The Keys of Fate had yet to turn.

  Mezil read the time on his phone. Half an hour had passed since his last correspondence with Sans Serif…

  So far, everything went according to that annoying Seer’s predictions, from Anya Willowherb’s actions, to Queen Toriel’s smothering tendencies, to Frisk’s incredible talent of getting caught up in dangerous situations.

  The idea was to let this weird impromptu expedition proceed for a maximum of three hours. Time travel should be kept to a minimum, possibly a single pass, as not to interfere with the election.

  As The Living Victory, he wished he didn’t have to take this gamble. However, any blight conjured by Kisei’s rotten mind had to be dealt with immediately.

  Meanwhile, any events progressing in the real world would be the Supreme Judge's responsibility to handle. And the first of such issues… involved his own family.

  Rosemary had just woken up from her magical suspended animation, and as part of her care she was given a cup of water to drink. Sleep had a tendency to make one’s throat dry.

  While the girl did so, Lucidia got right to work in examining Rosemary with her Seer’s Eyes, which she kept subdued under her porcelain mask.

  “Condition Green,” she said. “Vital signs: normal. I am not detecting any post-suspended animation side effects either.”

  Mezil raised an eyebrow. “Not even residual grogginess?”

  “No. She’s ready to speak after her drink. Meanwhile, please read this brief report. I recommend a thorough examination with proper equipment in the future.”

  Lucidia handed over a paper with a quick note about Rosemary’s Psychia. It read ‘B/Y/R’: Major, Minor 1, and Minor 2 respectively. The R had been encircled with an additional note that read ‘Asura Sakti’.

  Demonic Power… As I suspected, Rosemary had more than a hint of Red after all.

  Mezil returned the report to Lucidia and said, “Thank you, Lady Lucidia. We’ll definitely investigate this further.”

  “Affirmative. In the meantime, before I return to Malaya, I’m going to examine Doctor Alphys again. Lord Hua’s treatment should’ve been sufficient, but… I’m still worried about her. Few humans survive an HVM attack, let alone a monster.”

  “Please do so.”

  The Chronographer nodded back and left the makeshift ward right away, her steps brisk yet firm.

  Noticing that Rosemary had finished her drink, Mezil asked her the most-pressing question on his mind: “What compelled you to follow your father here, to Ebott Town?”

  Curling up on her bed, Rosemary replied: “Because… because everyone told me that success has nothing to do with working hard, getting good grades, or even having money. They said it’s all about connections, connections, and more connections. This stupid crap they call ‘networking’.”

  “…In other words, you tried to replicate the success Lucas had by forcefully appearing in my life.”

  “Yeah. The people in the bar said Luc was launched to the top ranks of the Magi because you’re his uncle. So, when I heard Dad was going to meet with you in person, I thought my chance had finally arrived.”

  “Rosemary,” he sternly replied, “I wouldn’t have promoted Lucas to his current position if he didn’t have the right character, skills, and potential for the job. It has nothing to do with nepotism.”

  “I… I see… I’m still the stupid one in the end…”

  What should I say to console her? Mezil pondered. I’m terrible with family matters.

  …The Grandmaster would often remind me that truth and kindness are not mutually exclusive. He’d say: ‘A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down’. …I suppose the most sensible approach is to reassure her without stooping to outright lying.

  Thus he retorted: “Nevertheless, I won’t abandon you.”

  “How so?” asked Rosemary.

  “By giving you a choice and the means to support you. If you wish to live a normal civilian life, I’ll seal your magic so that you don’t burn away your lifespan. I’ll also arrange the necessary psychiatric help to get back on your own two feet.”

  “On the other hand, if you wish to pursue magic, I’d instead forward you to the Willowherb Village. It currently hosts one of the best research facilities for Psychia-related ailments. They’ll do their best to study your condition and provide a long-term solution for what’s likely to be a lifetime process.”

  With a straight face, Rosemary’s first response was: “Is this the part where I choose between freedom and security?”

  Mezil tightened his grip on his cane. “…No. They’re both securities devoid of freedom. You’ll have to decide which of your freedoms to trade away.”

