Chapter Text
Only fools willingly returned to the Underground, at least according to the younger monsters. Magpie didn’t think she was a fool, but as she crossed the threshold of Mt. Ebott’s towering gates, entered into the tunnel that had once kept monsterkind imprisoned in darkness, she wondered if maybe she wasn’t being reckless nonetheless.
But unlike many of the other lingering monsters, who returned to this place seeking escape, Magpie ventured into the darkness with purpose set in her heart. She was here for knowledge. And she wasn’t about to let her superstitious classmates stop her.
She shifted the battered old messenger bag on her shoulder, steeling herself. Her fingers gently traced the applique letters, like she used to as a child. Their familiar shapes grounded her, gave her the courage to continue deeper into the darkness.
She’d never been away from the sunlight before. Not like this.
She didn’t want to admit how much the blackness terrified her.
As the last traces of sun dimmed, Magpie practically felt the darkness close in around her. Swirling, suffocating, unnatural. Though the barrier no longer existed, its dark, primal magic still lingered in the tunnel. It was enough to make Magpie's breath catch in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself one step after another after another until finally the darkness lifted. Light returned to her vision, faint at first but growing ever stronger as she progressed through the tunnel.
Still, Magpie didn’t let herself relax until she reached the end, until she stepped out into a small clearing, until she felt the soft brush of grass against her taloned feet. She had made it. She was in the Underground.
Or rather... She was in the old castle gardens, the in-between that was not quite monster land and not quite human land.
It was the last hint of sun she would see for a while.
Magpie crossed through the garden towards the strong castle wall. She was careful not to tread on any of the delicate golden flowers that called this grove home. She had her own yellow bloom tucked into her hair, plucked from her family's garden and preserved with a twist of magic. It was far larger and healthier than these smaller plants, and yet the flowers in the royal gardens seemed to demand far greater respect.
It was silly, she thought as she passed through the rusted old gate. They were just flowers. But Magpie knew the meaning behind them. Just because they were common weeds on the surface didn't make them any less valuable to the generations of monsters who once called this place home.
As she passed through the wall into the Underground proper, she stopped to study the worn old map that had been installed years earlier. After the barrier had fallen, monsterkind had tried to make the Underground into a sort of museum where younger generations could learn about monster history. But the idea never really took off, and now the Underground was inhabited by mostly older monsters too set in their ways to leave. That and troublemakers, trying to lay low. Still, many of the maps and placards remained along the main path through the Underground, making it relatively easy to navigate for someone like Magpie who had never before set foot in the strange place.
The route to Waterfall was fairly straightforward. If Magpie was reading the map correctly, it would take her just shy of two days to reach the region. Once there, she could rely on the hand-drawn map tucked inside her bag to make it the rest of the way to her destination.
Magpie steeled herself and started walking.
She made good progress that first day, following battered old museum signs through the Core and most of the way through Hotland. The older monsters on the surface always talked about how small the Underground was, but to a diminutive monster all alone in the dark it seemed a rather unending place.
She didn’t encounter any other monsters that first day, though she did stumble on occasional signs of life: a long extinguished campfire, or a run-down house with just a bit too much noise coming from inside. Magpie was content to give these places a wide berth, and they seemed content to ignore her in turn.
As she set up her sleeping bag for her first night of rest, Magpie found herself approached by an elderly cat-like monster. They introduced themself as Seam and offered her dinner; against her better judgement she accepted. A warm, proper meal sounded much more appetizing than the travel rations she had brought.
In the end, Seam had been an excellent host. Their meal was simple but hearty and delicious and left Magpie feeling stronger than she had all day. While the two ate, they talked: about Magpie’s presence in the Underground, about Seam’s love of the empty old place, about memories of better days and of the small human child who changed everything. It didn’t matter that Magpie had heard the tale hundreds of times in her life. Seam managed to make the familiar myth feel new and exciting.
As dinner finished up and Seam sent Magpie away with fresh bread and jars of homemade jam, they made her promise to return once her own journey was complete and share her story with them. It was the only payment they would accept for the meal, they said, and Magpie agreed with a chuckle. She certainly hoped her story would be interesting, though for all she knew the secrets she pursued could be the most mundane and predictable drivel. Seam had laughed at that, arguing that any tale could be entertaining in the hands of the right storyteller. That made Magpie smile, and then she bade the old cat farewell and returned to her little campsite.
Hotland proved a rather difficult place to sleep, though Magpie did manage a few hours. When her pocketwatch told her that morning had come, she repacked her bag, stretched her arms, and took a few minutes to preen her feathers. Then she resumed her journey, trying to watch out for kind old Seam as she traveled. But there was no sign of them. If not for the clinking of jam jars in her messenger bag, Magpie would have thought the entire encounter a dream.
Slowly, slowly, the lava fields faded into hard, dark rock, and that dark rock gave way to mud and water. The temperature dropped quickly once Magpie entered Waterfall, and she snuggled gratefully into her dad’s tattered old scarf.
