Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her name was Amy.

They knew because that’s what Hope called her. 

“Amy! Is that you?”

“You hanging in there, Amy?”

“How’re you feeling, Amy?”

Amy.

Her movements could have been frantic, had she not an eternal amount of grace in them. Her jumps over obstacles came with a practiced flip, and her dash across the land left pink sparkles in the wake of her turning cards. Sometimes, her hold slipped on them, and they could tell she wasn’t all that used to using them this way, but she just readjusted and powered on through, the few of them that had chosen to follow, still clinging to her digital trail, patient as she trecked her way through the hills.

It took her much longer than it did Hope. Just now they realized how fast he was, because while he could trek the whole island in a day with some time to spare, she took a day to just get through half the land. That was fine. It was vast space, and she’d set out late evening from where the Hermit waited, taking so many breaks to pick up the many of them she saw on her way. Truly, her concern was in keeping them safe, because it shone in her eyes and lit up her face.

She was a kind soul. That much was evident. Not just to them, but to her friends, to everyone that so much as casted a smile her way. She was… she was a gem. Attitude, love like hers was a rarity. Unconditional and equally handed to everyone she saw. She had been mingling with them the longest now, and time and time again she had made her concern for Hope clear. But she’d also made it clear she had an unwavering faith in Hope, in his actions, in his success.

“He’s defied all odds, before.” She explained, eyes dreamy, smile fond. “Not even faith has a claim to him. Now will be no different. I trust him.”

So, she kept on. Because if her faith in him was unwavering, then she would do everything in her power to follow his request. Find the emeralds. Keep them safe. Perhaps, she didn’t have the wild and untamed penchant for adventure Hope had, but her love was more than enough of a driving force.

And now she was here. Her cards rolled up back into her stack, and she took them in her hand, the shapes disappearing in a flash of Cyber Energy. She stood there, panting but with a smile on her face, staring at the Chaos Emerald glowing gold in its holding cell.

“Finally.” She breathed.

And then they appeared. They chimed behind her, cheers and congratulations to her work, and Amy turned, her eyes wide, her smile genuine. Their encouragement reached her ears, and immediately that surprise melted to adoration, as she strolled forwards, movements elegant as she lowered herself to her knees, smiling at them, caressing their heads.

You’ve got this!

“ We’ve got this.” She corrected, laughter coloring her words. She smiled at them, and they smiled back, because even with death hovering above her she found a way to smile, just like Hope, but somehow so light and airy it left room for that doubt that seemed alright.

“You’ll see.” She assured again. “Sonic’s got this. He’s the bravest, fastest, kindest person you’ll ever meet. The End doesn’t stand a chance.”

And they wanted to believe. They wanted to believe so badly that their Hope could . That history wouldn’t repeat itself, that no more blood would be shed. That day and night would keep rolling on, gentle caress over the landscape as they dragged the stars and their magic along, as flowers bloomed and withered and died and made room for a whole new cycle of life. They wanted to believe that days weren’t numbered, that eternity would reign, that they could go back to islands of silence but of a peaceful kind, strong in relief.

They wanted to hope.

And yet, they couldn’t do it as faithfully as she did.

How?

“What?” She blinked, smiled patiently.

How do you know? How can you be so sure? Hopes and dreams aren’t facts. You speak them as if they are.

“Oh.” Amy hummed. She settled back, sat down. The wind combed through the grass about her gently. “Well, it’s Sonic. It’s harder to believe he won’t make it than believing he will.”

You admire him.

“I do.” She confessed. There was something soft about her gaze, her smile, eyes on the ground, mind distant. Thoughtful and yet still serene. “I love him.”

They felt the flutter of the feeling. Even as lost in CyberSpace as Amy was–just like all her friends, in the farthest reaches of their constructs–it slipped into their midst, a complete adoration for someone held dear.

“I love him.” She repeated. “I used to think I did. When I first met him. I believe in love at first sight, you know?”

She sighed, closed her eyes, and shook her head. “I wound up driving him away. I thought he hated me.”

“And then…” She looked at them. But not really at them. Her gaze was haunted, distant. “Then the war happened. He… he was gone for six months. We all thought he was dead.”

They knew what she spoke of. They shuttered. Chimed in concern. Because Hope’s file bore so many scars, from so many weeks, locked away, cast aside. They worried. They figured his friends must’ve been worrying too.

“And I–” She chuckled. Blinked, and there were tears in her lashes, blooming in her eyes. “I had to move on. Everyone needed me. I– I couldn’t dwell on the fact he’d never loved me back. It was easy. Surprisingly so. And I realized… maybe, I hadn’t ever loved him at all.”

“I thought I did. But thinking and actually doing are two very different things. It was more the idea of romance that I loved. Fantasies. Thinking about it, I don’t think I would’ve cared much if it had been Sonic, who I wound up doing all those cheesy couple things with. But now…”

A soft sigh. She sniffled, wiped at her eyes. The wind combed her quills, whisking away her tears. “When he came back, I didn’t get to talk with him much, at first. It was the last effort to push back the war. And after that, I was officially manning the Restoration. We talked some. Checked in with each other. I didn’t have the time to fawn over him like I used to. And… And I got to know him. Differently. He wasn’t running away from me. He was listening. He was… I was. I was a person to him for once. I was nice. He returned it tenfold. And I…

“I fell in love.”

She looked down at all of them. Her smile was soft, streaked in tears. The fondness in her eyes sparkled like crystals. “With him. Not with romance. Not with the idea of an altar and him in a suit and me in a pretty white dress. Just… with him. With who he is. He’s kind and dedicated and loyal and inspiring. He doesn’t let the world tell him what to do, how to be, when it matters. He’s not as loud and obnoxious as I guess we all make him out to be. A lot of the time, he’s just doing everything for us. He’s…”

A dreamy sigh. “I love him. He’s the reason I understand what love is, now. The reason I love this world, because he’s shown me there’s so much within it worth loving. There’s so much within it worth saving. All the little things. The little smiles. The little quirks. Ocean spray. Grass-combed breeze. The smell of cotton candy in the air. Painted clouds. Golden sands. It’s all beautiful. I’ve learned that from him.”