  “I… understand.” Gripping the blanket sheets, she asked: “…Can I even return to a normal life? Is this even guaranteed to work? Like, a hundred percent of the time?”

  Mezil replied, “The stabiliser added to your Psychia is a new frontier of magic science. We simply don’t have the data to state any certainties.”

  “Ugh, nothing is ever guaranteed! If that’s the case, I would rather live a short but useful life than to be stuck in a long, annoying, boring, meaningless one.”

  “So you think taking the path of magic is the only way?”

  Rosemary’s temper flared. “What else can I do??? I’m not good at ANYTHING! I suck at studying, I suck at sports, I don’t have friends, and I’m barely half as good as Dad or my brother at managing the bar! I’m a total good-for-nothing!”

  …It appears that her Red Minor is creating a negative feedback loop with her Blue Major, the Aspect of Integrity. It makes her antagonistic stance stronger than most. For any hopes of a proper resolution, I’ll have to explain her situation in a way she’d understand.

  Based on her obsession with The Winston Curse, that topic may be a viable angle.

  Sigh. I never did like that term, but it’s not entirely inaccurate either.

  Mezil replied, “I heard you withdrew from the world for two years. Rosemary, that takes more determination than you realise.”

  “Huh? Now you’re talking nonsense. What determination??? I GAVE UP!!!”

  “It’s possible to be determined to give up. You’re a Red Minor of the Winston family, which means you’re naturally more willful than most humans to begin with.”

  Rosemary pointed to herself. “M-me?”

  “Yes. You. This ‘Winston Curse’ you feared is not some vague occultic force. Rather, it’s our propensity towards willful determination, for better or worse. Helping the less fortunate takes determination. Doubling down on a foolish endeavour also takes determination. They’re two sides of the same coin.”

  “That sounds like bog standard stupid human behaviour. Why did everyone keep whispering about curses, then?”

  “Insisting on the wrong path, bringing bad luck upon oneself and others, over and over again, would look like a mad curse from the outside in.”

  “I… suppose you have a point.”

  Just a little more. I think she might be receptive to this angle now…

  Mezil then said: “I can share a small secret that may or may not become public knowledge in the future. Did you know the monsters of Ebott consider even the weakest of humans to be astronomically more powerful than themselves?”

  Rosemary gawked in disbelief. “No damn way! How??? They’re the ones shooting magic missiles left, right, and centre!”

  “It’s because their measure of true strength is based on the will to live, Determination. It has nothing to do with being the best in any field. Hence, you’re stronger than you realise, Rosemary. With or without magic. I mean this, wholeheartedly.”

  The girl lowered her head. From the way she acted, Mezil guessed that there was a glimmer of hope inside of that noggin of hers, swirling amidst a massive cloud of self doubt.

  After a period of awkward silence, she declared: “…I need more time to think.”

  “That’s a fine decision for now. Haste only brings ruin.” Mezil set his cane down and stood up. “Keeper Fennel, let us give her some space.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lucas packed up his recording tools before following him out of the makeshift ward.

  When the door closed behind them, Lucas leaned over to whisper. “That… was not quite the same as how you explained the Winston Curse to me. Is that alright?”

  “She doesn’t have the required knowledge of history nor magic to comprehend the finer nuances. Knowing the origin of her Determination won’t help her come to a decision.”

  “Yeah. I agree. Sometimes the full story still terrifies me to this day.”

  Not too far from the room, Jacob and Edmund were in a tense family discussion.

  Whatever it was they talked about, they ceased their conversation the moment Jacob spotted Mezil. Rosemary’s father dashed past his brother-in-law without so much as a glancing acknowledgement, still sore about what transpired over his daughter’s fate.

  In the meantime, a much sunnier familial bond played out between grandfather and grandson. Edmund and Lucas bumped fists and exchanged handshakes, topped with a good, firm hug.

  “Good to see you in renewed spirits, my lad,” said Edmund. “Things got real ugly back there. A little too much to bear sometimes, if you ask me.”

  After releasing the embrace, Lucas replied: “Do you need rest, grandpa? Take a break?”