Somehow, she knew when she had reached the crossroads she needed, feeling it deep in her chest. She stopped, then, and checked the time. Just past 7:00 at night.
Right now, her dads would be settled around the old radio with cups of tea. Their favorite radio drama would be on, and were she there with them Magpie would have used it as an excuse to stop her homework and relax a bit.
Not for the first time, she wondered what they were doing in her absence. Hopefully they weren't too worried; they had seemed excited for her trip. She remembered how her papi had hopped up and drawn up the map she kept tucked safely away, his sharp memory taking down every detail as he showed her the way to the old house in Waterfall. Her dad, meanwhile, bustled around digging up their old traveling supplies so that his daughter could be perfectly prepared. Magpie had been embarrassed by their antics at first. But now, as she peered down those rickety old steps descending from the cliff, she was grateful to have their guidance.
The very first step snapped beneath her weight. Her eyes went wide as she began to fall. Oh god oh heaven oh FUCK!
She managed to catch a hold of the railing before she could go far, jerking to a halt with her legs splayed awkwardly across the wooden treads.
A long minute passed as she sat there, frozen, heart pounding like it might burst from her chest. And then she drew a ragged breath. Placed one foot. The other. Tested her weight. And slowly rose.
The stairs held this time, and Magpie descended much more carefully. Her wings were strong enough to slow her fall should she slip again, to save her from major injury. But they were not strong enough to stop it altogether.
Looking back up the stairs once she reached the bottom, Magpie's feathers ruffled anxiously. Yes, a fall from the top would have meant a twisted ankle if she was lucky and a broken one if not. She was more than glad to be done with them.
Unfortunately for her, those were not the last of the stairs she would need to navigate. One, two, three more times she came across another drop, another set of rotted stairs, another horrifying descent into nothingness.
But finally, finally, she reached the true and proper bottom. The deepest part of Waterfall. Already she could see the piles of trash lined up along the shores of Waterfall’s iconic river, centuries of refuse thrown away carelessly only to end up here.
Time for the map.
She unhooked the oil lamp from her satchel and lit it with a quick strike of a match. Immediately her field of view increased as the lantern did its job. It took a minute of fiddling to get the wick to the proper length, but once it was adequately set up Magpie took the opportunity to study her papi’s map.
Follow the river until the trash pile with the rusted out cungadero. Then a sharp right, across the stepping stones, until the second (The second, Mags, not the first!) stream. Hang a left and stick to the bank until you find the old mailbox: purple with a red flag. That's where you'll find home.
The directions were easier to follow than she anticipated. She found the cungadero right away; the old car was thankfully still buried in its place by the river. And then the stepping stones, fluttering wings to make each jump easier. The second stream (she still almost missed it despite how her papi had drilled it into her head). And then, finally, that battered old mailbox.
Her dads’ old house was...
Well calling it a house might have been a stretch, to be honest. There was a rusted cast iron fence propped against the mailbox as if to create a front yard for the hovel. The aforementioned mailbox was rusted and dented and barely functional, though it was clearly a point of pride as someone had taken the time to plant echo flowers around it. A “cobblestone” path led up to the door, shiny glass bottles and broken plates guiding the way home.
That front door... Wasn't in any frame, so much as it was leaned against a hole in a particularly large pile of trash. Magpie approached it and forced it open, shoving her entire body against it as it begrudgingly shifted open just enough for her to slip through.
The inside of the trash heap had been hollowed out into one large room. Two or three of her little oil lamps would have been more than enough to light the space. There wasn't much left behind in the place: a broken table against one wall, a couple of molded mattresses against another. But there was one feature of the old house that drew Magpie's eye, leading her across the room as though entranced.
On the back wall of the hovel, a mural had been painted. A vibrant blue background, fluffy white clouds, a burning yellow sun. Magpie's lips turned with the weakest smile as she stared. Her dads often spoke of their little piece of heaven in the Underground. Seeing this now, Magpie knew this must have been what they meant.
It was... A lot to take in. And Magpie spent several long minutes just sitting, studying every detail of that painting, letting her mind wander. Despite their circumstances, her dads had woven themselves into this tiny place, doing whatever they could to make it theirs. Her papi’s mural on the wall. Her dad’s matching tableware. The carved wooden cane beside the door, the carefully mended blanket, that sweet, silly, charming garden path...
This place was theirs.
Swallowing tears of wonderment, Magpie stood and made her way to a chest of drawers beside the battered old mattresses. Her dad had promised her she’d find something special in those drawers.
They slid open with an ease that felt out of place in the ramshackle house. Empty except the stack of letters within. They were slightly water damaged and well loved, tied together with fragile twine. Magpie delicately took them in her hands. That old paper was so soft between her fingers. This is what her dads had tasked her to find, promising that within she’d find the story she longed for. Carefully, slowly, she undid the bow and allowed the twine to slip off the weathered notes. And then she picked up the one on top.
And she started to read.