders, nothing like the cropped style Anne recalled except that it still covered her eye, and a deep white scar decorated her arm like an overgrown vine.
Their customised armour fit them snugly, fitted and shimmering with golden hues and cerulean accents, similar to Anne's own armour that she'd had when she was thirteen. However, their big shoulder pads had a striking resemblance to Sasha's.
Her chest ached at the thought.
"Holy crud." Anne blurted out, but immediately wished she had said something more coherent.
"It's good to see you too, Anne," Mrs. Croaker replied with a tight smile.
Anne glanced around the tower, attempting to gather her bearings. It was evident that the changes in Amphibia had infiltrated every nook and cranny. She soon realised that the top half of the tower, where she had once duelled Sasha, had collapsed entirely.
The training grounds, which had held a few training dummies even after the destruction of the boom shrooms, now lay barren. The only exception was a haphazardly carved gravestone, buried in the earth and overrun by greenery.
Anne held her breath as her eyes locked onto the gravestone. A silent prayer echoed in her mind: Don't let it be her.
Mrs. Croaker cleared her throat, breaking the tense silence. Anne's attention snapped back to her.
"If you're up for it, we could make it back home in an hour or so but we'd have to leave now," Mrs. Croaker suggested, leaving the decision open. Anne considered the option briefly.
She thought about lying back down, succumbing to exhaustion, but she couldn't do that to the Plantars. With determination, she wobbled to her feet, ready to move forward.
"What... uh... what happened here?" Anne asked, finally managing to focus her eyes long enough to take in the scene before her.
"The battle of Toad Tower." Maddie breathed it out like a confession.
The South Tower lay in ruins, littered with tattered flags and discarded armour, some of which carried what Anne hoped were not bones. She took a few cautious steps forward, her head pounding loudly. Somewhere behind her, the group of Amphibians began to protest, but she tuned them out.
She had to know.
She was so close. Stepping carefully like the answer was dual blades ready to swing at her from the other side.
Don't let it be her.
"Anne, you should have some water at least," HopPop's voice called out from behind her, but Anne remained entranced by the scene before her.
Her thoughts raced as she took in the devastation. Maybe she was going crazy. After all, she had already imagined Sprig disappearing, so it wasn't too far-fetched.
Don't let it be her.
Anne's emotions swirled within her like a tempest. She was furious at Sasha for what she had done, and she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive her. Yet, in the midst of her anger, there was a deep ache. She missed Sasha more than words could express.
As her conflicting emotions churned, there was one thing Anne knew for certain, one thought that echoed relentlessly in her mind.
Don't let it be her.
With shaky hands, she moved to the other side of the worn old stone. The earth was disturbed there, piled slightly too high, as if the grave had been hastily made. Her heart pounded in her chest as it continued to chant its desperate mantra.
Don't let it be her.
The voices of the Amphibians faded into the background as Anne's focus narrowed on the grave before her.
Don't let it be her.
Moss had claimed the stone as its own, but Anne's trembling hand emerged from her pocket, determined to reveal what lay beneath. She gently brushed the green curtain away, her heart pounding with a mixture of dread and hope.
Please. Please. Don't let it be her.
As the moss fell away, the truth was unveiled, and Anne's breath caught in her throat.
'Captain Grime.'
"Thank you," she whispered softly, her voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and sorrow.
Relief washed over Anne, mingling with the tension in her bones. She detested herself for feeling this way, knowing that no death should bring such relief.
She couldn't help the pang of sorrow for Grime's loss aching in her chest, even though she'd never liked him. Sasha had.
"Are you okay?" Sprig's concerned voice broke through her thoughts. He looked up at her with sad eyes, sensing the turmoil within her as he glanced between the name on the stone and Anne.
Anne swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotions she couldn't quite express. She knelt down beside Sprig and placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him a small smile.
"Yeah." she replied softly. "I'm okay."
Anne pulled herself away from the gravestone with one last look, pushing her emotions aside for now. She turned to the group of Amphibians and forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"I'm sorry to ruin your moment," Mrs. Croaker said earnestly. "But we really need to get going if we're gonna reach Wartwood before sundown."
Anne nodded at her and turned back to the others. "Cool, cool. You guys got any more water, though, because I am parched!" She laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood.
The Amphibians shared a knowing look, and Wally quickly produced a canteen, offering it to Anne. She took a long drink, grateful for the cool water, and then passed it around to the others.
"We'll take you to our leader."
[...]
Wartwood, once a bustling and lively town, now lay desolate and forlorn. The streets, once filled with the cheerful sounds of frogs going about their daily lives, were now eerily silent.
Buildings that had once stood tall and proud were reduced to broken and crumbling remnants of their former selves. Shattered windows, collapsed roofs, and charred timbers bore witness to the destructive forces that had swept through the town.
The town square, once a gathering place for laughter and festivities, now stood empty and overgrown with weeds. The statue of Mayor Toadstool, which had indirectly put Anne in a cast, was tarnished and toppled over.