  “Nah. These old bones will just have to keep on keeping on. Now that we’ve obtained some hard-earned peace and quiet, Mez and I might finally have the opportunity to discuss long-overdue business. Recent events really messed up our original schedule.”

  “About that…” The grandson opened one of his belt pouches to retrieve a memory stick. “The Magi have compiled a list of requests and references, primarily revolving around Jensen Meyer Hall’s secret dealings with Gungnir.”

  “The capital’s mayor, huh? He’s been under fire ever since that traffic outage during the big Spire attack. Y’know what happens when people need emergency services and the roads are blocked up.”

  Mezil answered with grim seriousness. “…They won’t get the help they need on time. We’re looking at dozens if not hundreds of indirect civilian deaths.”

  “Yup. Sadly so. Lawsuits are already lining up. But as usual, Mister Mayor is gonna try to push the blame onto the Magus Association someway, somehow.”

  The detective connected the stick to his tablet computer to check and copy its contents. “Alright, the goods are all nice and secure. Victor will definitely be doing overtime tonight, crunching the data. You know what he’s like when he puts everything into a job. It’s as though the world around him ceases to exist. Oh, I’ll wipe the stick clean for you guys too. Call it a little complimentary service. While that’s busy in the background… tell me, Mez, how is Rose doing?”

  “Stable for now,” the magus replied. “Lucidia and I tried our very best.”

  “What did you tell her about our family history?”

  “Only the very basics. Nothing requiring a deeper understanding of the Determination sciences.”

  “I see. Standing here right now, I’ve always wondered what it would be like if I had joined The Magus Association…”

  Shaking his head, Mezil asserted: “Uncle Edmund, you made the right choice not to enlist back then. Those were troubled times.”

  “Maybe if I had formal training sooner, I would have been better prepared for said troubled times. I told you before, right? I spoke to James Pashowar as a teenager once.”

  “You did. However, I don’t think you’ve disclosed the full details. I would rather not infringe on your privacy if I can help it.”

  “Thanks, Mezil. You’ve always been a good kid.”

  Staring at the tablet screen, Edmund breathed out a regretful sigh. Then, he started to speak: “My Mark was a snake. A King Cobra, to be exact. Among the deadliest in the world. Back when I was a young’un, such venomous snakes were the symbol of villains. It was bad enough that my forefather was a notorious criminal mastermind. Add the Winston Curse into the mix, and I felt more disgusted about myself than ever before.”

  “Let me guess. James Pashowar offered to solve the problem with your signature on a dotted line.”

  “A Mark for a Mark. Right on the money. Sealing myself lifted a huge burden off my shoulders. But as I grew older, I learned that real life snakes were neither good nor evil. All bites against humans were either accidents or in self-defense. Never for fun or sport. I started to doubt my decision after that, questioning: what if I accepted that side of me and joined the Observers like I originally wanted? Would I have become like Lucas?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Huh? Me?” Lucas pointed to his own face. “But why did you think so?”

  “‘Cause the King Cobra mainly hunts other snakes, its own kind included. Think about it. What do we call criminals? ‘Snakes’, ‘Rats’, ‘Beasts’. They’ve lost their humanity, so to speak. And that’s what the cobra eats. As a Crimson Keeper, I would have been a big bad snake hunting other big bad snakes.”

  “I get it now. The best way to catch criminals is to have someone who understands how criminals operate.”

  “Exactly. Lots of wasted potential there, don’t you think?”

  “But Grandpa, being a PI is more or less the same. You’re still a big bad snake hunting other big bad snakes.”

  “Hah! Good one there. I suppose the call of my Mark was too strong to ignore, after all.” The old detective turned back to Mezil. “Well Mez, few powers out there scream ‘villain stereotype’ more than yours, yet… look at you today, fighting for world peace as Mister Hero.”

  Mezil cleared his throat. “Please save your praise. I would never dare to call myself a hero.”

  “You deserve it in my book. But I’ll never be able to persuade you of that, will I? Sometimes you really do sound like that Sans fellow.”

  Hearing that comparison caused Mezil to choke into a coughing fit.

  Patting Mezil’s back, Lucas said: “Grandpa! Don’t joke about stuff like that!”