They watched, patiently. She slipped into silence, absentmindedly ran her hand over their heads, watched the stars as they bathed the landscape with their silver ribbons, shimmering lights. She closed her eyes, leaned into the breeze, took a deep breath and they could tell she was feeling the world she so much adored, all the little things she spoke off, as much as she could through her dimensional-detachment.

“I don’t know if he’ll ever love me back.” She confessed. She didn’t sound disappointed. “It’s… not like him. I think, if he was to ever love like that, he’d do all manner of foolish things and lose himself in the process. It's just… him. It’s how he is. He’s loyal to a fault. He loves Tails like his little brother and I’m sure he’s willing to give both of his legs, heart and soul for him at the drop of a hat. I don’t know what I’d do with it, if he gave me all that love and more. I think it’s fine. Because he already gives so much of that love to the world.”

And she turned to them. Her eyes were determined, then, with a love capable of lighting stars, burning embers, saving lives. A dedication to all things, purposeful and useless and pretty and ugly and life and death. 

“And I want to share that love. I want to share my love like he’s shared his. I want to show everyone that love is more than pretty roses and boxes of chocolates. That love is admiration and passion and all the pretty things and all the hurtful things and the world doesn’t always come wrapped in a neat little bow but it sparkles gold regardless. I want to show them. Because it’s beautiful. Because in the end, it makes me smile. It makes me see how much life is worth. Sonic’s shown me that.

It’s my turn to show everyone else.”

She stood up. They chimed at her, agreement and encouragement and a swell of pride at such a masterful sentiment, a concept fit for a philosophy. She smiled at them, held them in her eyes with all that love, and then gazed at the glowing emerald before her, regarding it like a jewel, suspended in the night sky.

“How about this:” Amy said, suddenly. She called for her cards, and spread them before them like a fan, her smile waning to a soft little genuine thing. “One last read. For good luck.”

They eagerly chirped. They bounded forwards, debated for a second, and pulled out a card, a thing adorned in a wide green eye and surrounded in dark smoke.

She held it afloat, her lips pursed in apprehension. “The Darkness.”

They paused, but then reached for the second card, because she’d just shown them to believe. In the impossible. In all things possible. The next card she hovered left her staring, because it was a chain of gold and silver, encrusted in jewels.

“The Lineage.”

Not exactly good. But not bad, either, so they eagerly reached for the last one, which she flicked up on command, a shape blazing gold surrounded by the glow of seven comforting colors.

“The Victor.” Her eyes stared thoughtfully at the cards for a second, as she dismissed the rest of the deck. Her words came out as nothing but a thoughtful whisper. “ ‘The heir of darkness triumphs?’ No that…”

Her tone edged into despair, almost unnoticeable, but then she looked up, and her eyes were suddenly captivated by the clear night sky. They looked up as well, and perhaps they could have sworn in that moment, they saw the desolate path in space their ships had once trekked, all through stars and galaxies, all the way back to the ruins of their once home.

But Amy saw something else. “Oh! Saturn is in the Chaos Sector. Silly me. It would be The Saviour then, not The Victor.”

“ ‘The hero offers salvation from the lineage of darkness.’ ” She recited as her final verdict, her tone absolute. Perhaps her first reading had spooked her, but if it had, it didn’t show. “Or maybe just the hero saves us from darkness, and chains are involved somehow.”

They offered a few reassuring chirps, but she continued, as if to make sure there was no room for argument. “Don’t worry, the first thing was my fault. Sonic’s got it, you’ll see!”

So they smiled for her, because her faith was unwavering, even when her cards tried to trip her up. Because really, how much of the card reading was actually based on facts? They doubted much. It was like their own superstitious beliefs, which had been admittedly phased out into nothing but entertainment over the years. They hadn’t yet developed technology capable of predicting the future at the time of their demise.

So they’d take the sentiment.

She got up then. Satisfied she’d reassured them, she turned to the Chaos Emerald with a melting smile. She strode towards it with big steps that turned smaller and smaller until she approached, but they didn’t quite get to fully stop because all of a sudden, she cried, flinching and curling inwards as red smoke-corruption crept its way up her hands.

“Agh! This–” Her voice caught in her throat. They’d seen the whispers of cyber-corruption about her, eliciting small winces, but she’d never once complained. Evidently, this was worse. “This is what Sonic was suffering from .”

The pain in her voice was a mix of feelings that made them throb in sympathy. For her, for her plight, and for the concern for the boy she loved so much, which she prioritized somehow over her own.

And then her grass green eyes turned their way, and the guilt in them was like their deaths all over again.

“Handling you is affecting me the same way.” She lamented.

They chirped at her in worry, but she turned her eyes back to the Emerald, forced herself to stand tall, an action that immediately buckled but didn’t lose its resolve.

“Well, too bad!” She cried, to the Emerald, to the stars and the menace in their midst, defiance and anger her fuel. “They need me! I won’t give up!”

And she believed it could be done, so the least they could do was return the sentiment. Believe that it would be alright, that together with Hope, they would pull through, and a Miracle would come about.

Amy had read their fortune, after all.

Chapter Text

His name was Knuckles.

They knew because that’s what he called himself. But that wasn’t really what he called himself. His name was a source of pride, but his name came with his title.

“My name is Knuckles.”

He’d stated.

“I am the last echidna.”

He’d lamented.

“I am the last Guardian.”

He’d boasted.

He had great sense in his duty, they could tell. He didn’t really heed them much attention. He gathered a few of them, but didn’t turn to give them to their Elder, because that was “Amy’s job. I have my own duty to fulfill”. He didn’t care much for fancy, but he also didn’t lack prowess in his movements, every strike, every punch, every glide and spike into a wall an action to its max potential, raw instinct and dedicated training driving a maximized attempt. 

He reminded them of their warriors, once upon a time. Tough and cut rough like a diamond, with the same tall stance of knowing what danger was and knowing all the steps in its dance. His attacks were a practiced technique. Where Hope just let the music carry him in its sway, the tide of the battle dictate his retaliation, and Amy swung as hard as she could for anywhere she could reach, Knuckles knew the steps. He’d rehearsed the dance, all the way throughout the night, knew what movement fit with each, knew to step forwards if the enemy fell back, knew to slide away if an attack rushed close by. He was a warrior by blood, faith, and trade. His title told them enough.

