UNDER♡TALE volume 1 (under hiatus)

The Catacombs

   Hand in hand, monster and human make their way around the chard looking tree to enter an opening to a fissure of cobble stone just ahead in the cavern wall.

The sound of calmly flowing water welcomes the two beneath a perfectly leveled bridge leading them into a new room. No longer in the narrow space, Frisk's vision is absorbed to the new setting as a gust of open air greats her;  Vines clung to cracks between the stone-brick walls, snaking like garland onto empty torch holders, and coiling around white polished pillars of marble supporting the ceiling from caving in with tints of glowing stones. Gold was a forgotten profitable use over the years replaced by copper and silver, as well as the modern term known as credits contained in digital plastic chips _ Hard to believe it was so when seeing it with her own eyes, but one could not be too sure. She tugs onto the goat-lioness' sleeve. "Um..."

    "Hmm?" Stopping in her tacks, Toriel looks down to the human girl holding her meaty paw-like hand. "What is it, Dear?"

    Frisk points up at the ceiling "Is that gold?" She watches Toriel gaze up at the source of curiosity before beaming down at her. A spark of excitement grows inside Frisk's chest as Toriel's expression brought an upcoming surprise waiting to be shared.

   "Before your arrival, those embedded ores were actually silver.
"You must be very special. I have no recollection of this ever occurring with the others." Leading her human friend through a hall.

Frisk's free hand presses the finger tips against her right temple in hopes of their coldness would reassure a growing migraine. "Others?" Observing Toriel for what felt to be forever in silence, Frisk scolds herself, again, and stays quiet after that.

They stroll on ward where the hall turns in a left curve. On the far right wall situates two of eight white pillars windowing a pedestal displaying an angelic statue, each molded in clay dyed to a single color, dressed in drapes resembling the attire from ancient Sereegen times. They possess items signifying a career. A red farmer holding a sickle in their left hand with a bag of what must be seeds strapped from their right shoulder, and clutching a bundle of wheat in their left hand. A yellow archer aims their bow skyward, an arrow at the ready to take flight. A green Sereegen Gladiator with a shield ready to penetrate any blow from an opposing threat. A blue sculptor has their right hand raised to position a chisel to be given repetitive taps from the small hammer in their left hand as if to sculpt an unseen work of art in the air. And a violet-color musician holds a small harp close to its abdomen in one hand while its other caresses the back of their fingers to strum the stringed instrument. Those other humans are not here anymore. 'What would I like my grave stone to be?' A thought of self exploration was left for another time and place.

   A stone plaque is found bolted to the far right wall of the pillars. Frisk studies the inscription:
Only the fearless may proceed.
Brave ones, foolish ones.
Both walk not the middle road.

'Brave ones, foolish ones.' A weight in her chest became known, taken aback by this description. Such philosophical wisdom mixed with a place of fantasy should be found in religious texts.

   The long silence cease the moment Toriel spoke again. Frisk thought she had become a nuisance and not to be given any response. The voice from the motherly monster brought her uplifting relief. "Allow me to educate you in the operations of The Ruins."

Releasing her companion's hand, Toriel makes for the loose tiles stuck out from the floor before the the statues' pedestal. Holding up her gown to see her white, beastly fluffy feet, Toriel steps on to each tile in a specific order; the Farmer's, the Sculptor's, the Gladiator's_"The Ruins are full of puzzles," she states, informative like a tour guide. "Ancient fusions between diversion and door-keys"_ She steps on the last plate in front of the Archer before hearing the sound of metallic latches clang to life and repetitive clinking of chains afterward resounding from the linear hall behind her human friend just after the curving threshold.