  Edmund shook his head. “I’m not. I don’t mean the superficial stuff. It’s about the heart. He’s very much the same streak as us. Very Determined, just a little lost. I gave him one of my wife’s many crosses as a reminder to not stray into the darkness. Come to think of it, Mez collected quite a few of those himself.”

  “I wonder if he still has them?” Lucas mused out loud.

  Once Mezil’s throat was finally cleared, he slipped his hand into his vest’s inner pocket and took out what remained of a small necklace. The cross had already snapped into tiny pieces from the strain of the full-body magic he had used in the battle against Pawn.

  Edmund took the fragments to examine it up close. “That’s the newest one too. Looks like mass produced goods never last long with you. Hopefully the one I gave to that short skeleton will last longer than yours.”

  “We’ll see. Nonetheless, Sans Serif has incurred an incredible debt in more ways than one. I don’t intend to let him off the hook so easily, no matter how many pendants he’d inevitably break.”

  “Hahaha! That’s just like you! Glad to hear that. With you two working together, you’ll achieve great things.”

  “I have doubts about that.” Mezil stared sidelong. Plenty of clouded feelings still swirled in his heart.

  In the middle of his thoughts, he felt a firm, reassuring grip on his shoulder from Uncle Edmund. “Mez,” he said, “Jacob can deal with himself. He’s a grown man and you’re not responsible for his hang ups. As for Rose, I’d say it’s about time she faces reality. Will she bury her head in the sand or to live true to herself? That’s for her to decide. We’ve all been through this. You have. I have. Lucas has too.”

  Mezil didn’t reply. Whatever needed to be said was already done.

  “C’mon, why the long face? You’re fine as you are, Mez. Know that I’ve seen too much dirt from people who insist they’re virtuous when they’re not.” Tapping the back of the device, Edmund smirked and said, “Like my next target right here.”

  “…I suppose it would be rude of me to deny your kindness.” Mezil diverted the conversation away from personal matters and back to professional work. “The Magus Association will pay out a large sum for Madina Odin’s capture: a bonus for bringing her to justice.”

  “Pleasure’s mine.” Edmund gave back the memory stick. “Alright then, see ya later.”

  Lucas said, “Take care, Grandpa.” They then went and did the exact same routine they had done at the beginning.

  For Mezil, a simple handshake was more than enough.

  As the private investigator slipped outside to goodness knows where, Mezil sensed another presence come into the room. His eyes darted to the left, spotting Aiden of Aratet walking up to him with arms crossed, his strong presence reflecting the military mastery of the former true leader of the Gungir.

  Aiden asked: “How is the girl?”

  “She’s fine for now. I thank you for rescuing my niece.”

  Though subdued, the warrior tensed up in discomfort. “…Save your fancy words for later. My people are not out of danger yet. The young ones are growing anxious. They think your king’s offer of pardon was a trap.”

  Mezil replied, “I understand your concerns. Though His Majesty has his heart in the right place, I can’t give any certainty about those who surround him.”

  “That does not surprise me. Your current king has no real power.” Aiden’s brows furrowed harder. “But that spectacled goat is a different story. Prince Ralsei. I had witnessed his pathetic screaming, yet he remains popular. Impossible. He must be relying on the aura of divinity.”

  Mezil checked the polls with his phone. Indeed, as Aiden had described, the Lemurian’s popularity hovered around 45%. “Hmph. In the end, the Twin Princes chose to double down on their political tomfoolery. Imposters or not, they’re determined to take over the throne.”

  Lucas asked: “Should we let the election continue?”

  “Certainly. Otherwise, humanity will forever question why the Dreemurr Nation made zero attempts to adapt to the modern era of democracy.”

  Mezil’s phone started to ring, displaying Roger Eldin’s name. It had to be work related. This man wouldn’t call for friendly chitchat. He’d always been the type of person who’d rather hang out face-to-face, often appearing on short notice.

  “Is that the Commissioner?” asked Aiden. “Put it on speakers. …Please.”

  I recognize that awkward politeness from anywhere. Aiden is getting desperate. I suppose if I let Roger know in advance, no confidential details will leak out.