“Guardian”.

Like they had theirs. But they were beings made of metal and wire, crafted to perform to their expectations because to train someone to that level of skill would take much too long. Knuckles was young. Older than Hope, but still young. Just of age according to him and his culture, actually. And yet he went toe to toe with their Guardians, and knew just how they would fall. He honored them with a fight but wasted no time, knocked them down before long, and contemplated them long and hard. He’d turn to look at them, and then at their Guardians, and would cross his arms as if shielding his chest and bow. And they’d ask, of course, what it meant. What the sentiment was for, if what was falling were creatures of metal and steel and scrap and beams, that would come back upon the next starfall.

“It is a sign of respect for fallen Guardians.” He’d explained to them, trekking his steady way to his next target. “Perhaps they may not be organic, but they have taken on this duty with their lives. It is admirable that throughout millenia they continue to uphold it. It is what every Guardian should strive for.”

So they knew he was Guardian. They knew he was what they had never had the patience to achieve with a mortal, and he was far better than their own Guardians, through sheer tactic, practice, and strength alone. He was impressive, and he held himself high because he knew it.

They just didn’t know what he was Guarding.

Well. Perhaps they knew. Perhaps they had heard snippets of it floating around, a mention in a conversation or other. Of an Emerald. Not the Chaos Emeralds, but another Emerald, one they remembered so clearly, so serene. An Emerald that spoke , but only to a few of them, only to a random few. Of an Emerald that made the others dance, that had them bend at their whims unlike anything they had ever seen from eons of studying the mystical rocks.

Of a Master Emerald.

And if he was the Guardian of the Emerald, they couldn’t help the pride that flooded them. At the notion, that somehow, someway, the Emerald had been kept safe. That the group that had set out to protect it had succeeded, and had left it in the hands of someone so incredibly capable. They knew it hadn’t been Knuckles, but whoever it had been had passed it down the line, down, down, down, to such a prodigious child.

They were proud.

They told him as such.

He huffed. He’d landed now, before the Emerald shining cyan, and had stood with the sunrise streaking his fur gold for a few seconds. Long enough for them to appear, long enough for them to watch him stand there with his arms crossed and his chest puffed out and his stance stoic as if waiting for the world to go on before him.

“I trained my whole life.” He offered, his eyes still locked on the shining sea. They all stood beside him, trying to see if they could find what had him so captivated. 

“It is my duty.”

Why? They asked. Because they wanted to know. What had become of their Emerald, what had become of the few of them who left for somewhere else. For that last island, to find refuge, to live on if misery befell them too.

He chuckled. His stance did not waver. Like a practiced craft, he remained still as a statue. “I am the last Guardian. My tribe spent generations Guarding the Master Emerald, keeping it free from the hands of greed.” He paused. The smile fell to a frown. “Except that corruption sprouted amongst our ranks, and as punishment, our numbers were wiped out beyond recovery. Total extinction was a long time coming. It is the price we had to pay. And as the last Echidna remaining, it is also my duty to uphold the tradition that started it all with my life.”

So he was no stranger to death at all. Not unlike them, a familiar ache in knowing what a once thriving populace leaving behind nothing but their homes and shadows felt like. Except that they had each other in their eternal stay.

He had no one.

Which begged the question: Who trained you, then? If you’re alone?

“I do things on my own.” He supplied, voice stoic. “I studied the arts of my ancestors, learned their practices through patience, sweat, and blood. I am a hardened warrior, and I’ve resolved to be one until my very death.”

They stared. Chimed in concern at him. He didn’t move, that thoughtful frown still there, as the oranges and red of sunrise started to bleed away to bright blue skies and a pearl white sun. Their chimes faded to silence, because no amount of bugging seemed to phase him, and they all resolved that perhaps, he’d like the silence better.

“But.”

They looked over. There was a sad smile on his face.

“Sometimes, my ancestors would visit. On the whim of the Master Emerald.” His voice sounded wistful, and his eyes were on sweet times long passed. “They would tell me stories of our tribes. Would remind me of my duty, if I was ever to doubt. They would keep me company, they’d raise me as if I was their own.”

He sighed.

“Not anymore, before you ask.” He finally looked away. Locked his gaze on the red tile beneath them. “That was my upbringing, to ensure I could fulfill my duty. Once I was ready, the visits ceased. Because the Master Emerald knows I can do it alone. The duty of a Guardian is a lonely one. Arono. But it is the way it is meant to be.”

They stared. Stared and considered the lonely tale of a bound soul, with a duty to the world before himself. As firm and grim as a statue. Considered the agony of standing as the last one who could protect such an important relic and…

But what of your friends?

He blinked. “What?”

Why can’t they guard it with you? They prompted. We know you speak of tradition, of years of training, of a tragedy befallen upon customs broken, but what keeps them from helping them guard it with you?

He stared. Dumbfounded. “I am… It is because… I am the last Echidna. It was our duty. It would be… wrong to ask it of any other mobian.”

Forgive us, but the Emerald wasn’t always of your kind. It is what drew us to this world, what gave us our chance at a final stance. They managed. Watched his eyes narrow. Once upon a time, it wasn’t even ours. It was the land’s. But we did what we could, to defend it. And your kind certainly did its best as well. But you’re the last, and certainly you’re not immortal. What happens when you are gone? Who guards on? If you are on your own, who will learn what songs your tribe left as they moved on?

“I…” His expression tightened. He looked away. “The duty is a lonely one. It is tradition! I… I am just following the footsteps of those before me. Honoring their deaths.”

Perhaps . They mussed. And eyes cast towards the ocean, a thought came to them. But it was a duty forged by more than one. More than one person created the traditions. A collection of people saw them born. Perhaps the Guardian stood lonely in their role, but never in their tribe.

“I…”

Don’t you think, then, traditions demand you have a tribe of your own?