Desolation hung heavily in the air, and the absence of life was palpable. Wartwood, a place that had once thrived with community and vibrancy, had been reduced to a haunting landscape of ruins and memories.
The sight of Wartwood struck Anne like a physical blow. It was the first place in Amphibia where she had truly felt like herself, where she had found family in the Plantars and home in the townsfolk.
She passed under the broken sign, displaying a half-hearted "Slow to accept." Anne's heart ached for Wartwood, and she led the group further into the town, stepping over the bell as she moved closer and closer to the Plantar farm.
Wally, Loggle, Maddie, and Croaker, who had previously engaged in hushed conversation, fell silent as they approached the farm.
"At least our home is still standing," HopPop breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed the familiar gate open, in reflex perhaps as the majority of the surroundings fence had collapsed.
Anne surveyed the house before her with a defiant glare. She was determined to make Andrias pay for all the pain he had inflicted.
The Plantar farm was a haunting scene of desolation. The vacant barn, once housing their trusty snail, now glowed only with the faint, dancing light of flames that consumed it.
The decaying plants outside the barn seemed to dart around the ground in eerie patterns, as if seeking life in a place where it had long withered. The shattered walls of the upstairs, where the Plantars had once slept peacefully, now stood as a grim reminder of the destruction that had befallen their beloved home.
If Anne looked carefully, she could make out the remnants of HopPop's bedroom, with Polly's abandoned toys scattered on the decaying carpet. However, Sprig's room had been completely destroyed, leaving no evidence that the young frog had even lived there.
In her heart, she hoped the basement remained intact. It might have been selfish, but she clung to the hope that her belongings had somehow survived.
Croaker stepped closer to the entrance of the Plantar farm, whispering a hushed conversation through the barely shifted door.
"Tomorrow." Croaker nodded at Maddie.
"Our leader is… busy now, on a mission, but we can bring our second in command out here." Maddie offered wearily, like a translator, with a faint smile.
"Can't we go in for now? It's so hot out here." Polly groaned.
"What's with the third degree? Why can't you just say who your leader is?" Anne asked anxiously. Something was wrong.
"It's not safe out here." Croaker added defensively, stepping forward to place herself between Maddie and Anne.
"We don't know what… or who… could be bugged." She bitterly added in clarification.
"And you're so sure that your base is safe?" Anne clenched her fists to keep her frustration from her lips, captive in her palm.
The words pulled what little air the smog allowed, heavy and fraught with tension, away from their lungs. Anne's clenched fists shook at her sides. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
"Now, Anne, I'm sure they trust us. They're just being cautious," HopPop tried to reassure her, though his smile held a hint of worry.
Anne's fists tightened further, the coiled energy of her anger restrained but palpable.
"Anne, listen, we just need to get you checked over, then we can talk," Wally's voice lacked its usual charm, and the air felt dense with unspoken concerns.
Anne knew that bottling up her anger wasn't healthy, but at that moment, her fists were like a pair of ticking time bombs, ready to explode.
"What are you talking about? Checked over? Nothing has touched us since we got here!"
"We can't be sure that you're telling the truth." Croaker explained with a sigh.
"What?" Sprig called out, offended.
"You guys know me. Why would I lie?"
"I know 'Anne Boonchuy'." Croaker fired back, reflecting Anne's tense pose.
"What's that supposed to mean? Sure, I look a little different but I'm still Anne!" The rest of Croaker's group raised their fists, ready for a fight. Wally raised what Anne assumed was some sort of laser gun.
"That's what they always say." Maddie turned, dejected, to Croaker, pulling a small brown bag from her hip pouch.
Anne felt the tension thickening in the air as emotions clashed, and the situation felt more and more like a powder keg about to explode.
"Hold it, can't we talk this out? Sadie, c'mon. You know me. And the kids," HopPop implored, motioning to Polly and Sprig standing beside him.
Mrs. Croaker's gaze wavered for a brief moment, but then it hardened once more.
"It's not like we want to do this. Just… everything's so complicated," Wally voiced his exasperation.
"Then why are you doing this?"
Anne's breath hitched as she heard Polly's trembling voice behind her, and she desperately wanted to shield her from the confusion and conflict that had descended upon them.
"Just... put your arms up," Croaker demanded weakly.
Anne sighed, her frustration building, but she complied, raising her palms to frame her face, unsure.
"Take them to the prison. For now," Croaker ordered, her voice carried the weight of a difficult decision, as the group slowly closed in around the Plantars.
"If we're wrong, I'm sorry." Maddie sighed and pulled Sprig's arms behind his back, clicking cold steel cuffs to his wrists.
This was wrong.
They hadn't even done anything. Anne's suppressed anger escaped all at once, powering her wrists like a homing missile that met its match in Loggle's palm where it was spun behind her back and locked into heavy wrist cuffs.
"Enough, Anne… just do as they say."