  And answer, Mezil did. Holding the phone to his ear, the Magus asked, “Hello?”

  “Hey Thymer.”

  “I’ll be putting you on speaker. Aiden of Aratet will be listening. For his sake, I request that you speak in a more standard language going forward.”

  “Alright. Alright. That works out for the both of us. I’m not in the mood to be colourful either. Let me know when you got it all set-up.”

  Mezil switched the mode with a tap. “It’s on.”

  “So… Clement got back to me with some bad news. His Majesty’s drones are being shot down. Somebody really doesn’t want those pardon letters being flown out. Makes the royal family look like a bunch of backstabbers y’know.”

  Mezil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well. I’ll send the remaining Barfellows your way as backup. If that’s not enough, I’ll add some Magi to the team.”

  Roger replied, “Hold your horses Thymer, I’m looking into the problem as we speak, so don’t worry your noggin off. Besides, we’re not even at the worst yet. The REAL bad news is that His Majesty is on his way to the funny loony monster town to do official business in person!”

  “Didn’t anyone try to stop him?”

  “Right before he rushed out, the king said that he won’t be outdone by Sir Royal Billy’s Peewee Ambassador. His Majesty became so inspired that not even the dowager could do anything. What do you say, Thymer? Think we need a bit of good ol’ rolling back the clock? I might still be able to dissuade him from this risky business.”

  The gears in the Supreme Judge’s mind thus turned…

  …If Roger is beating around the bush like this, he must have strong suspicions about the real perpetrator being that damn mayor. Saying too much at this point would jeopardise the case in the court of law.

  The mayor’s real goal is likely to damage my reputation as much as possible. At this rate, the Aratet won’t receive their pardon, and they’re likely to be arrested en masse. And I’ll become Gungnir’s most hated enemy once more.

  Thinking about it… In all the previous timelines, the King had never left the safety of his grounds, preferring non-intervention. Perhaps having the human crown appear in our midst could tilt proceedings in our favour.

  Play this card right and it’ll undo many long-term plans. However… I do acknowledge, it is quite a gambit.

  Mezil replied: “On the contrary, we may need His Majesty’s gracious presence to diffuse the sociopolitical tension.”

  “I hope you’re not pulling my leg there.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Jiminy crickets. Guess I gotta put my all into making sure His Majesty arrives there in one piece. Ending the call right now.”

  “Godspeed, Commissioner Eldin.”

  With that said, Mezil turned to Aiden. “I believe you understand what this development means. Though it’s too soon to tell, His Majesty’s presence could either be a boon or a bane to us. Is this acceptable, Aiden of Aratet?”

  The warrior closed his eyes for one quick, intense moment. “…I respect a king who’s willing to leave the safety of his palace and get his boots dirty. We will wait for him, patiently.”

  Aiden bowed his head before taking a few steps backwards into his previous corner.

  He’s wary, as he should be. I’m glad to see that he has his priorities straight. One should never become too comfortable around royalty.

  That’s one issue resolved. Now… for the next one.

  “Fennel, you may go back to your post. I need to go check on something else.”

  Lucas saluted. “Yes, sir!” He soon left to resume his duties.

  Meanwhile, Mezil made his way to Sans Serif’s last known location: Mettaton’s guest room.

  I need to deliver the news. At this rate, I don’t think we could reach the three-hour time limit before the political tomfoolery hits a boiling point.

  When Mezil arrived there, he saw Times Roman and Helvetica evacuating the room with armfuls of crying babies, gasping and coughing.

  Soon after, a thick red and black smog crawled along the floor, trailing the fleeing couple. From its colour, Mezil recognised the nature of this insidiousness right away.

  Miasma?! The contents of the corrupted Dreamworld are spilling over!

  The skeleton couple tried to repel the invasion in their own way. While still holding the infants, Roman kicked the door shut. Helvetica, on the other hand, dropped every spare towel she had and used her feet to stuff them into the lower gap beneath it.

  Alarmed, he approached the couple and asked, “Is anyone hurt?”

  The sheer volume of six crying infants made listening quite difficult. Before anyone could hear anything, they had to calm the babies down. However, there were too many little ones for two ordinary parents to manage.