“I never…” His voice caught in his throat. His grip on his arms tightened, by a smidge, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He stood in tense silence of his own making for a few minutes longer, his eyes not on the horizon but lost in his own thoughts, Emerald humming behind them as they contemplated him a little while longer.

And then, a chuckle. A small noise, a little drop that grew into a drip that grew into a stream and the pour and then he was laughing , a thing full of bitterness and relief, of mirth and pain. He doubled over, hands limp at his sides and the clutching at his midsection, drawing in a breath and then another and drowning the laughter beneath a smile, pained but thankful.

“I never entertained such a thought.” He eventually managed, gazing down at them, his attention for once solely theirs. “Perhaps, I have clung to tradition so desperately, in an attempt to be closer to a tribe that…” His voice, wistful, and he gazed out upon the island, as if he could see his friends traverse it from his perch, so high up in the sky. “That I failed to notice I was pulling away from mine.”

Relief. Relief as if he’d been debating this with himself for decades now. They chimed up at him in encouragement. He smiled down at them in gratefulness, before drawing himself to his full height once again, standing proud.

“That will need amending.” He declared, before turning around and finally, finally facing the Emerald, nodding at its glow. “But first. This thing needs to get taught a lesson. No one messes with this world, with my friends, my tribe, and gets away with it.”

And so, threatening, with the strength of all their Guardians combined, he turned towards the Emerald, and marched with purpose in his gait.

But then he stumbled. Barely caught himself with his fist.

Violent-violet-red flared .

He panted. Gasped for breath. They all scrambled about him as he lifted his hand, examined the cloud of energy fogging about him with pain in his gaze. Stared at it, as if it was a particularly interesting fold in his glove, and then, and then , another round of laughter cut through the now morning sky, his eyes pulled wide.

He straightened up. His cackles agonized and strained. He tipped backwards, fell on the tiles, on his back, and they all chimed in concern.

And then he slammed a fist on the crimson ground.

“Oh no you do not .” He hissed, his anger directed at anything that could receive it. His eyes wouldn’t focus, but his glare remained fierce. “Sonic handled four islands of this mess.”

His voice dropped to a determined growl. “I am not going down with just one. ”

And then, sparing a glance at them, the Guardian turned his glare up to the sky, and pushed himself up to his elbows. Swung a fist, as if aiming to slay the clouds up high.

“You hear that?!” He roared. His voice echoed across the blue. “This isn’t over until I WIN! ”

Silence. He lowered himself back to the ground and gasped for breath.

But they knew he wasn’t done yet.

Because Knuckles wouldn’t give up without a fight.

Chapter Text

His name was Tails.

Except that wasn’t really his name. He told them. “Miles Prower” He’d introduced himself, before shrugging nonchalantly. “But everyone calls me Tails. It fits, don’t you think?”

He was small. Younger than Hope by a handful of years’ margin or so. Evidently, with a birth defect according to the data they now had on their species. But was it really a defect, when it was an advantage to survival? They knew evolutionary theory. That wasn’t a defect: That was a preferable trait, a gift of Chaos to aid one in life.

And this kid? Oh he knew that much. He knew that, and much much more. He was brilliant . He was, in all honesty, on par with some of their greatest engineers. Held back by resources and the knowledge of his species, but with the capability to build something as grand as their own constructs and then take it all the way far beyond.

His observations on their technology? On point. He kept detailed notes, from what they could tell. He asked them questions, and they answered everything they could, because sometimes, sometimes he’d ask theoretical scenarios, and they wouldn’t have a fixed answer. And then, then they’d spend the whole trip to his next destination discussing the scenario. Discussing their ships, and their functionality after eons underwater. Discussing their stations, their radios, their satellites and how they’ve remained unnoticed despite extensive space exploration. How they’ve remained functional. Could they still send messages to deep space? Was that a capability? If not, would there be a way to optimize them to do so?

A brilliant kid.

Such a shame, then, that he couldn’t see what he’d already long achieved.

“I want to make Sonic proud.” So often off his lips. Like it was half his vocabulary. His excuse for everything. His claim as to why . Why bother at all. Make Hope proud. Make Hope proud, he’d say, struggling to climb his way up the obstacles littering the land in his mind’s eye. “Make Sonic proud” He’d say, hurrying to fix his blaster because after the last shot it’d been a bit faulty. “Make Sonic proud .” He’d growl when he’d fallen, again and again, trying to get to the terminal.

“ Make Sonic proud. ”

Was it all he could really think about?

His job, in their desperate dash to acquire the Emeralds, was passing their firewalls and deactivating the protection on the Emerald Vaults. They regretted moving the Emeralds from their regular vaults now. They could only move them into higher protection due to an emergency procedure: As they were now, they had no way to move them back out. To make it easier to retrieve. They had– Believed that with Hope gone, no one would be able to use the Emeralds aside from The End, and they had not wanted that to happen. 

It clicked then, with a jolt, that if Hope had not had his friends, he would have been unable to retrieve the Emeralds, and they would have stood no chance.

“Here we are.”

They appeared besides Tails as soon as his feet were firmly on the ground. The night was deep, and dark, clouds covering the stars but not yielding rain. The yellow platform they stood upon was dark, its color discernible only through moonlight, and standing in its center, the gray emerald shone like a beacon of the night. A breeze slid by them all, and they watched Tails shiver, but he didn’t bother wasting time. He was already darting forwards, already retrieving his tablet, syncing up with CyberSpace to bypass one more firewall.

“This should be the last one.” He called. His namesakes twisted around each other as he typed away furiously, the robotic Koco standing guard nothing but patient. “Sonic will be so proud of me.”

There it was. Again. Always spinning and spiraling back to Hope. They knew, by now, that Hope had taken Tails under his wing. A little cub, frustrated by the cruel world that met him and yet still with a bright outlook on life. Barely a toddler, and Hope had essentially raised him, done his best to nurture him, despite Hope himself being not much older at all. Tails spoke fondly of him, for doing that. He was smart. He could recognize that Hope had been in no position to care for someone else, and yet he’d done it, and so he was grateful as well. But the way he spoke, that gratefulness sometimes sounded borderline obsessive, tinged with fear and shame around the edges, as if doing anything less than perfection would put all of Hope’s sacrifices to waste.

They wondered why. Why so lost in something so endless when he’d found his way everywhere else in life.

So, when Tails stepped back, firewalls bypassed, Emerald ready for the taking, smile bright, they asked.

Why so desperate?

Tails blanked. Stopped. Stared at them oddly. Despite being so smart, he couldn’t do much with such a vague question and next to no context. “Desperate?”

So of course, they elaborated. To appease.

“To appease..?” His eyes drifted off of them, understanding dawning. Always so fast to be clever. In that speed, he took after Hope. “To make Sonic proud?”
Yes, that. That’s what worried them, at the moment.

And seemingly, it seemed it hadn’t been a pressing issue to Tails. “Uh, why wouldn’t I want to make him proud?”

That is alright . It really was. Familiar bonds, accomplishments driven by love, that was some of the strongest drive one could ever wield. Tails could strike to make Hope–his brother, was it? If not by blood then by everything else–proud. It was just… But you are desperate. Why?

“I–” And Tails knew why, they realized at that moment. Of course he knew why. He was smart. He didn’t let issues like this boil in the background unguarded. He’d noticed his own behavior, surely. Was aware of it, thought about it, wasted nights mulling over ideas and answers and questions because that was just what smart people did. Everything had an answer, if given enough thought. His behavior had an explanation and when thinking it over, there was no one better to know it but him.

“Look, I…” He sighed. His namesakes swished at the ground. He stared down at his tablet but the lack of light coming off of it indicated it was powered off. “A while back… there was a war. And I was there, right there when it started. I saw it start. I saw Sonic fall. ” A tremble in his voice. Fear, tears more in sounds than in presence. “It was his fall that started it all. I didn’t– I didn’t realize it at the time. None of us did. But– Sonic– Sonic had saved me. When I was little. And then again and again. He saved me and he kept me safe and pulled me out of tight spots. He always had my back. He didn’t say it. But I knew and he knew that I also had his. That I’d return the favor, if it came down to it. And yet–” His breath shuddered. He looked up, and a solemn breeze flitted by, and the clouds above gave the weakest of shudders, shedding a few liquid crystals down to the land. “When it did come down to it I– I froze. I ran. I left him for dead. For a second, I– I gave up on him, and… and that was all it took. All of it. Eggman took him. Declared him dead. And we all believed him . And then war reigned upon us, and instead of standing up, to try and fill Sonic’s spot, I– I threw in my towel. If Sonic was dead then no one could save us. I wasn’t thinking rationally. I don’t know what I was doing. I– I fumbled, big time.” His hands shook. Water drops upon his tablet mixed with salty crystal tears, and he huffed a small laugh. “And I think the worst part is… Sonic wasn’t even mad when we rescued him. He was just so worried. About me, about us. He came in and ended the war if only so he would have the time to check in with all of us. But I–”

Silence. The clouds rumbled ahead, but the flash of lightning was distant, so Tails only slightly flinched. They all crowded around him, cooed up in concern and encouragement, because they could see the words he’d just spilled were more akin to weights on his chest. Thoughts swirling about inside, around and around, analyzed to every extreme, gaining weight with every day that passed in which he realized they held some truth, and the truth they held wasn’t really a pretty thing. The rain drizzled down more akin to gentle whispers, and the wind carried some of the weight away on its drafts, now that Tails had finally let it out for someone else to take it.

And finally, Tails sighed.

“I think we still broke his trust.” Voice so quiet. “He won’t ever admit it. But I– I think he thought–we all did–that if something ever happened to him, we would step up and… keep the torch burning, I guess. And… we didn’t. Everything crashed and burned the moment he was gone. Back before the war, he’d started to take it slow. He’d… he’d been considering life and just living it a little more, I could tell. Slowing down for once. Letting others carry some of his burden. Because he’d been fighting for as long as I’d known him, you know?” There it was. Tears and a tremble and Tails sunk to the ground, laid his tablet to the side, gathered a few of them into his lap. “But now. Now that's gone. He’s thrown himself back into the role of hero all over again and… he’s in it so deep. All that work, all that trust, all undone because we– I couldn’t swallow my fear for two seconds. I don’t know if… I don’t know if he’ll ever consider letting someone else take over again. Help, sure. We can help. But it’s not the same as stepping down, if only for a moment. It took years for him to even consider it. And–” Tails’ voice cracked. 

The rain shimmered around them, and amidst the sky’s own tears, Tails’ were lost, only silent sniffles that developed into crying and sobs as the wind roared to a crescendo, swirling around them and pulling the rain into a spinning dance. A motion akin to a hug, and they remembered then that the wind was Hope’s element, that it always swirled about him when upset, and perhaps now, it swirled about his brother to comfort and brush some of that guilt and weight away.

But in the end…

So you do not seek to make Hope proud? They asked, after a few minutes of silence had slipped by. It was cold, and Tails was shivering, and tears still shone amidst his rain-matted fur, eyes red and puffy, but he’d reigned it in. After letting himself cry, and wail, and be just a little more his age, he’d pawed at his tears and sniffled back the sobs, eyes skirting over them all.

“No, I guess not.” The words were quiet. Carefully considered. “I know he’s proud of me, I guess. I– I forget sometimes. I doubt it. But it would be so much harder to make him not proud. He’s…” A chuckle. Fond. A smile slipping upon his lips despite them still quavering with tears. “He’s just like that. Always seeing the best in people.”

Then… They hopped about nervously. Nuzzled close. Considered the world beyond their islands and the lives that all these kids led. What is it that you wish to achieve?