  Mezil hesitated to offer to cradle any of them.

  …I don’t know how to rock infants to sleep. Perhaps soothing them with magic is a better option.

  He conjured a red butterfly and bolstered it with Cyan magic. Soothing patience calmed the children to the point where they stopped crying.

  Then at last, Roman could speak. “Judge Thyme!” His voice was hushed but urgent. “Thank the stars you’re here! Some weird thick black smog rolled out of Sans’ door. I thought there was a fire!”

  Helvetica added, “The stench was so foul! It reminded me of… of… a messy butcher? I knew that leaving an open hole in the universe for so long would be bad news!”

  “Once the babies started crying, we skedaddled out of there. A-a-are we poisoned?”

  A messy butcher… meaning, exposed blood, viscera, and body waste? Coming from the miasma? My air filters must be active. I’m not detecting anything odorous.

  Mezil instructed in a calm and collected manner: “Go to my wife for a checkup. The Six included. I’ll handle matters from here.”

  Roman grew uneasy. “Will anything dangerous crawl out?”

  Hearing her husband’s concerns, the lady skeleton fretted even more. “What if we’ve attracted some kind of Void-entity spirit??? It might have already possessed any of the babies while we’re unaware!”

  “Should we expect tentacles? Lots and lots of slimy tentacles from the abyss? Perhaps more eldritch entities yet unknown?”

  “What about malformed Amalgamates made from the fusion of alternate universe versions of themselves?”

  “Or abandoned soulless husks of some accursed project?”

  “Something or someone who breaks the fourth wall?”

  “The terrors are endless!”

  By the end of their wild imagination, the couple was rattling from skull to phalanges.

  “Your concerns are not unfounded,” said Mezil, “But the angelic nature of Sans Serif’s Mark should have prevented foreign entities from invading.”

  “A-angelic?” Roman couldn’t stop shaking. “W-w-won’t that upset the heavenly hosts instead??? What do the humans call them again, ‘biblically accurate angels’???”

  Helvetica became even more worried. “Is my son in trouble? If what you say is true, his symbol should have kept the bad stuff away. And yet, it’s spilling out into the real world as we speak.”

  The madam is sharp enough to notice the problem. It appears that Sans Serif’s sense of discernment came from his mother. On the other hand, Papyrus’ vivid imagination came from his father.

  Mezil said, “All the more reason why I alone must enter. You should run ahead. As you’ve mentioned, these fumes may be toxic.”

  “What about you?” asked Roman.

  “I have my ways. Now, go.”

  As the skeleton couple vacated the area, Mezil heard a little more of their chatter.

  “Wowie, this day sure is filled with running for our lives. I’d like that to stop, thank you very much.”

  “Dear, more moving, less talking!”

  That kind of open bantering… it’s proof of a strong marriage. It makes me smile in the inside, ever more motivated to protect.

  Sans and Papyrus deserve such parents in their lives.

  But first…

  Mezil phoned Lucas.

  “Keeper Fennel speaking.”

  “The Dreamworld mission is compromised. Mobilise reinforcements ASAP. I’ll be going ahead to stop the containment breach in its tracks. Ending call.”

  “Yes sir, right away.”

  Before the call closed, the miasma had already begun to seep through the towels. The defiant will of its originator grew ever stronger, taunting the Supreme Judge.

  …Hmph. Is this what remains of Pawn’s will? It matters not! I will deny you right here and now!

  The Supreme Judge’s Psychia shone beneath his chest. The sheer power of his Determination smothered any nearby pollutant into non-existence.

  Mezil stepped over the towels to open the door. By now, the room had been filled to the brim with a thick opaqueness. Still, every step he took squashed and dispelled the baneful haze.

  Once the room cleared, he found the Seraph’s Mark glowing faintly on the closed cupboard.

  There were two obvious problems:

  First, cracks had spread across the angel motif, clinging on to existence despite its dwindling integrity.

  Second, the door was not an open, grey door as Sans Serif had described. It was closed, and very much resembled the original furniture instead.

  Frisk is in more trouble than I expected. And yet, no SAVES have been loaded.