A silence. A hum. Thoughtful eyes as he traced his hands across the wet ground, ripples spreading from the rain and his fingers brushing the shallow puddles. “I guess I want to earn back his trust. I want to prove to him that I’m… I’m as capable as he is. That I can do it. That I can keep the world safe, if it comes down to it. I want him to know I won’t mess up again. That– That it’s okay. He can take a break. I can handle it for a little.” And Tails looked down at all of them, and there was such a fond, loving smile there, that without a doubt, they knew his whole motive was unbridled love . “He raised me. He– He gave up his childhood to give me mine. I didn’t realize until I’d already grown out of that kind of mindset. Until I’d outgrown what he’d fought so hard to give me. He let me learn and experiment. Find my way in life, explore my passions. He kept me safe and healthy. He gave me a taste of being a kid, and I took it, and used it, and now I don’t really need it. I grew up on him, I guess.” He chuckled. His eyes drifted up, and then he closed them, leaning his head back just a little, letting the wind comb his fur. “And he never got that, I guess. I– I want to return the favor. I want to give him a little time to himself. A little bit of time to look around without the world on his shoulders dragging him down. But I need to prove to him that I can hold up the world in his stead before I can do that. I need to prove to him I’m capable, I–” His eyes snapped open. He took a deep breath, let it out, and climbed to his feet. “I need to prove to myself I’m capable.”

They looked up at him. That bitter hurt behind the mantra he’d been repeating for so long was gone. The pain and guilt simmered into a burning determination that shone within his eyes, and he fixed them all with a bright smile.

“Thank you.” He started. His smile was wide, and there was a newfound understanding about him. “I hadn’t– I mean, I knew what I was doing, what I wanted. I just guess I hadn’t really stopped to think about why and… And. And now I know. More clearly. It’s not about what Sonic thinks of me. It’s about what I think of myself.”

They chimed, a surge of pride and joy spreading amidst them. Because, of course, they couldn’t do much to solve the boy’s woes. But they knew perhaps they didn’t need to solve it. Perhaps, it didn’t need to be such a bad problem. Perhaps, the worst of it just needed some reframing, to become a goal instead.

“And for that, I need to start with this.” 

Tails turned to the Emerald. That sharp fire burned like a flame around him, infectious in the air, and he strolled forwards with purpose, holding out his hand to command the Emerald into his grasp.

But just as the Emerald started to drift from its place in the vault, red, angry energy swirled to life around Tails’ hand, and he jolted back with gasp, waving his hand to dissipate the ribbons of black and violet before eventually just clutching at it desperately.

“Every time I interact with CyberSpace…” He winced. His voice was strained with edges of pain. “I’m getting more corrupted!”

He pulled his hand close to his chest and curled around it, eyes squeezed shut as he hissed through his teeth. They bounced around him in concern, but ultimately, they could do nothing. Nothing, just like with Hope, with Amy, with Knuckles, now with Tails.

“This… this is what Sonic was dealing with this whole time. ” There was an edge of guilt there. For a second, they feared the realizations just made would all be for nothing, as they watched Tails’ namesakes twist themselves together in a knot with pain. “I– I knew he was sick–” A gasp for breath. Tears lost in the rain. “But I didn’t realize it was like this.” 

But then, that fire flared. That determination back full force and past, so bright it shone on him and seemed to ward off the rain. He flicked his namesakes forcefully once more, before straightening up, chest out and proud.

“If I’m going to be at his side, I’m going to keep at his pace!” He declared. Despite the tremors that traveled through his body, as he fought the pain, his voice didn’t stutter any further. “I won’t let this stop me!”

And he held his hand out once again. Steady, despite the corruption racing about him, trying to drag him down. The Emerald came down upon his command, settled into his palm with the air of a subject bowing to his king, and he took it with all the confidence the world could possibly have to offer, turning around to glare at the disturbance hovering over the sky, perpetually breathing over their shoulders.

“You never stood a chance against Sonic.”

And the fact was, that Tails did not do threats. He did calculations, simulations, and facts. He spoke, and the truth was absolute.

“Now you’re up against all four of us.”
And arguably, that was far scarier than a threat would ever be.

“You should’ve quit while you were behind .”

And as Tails stood there, not fury but rather a determined spark fueled by love burning in his eyes, they knew he'd taken what they’d talked about to heart.

He wouldn’t give it up. He would keep going. 

No one could stop Tails’ flight.

Chapter Text

His name?

It was Ivo Robotnick.

Not Eggman, as Hope called him so eagerly. They realized that pretty early on. Of all of them, he was… the best saved, and then wiped, from their systems. His data had come, and had gone. Whatever it had affected, damages had been minimal. They hadn’t thought of giving him , from his file, while they could see it, much thought. They had, however, given the name thought.

Eggman, his file had boasted. A ridiculous, self-deprecating name. They didn’t care much for following him, not after everything he had heralded, but they also figured someone had to keep an eye on him. So… they asked, as he worked on a suspicious looking cable and refused to betray what it was.

“It’s Eggman.” He’d assured.

Why?

He sneered. Ugly expression on ugly features. “Because that rodent thinks he can make a mockery of me, but joke’s on him , because now his silly names inspire fear in millions. ”

So they knew Hope had given him the name. But…

What is your name , then?

For the longest time, he didn’t answer. They couldn’t force him to answer. They were lucky he even understood them. They understood him simply because of the little monitor set to the side, almost forgotten, translating the conversation back and forth in a monotone voice. He could shut that off, if he wanted. It was just best not to force it.

But then…

“Robotnick.” He’d answered. His tone had been… uncertain, almost shadowed by the stale one of the computerized translation. “Ivo Robotnick.”

Odd thing, to not know one’s real name, to be uncertain. To not remember it. Perhaps they couldn’t judge, because their individualities had slipped through their hands the moment they stopped having them. But there was something odd about this man, begrudgingly a genius on par with them, not knowing his own name.

They hated to compare him with Hope. But they knew for a fact, that if they were to ask Hope for his name, then he would go quiet, and he would grown distant, and he would stare of into a haunted past and in the end, depending on how much he trusted them, he’d say “why, Sonic, of course!”. Or, silently, meekly, ashamed … “I… I don’t really know”.

Not all that different, from the man before them.

And… hadn’t this man known Hope the longest?

Actually…

Why? They asked, hours later it seemed.

He’d shifted from working on the weird cable to something that looked much too big to wield. Some kind of plug. He had soldering glasses on, and had rolled up his sleeves, as if afraid that he would get his red coat dirty.

“Why what?” He barked.

Why did you leave Hope?

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

They shuffled. Five of them. It was only five, who had bothered to come watch. But they might as well have all been here.

We believe you know him as Sonic.

He paused. Turned to stare at them, possibly a glare through the glint of those glasses, so cleverly hiding his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But they… they did, didn’t they? Hope’s file, ever present. With hurt all neatly wrapped in a bow for him to poke fun at, a present tossed under the bed to be forgotten. Memories. Memories of parties. Of deserts, and forests and dragons. Of floating planets, distant futures, broken timelines. Of war through video lenses. Of a cell. Of stripped hills and loop-de-loops and waiting, waiting, eyes on the mountains, sky-high on the horizon, waiting for yellow, for a sun. 

Of a man. And a smile.

You left him. They repeated. He trusted you. He hoped you wouldn’t go. And you left him. Again, and again. And again.

He stared at them. His gaze was unreadable. Arguably, he could’ve been mad. He mostly looked perplexed. “I haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re talking about. Me and the rodent haven’t interacted since until now”.

Before that.

He scoffed. “How would you know?”

The hurt. He’s hurt. You’ve hurt him. You’ve shown him love. You’ve broken him.

His face twitched, weirdly. An unreadable expression, a mess of emotions. A grimace, they would describe it as. They expected him to laugh. He seemed to have an odd fixation on defeating Hope, after all. Wouldn’t the news of having broken him bring him joy?

He just shook his head. “If I have, I don’t recall. And I find that hard to believe, as he remains a nuisance to my plans.”

His words short, tight. The monotone drawled on longer than him. As if rushing to get the answer out, as if afraid he couldn’t keep a straight face.

“And I don’t love. ” He spat. “That’s for fools.”

What of your daughter, then?

“What.”

The Intruder. She calls you father. She’s your daughter, is she not?

Silence. The man turned and got back to work with a loud clang of metal, a signal of silence, almost a beg. They obliged, if only because they weren’t about to goad him into answering. They wouldn’t stoop that low. And… besides. The confusion in his words seemed genuine enough. The… confusion at their claims, at his name. At the idea that Hope and love could ever be in the same sentence when applied to him.

…

“Yes… yes, she’s my daughter.”

They stared. He was still working. They only heard him because the computer translated.

“So, what if I love her? I can love my daughter.” He sounded confused. He sounded angry. He sounded done. “She’s my masterpiece. I made her with my own two hands. She deserves my love. She’s perfection, after all.”

Is that really why?

“What is it with you little toys and all your questions?” He shifted his head. They couldn’t see where he was looking, but they could certainly feel the glare. “Why do you need to know?”

We need to know why you hurt Hope. Why you turned on him.

He turned back to his work. “Because he’s in my way.”

In your way for what?

“My plans.”

For what?

“Eggmanland.” The man spat. It sounded like he wanted to boast about it, but anger was fraying his energy. “The greatest amusement park in the world. The only one in the world. The whole world. The Eggman Empire.”

What is the point of that?

“It’s–” 

His hands stopped moving. He looked up. His mouth opened and then closed and then he didn’t say anything at all. His grip on the tool he had been using tightened. He pursed his lips, and then shook his head, and didn’t say anything at all.

Did he not want to say?

No. Couldn’t be. He sounded much too prideful, to keep such a thing quiet.

Maybe…

“If you ask another question, I will unplug that thing.”

They kept quiet. He turned, and went back to work.

Maybe, he just didn’t remember why. And his attitude… For all his boasting and bragging and angry ranting…

Robotnick could still fear .

Chapter Text

Her name. It was Sage.

They didn’t quite realize what she was, when they first saw her. First felt her in their midst. She was… code. A program. With a purpose and functions and logic behind its drive. An intrusion into their systems. That they could understand. Artificial intelligence. They’d made it a plenty, back in their prime. It wasn’t anything new, really. She was a remarkably advanced construct, for a species they knew nothing about.

Now…

Now they weren’t quite sure. Calling her just AI would feel like a disservice. Even their AI hadn’t sat, beheld the world, conflicted on something other than its original task. Their AI wouldn’t have taken the time to appreciate wind against the surface of its form, grass between its digits, rain down its frame, like she did. Their AI couldn’t have manifested a form out of nowhere. Their AI wouldn’t have shifted its file from a single program to something… more. Much, much more.

They weren’t sure at what point she’d crossed that threshold.

“Father is finding the last Emerald.” She reported. And yet there was something absent minded about her manners, eyes more calculating of the shifting flowers nearby than of what she’d just said. “With Sonic’s teama– friends. With his friends on the hunt for the last few, and him in the process of optimizing the Cyber Corruption, we should stand a much higher chance against The End.”

She went quiet. Her form flickered, red-cyan, red-cyan, and with a swirl of Cyber Energy she wasn’t in her spot, on the field anymore. They turned, and jumped after her when they spotted her hovering at the edge of a cliff not far away.

The ocean breeze combed past them. Sage took a deep breath, and wasn’t it of note that she could?

“I do not wish to recalculate our odds.” She confessed. She eyed them. Them . Not their Koco shells, but rather peering through right into the files beneath. “I am sure that even you know that our odds being higher doesn’t mean they’re high. ”

It is Hope. They offered. And oh, what marvel it was she understood their language despite that not being her driving purpose. Despite not being trained on it. Was she really just AI? Have a little faith. He has performed miracles before. We doubt he will stop now.

She hummed. Her face scrunched up, in mild concentration, and then she nodded. Her hair blew in the wind, her skirt fluttered around her. She flickered with pulses of energy, betraying her artificial nature, and yet, it was hard to think of her anything other than a person. 

“I… can see.” She offered. And they didn’t doubt she could. Not with Hope’s file, in their systems, which she had somehow gathered near unrestricted access to. They kept from prying, out of courtesy. She didn’t pry often, only little snippets like now, and they wondered why. “His win record is impressive. Improbable. Near impossible. On one hand, the fact he does this constantly is promising. On the other…”

It just means he’ll fail, eventually.

…

It was left unsaid. Yet another, such a peculiar thing about her. She could omit words. Start thoughts, and then not finish them. There was life in her eyes, in her movements. In the way she held herself, and beheld the sunset carried to them by forlorn breezes of their burial grounds.