  For the situation to deteriorate this much, I must assume they’re unable to act upon the Keys of Fate. Unconsciousness is a high possibility. Communications are most likely offline as well. A dire situation indeed.

  Mezil slammed his hand on the closet.

  “I impose my will to take Sans Serif’s place!”

  A radiating butterfly thus replaced the crumbling symbol. And immediately, a proper Spirit Gate spawned in its stead.

  That should lead straight to Doctor Gaster’s Hub, as we had agreed upon.

  I should go inside and get to the root of the problem. I cannot make a major decision until I know what caused the failure.

  However, before he could step inside the cupboard, someone else barged through the door.

  “WAIT!!!”

  Rosemary?

  Looking back, it was indeed his niece Rosemary. She huffed and puffed from what Mezil guessed was a sprint down the corridors. “Ugh, why does this place REEK???”

  Out of everyone in the building, Mezil didn’t expect her of all people to chase after him.

  “Rose… Why are you here?”

  The girl took a deep breath and yelled: “Did you really fucking expect me to give an answer when I don’t know SHIT??? Tell me what in the bloody hell is going on here and let me make a goddamn difference for once!”

  Her potty mouth tantrum made the Magus raise an eyebrow. Her behaviour was exactly like his sister’s. Truly, Rosemary was her mother’s daughter.

  The Magus said, “You’re not wrong. Yet, this is not your battle. Please wait for my return.”

  “NO! You said it yourself. No matter what decision I make, it’s going to be BAD. So, I can’t make any, EVER, unless YOU make it for me! And that’s unfair! Un! Fair!!! SERIOUSLY, if my accursed luck is going to be shit forever, I might as well find out WHY!”

  At that point, Rosemary clutched her chest in pain, falling to her knees. She coughed and wheezed for air as her Psychia started to shine beneath her skin in a mixture of blue, yellow, and a hint of red.

  Rosemary is reacting to the miasma.

  Alarmed at the girl’s rapidly deteriorating condition, Mezil rushed over to his niece and placed his hand on her chest.

  I impose my will to act as an intermediary. Let my Mark regulate her lifeforce and her magic.

  The red butterfly bloomed yet again. Rosemary’s face relaxed along with her breathing as the Mark provided much needed relief.

  Jacob arrived, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. “Rose! Rose, are you alright??? Why’d you run off like that!”

  Mezil stepped back to let the father take care of his own daughter. His relationship with Jacob had yet to heal, so being near to Rosemary may stir yet another potential misunderstanding.

  But then, Mezil noticed a peculiarity. Despite being Rosemary’s father and a confirmed Red Minor… Jacob showed no reaction to the miasma’s residue at all.

  Hold on a moment. Only Rosemary is showing negative effects. Jacob is fine. The skeleton couple was fine. And, as far as I know, The Six were fine as well. Is it because Rosemary has become an Asura Sakti? Her Psychia is rather unstable at the moment. But, that’s not quite right. Cenna was not affected in any of Sans Serif’s reports.

  …Is it once again the Winston line that’s being targeted? As evident by his spiritual incendiaries, Pawn knew too much of our history.

  I have a bad feeling about this. What will happen if I try to use the Keys of Fate?

  The Supreme Judge closed his eyes, calling out to turn the cosmos…

  …Yet what returned to him was only eerie silence.

  The Keys are in flux. Yet, it should be impossible for an unknown to appear out of nowhere, rivaling Frisk, Lucas, myself, and everyone else combined. Could it be… that The Celestial Calamity was merely suspended and not terminated?

  Termination of the ritual is said to require the complete destruction of the caster. However, Pawn’s inner world was separated from its owner prior to its materialization. With the zenith of the Crimson Sun and Bloodstained Moon prevented, this might have caused a paradox that can’t be resolved through conventional means.

  Mezil glared at the entrance to The Void. Every factor, every piece of the puzzle, every contingency had to be viewed in a different light…

  Frisk is in the prison complex. Queen Toriel is also there. Sans Serif… I’m starting to understand how you’re trying to tackle this ‘unfinished business’, and I don’t like it. Not one single bit.

  You better get everyone back in one piece. Yourself included.