She was more. Did she know?

She drifted off, to do something else. In that, she was still mechanical. At least tasks she refused to leave half done. Start something, finish it, move on. Need to do two things at once? Compile them both into a single task. But she stuttered. And she adjusted as needed. Perhaps, the structured nature was more habit than ability.

And she let them follow. Even if she couldn’t understand why.

She was a masterpiece. She was something beyond creation. She was something exciting. Something odd. Something new.

“Of course I am.” She offered, upon hearing their praises. She’d just checked in with Amy, to see how the hedgehog was holding up. The Cyber Corruption was getting to her, but she was still going. So, now Sage drifted off on her way to find Knuckles.

“Father made me. His genius is near unparalleled when compared to other registered entities of this planet. His personal projects always receive the utmost care.”

They bounded after her. She didn’t just teleport straight to Knuckles. It was raining, and she had her hands out, catching the drops in her palms. Did she wish to enjoy it?

Of course. They offered, despite however much they despised the man. That he had built many impressive things was not something they could deny. But we mean that this isn’t intentional. What you are now. How you are now. He couldn’t have possibly foreseen it, could he have?

“I…” Sage blinked. Wriggled her fingers, hands of a child, and stared at them as if they had plucked the stars out of the night sky. “No. I do not believe he planned this. I am… uncertain as to what it is, exactly.”

Uncertain?

“Feelings. That couldn’t have been the plan. They’re… impractical. Confusing.” Sage supplied. She interlaced her fingers, and they marveled at their stability. “I can already feel them, in the way of some of my directives. They… feel nice. I like them, at the moment. But I’ve also hated them. They hurt. They truly couldn’t have been intentional.”

Feelings… are just part of being alive. Because that’s what she was, wasn’t she? A marvel of nature, life born from nothing but code and energy and capable of love.

“Alive.” She repeated it, as if testing the word. She sounded conflicted, as she let her hands drop to the side, as she let the rain run down her face. “I do not believe I was supposed to be ‘alive’. I am not organic. I am… just me.”

There’s no definition for being alive.

“There must be.” Sage insisted. “To say that feeling is enough to be alive is… inaccurate. You feel. And yet, you are not alive. You are replicas of a civilization long past. How am I any different?”

A good point. And yet, explanations, possibilities, all the thoughts in the world drifted through them, and they looked at her, and contemplated themselves, and knew for a fact that even if they weren’t, she was.

We were alive, once. We are but replicas. They offered. The wind slipped past her, like a hand sliding, gently caressing her cheek. You, however, came from nothing. Code crafted with attention and care, molded by the energies of our systems, and capable of so much more. You are alive. You are you, like no one has ever been.

She considered it. She placed a hand on her face, fingers sliding to collect the water droplets which had begun to slide down it. She watched them soak into her skin, and cracked a little smile. “I suppose. Even if I am not alive, I am unique. And… to feel… Does it truly matter, whether I am alive or not, if the feelings I experience are real? Just to have them affect my performance, interfere with my functions… that’s proof enough, is it not?”

They didn’t offer a reply. Not vocally, at least. Their silence was that of pride, of joy, amazement and wonder, at a child finding her way, at a child with a whole world to discover. At a child that smiled at the little things and understood life was more than just patterns in a way that even those who lived sometimes misunderstood. 

She was real.

“I’m alive.” She affirmed.

They were proud.

“Come. Let us find Knuckles. Then Tails. And once we’re sure Sonic has what he needs…” She smiled. “...let’s tell father.”

Sage was alive, and that was quite simply, a fact.

Chapter Text

His name… was Star.

He was… the copy The End made, of their Hope. As a cruel, cruel joke. Backed him up fully, without his consent, and arranged his file as it so wished. Named him “The Key”, just to rub salt into the wound, spit on his grave. How he’d been brought to be, why he existed– They should hate it. 

They couldn’t.

Not when he was just like their Hope.

He smiled. He laughed. Stuck here with them, as he was, he offered nothing but kindness. Still eternally tracking them down, rounding them up, trying his best to bring them back to their Elder. All with a smile, that same gentleness and life about him that Hope had eternally possessed.

There’s no being mad, at a face like his. Not when at any sort of negative emotion they display, he’s bending over backwards to make them feel better. Not when he speaks so fondly of everything he talks about, whether it be them, the islands, or the friends he remembers having but never really had.

He’s…

He’s bitter. And resentful. Hateful and spiteful. There’s words of his, saved in their collective memory–because he runs on it, whether he wants to or not, they couldn’t change it even if they tried–that they never thought would come from Hope. Anger, disappointment. A deep loathing. Grief. All sorts of negative things that…

They already knew about.

They’d already seen all these nasty, horrible things in Hope, before. Except that they weren’t directed at anyone but himself, they weren’t for anyone but him, unspoken and never touched, cast aside in the heat of the moment, always for later, never to be dwelled on because it just wasn’t the time.

…

Star wasn’t Hope.

That was an important distinction. They… struggled to make it. Star himself seemed to struggle, if only for other reasons entirely. Because, in not being Hope… he seemed determined, to point it out, for Hope. As if not being Hope made him a completely different person. He loathed Hope. Laughed a bit, in a condescending manner whenever he was brought up.

“Don’t like him.” He’d tell them, at their fondness. Which he couldn’t escape , given they all felt the same. All of them, except for him. “He’s not good.”

“But he’s you. ”

“He’s…”

And then he wouldn’t say anything else. They’d try asking, multiple times. Tried getting him to speak, urging him to elaborate, desperate to help him work through it. Maybe he wasn’t Hope, but they still cared.

He wouldn’t budge.

“You don’t want to know.” He remained adamant. “You really don’t. You’ll find out, eventually. But that’s… his call to make. Not mine. Not yours. Don’t go poking around through his file. He’s gotta do at least one thing right, and if I have to help him then so be it. ”

No amount of begging worked. It probably wouldn’t work for a really long time.

But that was fine. They had a long time.

Star might have only been a fabrication, but he still mattered.