Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     During Meta’s unconscious state, after being exposed to the Malice Stone, he was enveloped in something of an alternate reality. A strange, surreal dream world.

Meta Knight woke up in a meadow-like forest, though something about it felt off. His memories were blurry, and he couldn’t quite remember what happened previously. 

“Where am I?” He muttered to himself, glancing around. Instinctively, he reached for his sword, only to find it missing.

This immediately set him on edge. As he looked down at himself, he felt even more confused. His usual armor was altered, now wearing a lighter blue frock coat with puffed sleeves, over a white blouse. Black slacks and knee length boots, laced up with black ribbon, instead of his usual gear, though they were still vaguely armor-like.

He raised his hand to his face and removed his mask. As soon as he looked at it, he noticed a small black bow wrapped on the edge of it. He frowned slightly, removing it and tossing it aside without a second thought.

He then flexed his shoulders, expecting his wings to open, but nothing happened. His cape was now just a simple piece of fabric.

Just then, someone dashed past him, muttering hurriedly under their breath.

'Wait!' Meta called out, reaching after them.

“Ack!” They came to a startled halt.

Spinning around, he revealed himself as a young, slim man with bobbed white hair and nearly white eyes. He wore a green tailcoat and a red scarf, and had small horns and six spider-like arms.

'Y-yes?!'

Meta paused. '...Aren’t you—?'

But before Meta could finish, the panicked man glanced at a watch and waved him off.

“I have no time for this!” he exclaimed, rushing off and vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.

Meta blinked, momentarily disoriented, but his instincts told him to follow.

He moved cautiously through the strange, colorful landscape. The trees around him were twisted into odd shapes, and even the flowers seemed to turn with his movements. It was unsettling. 

Ahead, the man reached a spider web-like bridge, suspended between two large trees, and crossed it effortlessly.

“...”

He wasn’t sure he could cross in the same manner. Cautiously, he stepped onto the web, but he felt it wobble beneath him. 

He reached out to steady himself, but the sticky strands clung to his hands. He pushed himself forward, to follow the path the spider-like man had taken, though it was getting difficult to move. Soon, he became tangled in part of the pathway.

“D-damn it…” Meta grumbled, struggling as the web entangled him further. If only he had his sword. 

He struggled to pull himself out of the web, not wanting to lose track of the vaguely familiar man he had encountered. 

He soon heard a faint, teasing chuckle above him.

“You look a little stuck.” 

Meta glanced up to the sound of the voice. At first, all he could see were a pair of gleaming, yellow eyes and a partial grin. He had trouble focusing on the figure, as he seemed to fade in and out of sight. 

'If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re not quite cut out for this sort of “thread work,"' the figure floating down until they were at eye level, chuckling to himself.

Meta tensed, instantly recognizing the voice. His eyes narrowed.

“And you… you’re Magolor!”

“Hm?” The figure tilted his head, floating idly as if he were mulling it over.

Meta wasn’t fooled. This was the same man who had once passed him around like a trinket—the merchant, Magolor. Yet, something was different.

Instead of the usual hood, he now wore an oversized cloak, striped with shades of purple and blue that rippled like waves. A fluffy, oversized scarf wrapped around him, moving almost like a tail. Half of his face was hidden beneath the scarf, but the edge of his glowing grin was visible.

“W-what do you want?” Meta demanded. 

He floated closer, his grin widening. "Doesn't seem like you're in a position to offer much right now. But—" 

With a snap of his fingers, the web loosened, turning into strands of noodles.

Meta's eyes widened as he found himself freed.

The Cheshire hovered above, grinning mischievously.

"Maybe now you can."

Meta hesitated, taking a step forward. The web was now gone, and instead was replaced by a bouncy, noodly material.

He scowled beneath his mask.

"Enough of this. How do I get out of here?"

The cat-like man tapped his chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

"Out? Hmm... could be that way." He pointed vaguely to the left, then spun around and pointed right. "Or maybe that way."

Meta attempted to move forward through the path, but it seemed to bend and twist as he did, throwing off his sense of direction. Meanwhile, The Cheshire floated beside him, amused by his struggle.

Meta shot him a look.

“Why are you here?”

The Cheshire’s grin widened.

“Just passing through. Wouldn’t want to miss the party, after all.”

He floated toward the twisting path but paused, turning back with a sly smile. 

"Oh, and you owe me by the way."

Drifting away, he added,

"Don’t get tangled up again ♪"

And with that, he vanished, leaving Meta alone once more. Free from the web, but still as confused.

Meta clenched his fists. He had never trusted that merchant.

After moving forward, he eventually found himself in a peculiar hallway, though it still seemed to be part of the forest. The trees twisted together to form walls, curving above like a canopy, but along the way were doors in all shapes, colors, and sizes. 

"What is this...?" he muttered, approaching one of the doors.

He tried to open it. Locked. He moved to another. Locked again.

How can there be doors in the middle of a forest…?

One by one, he attempted each door, but each one was locked, it seemed. Frustrated, he paused and turned back the way he’d come, only to see the entrance had vanished. The path behind him was gone.

Was he trapped here?

Meta leaned against the twisted wall. He looked at his wrist, realizing his communicator was missing.

“...Daroach...” he muttered under his breath.

Where was Daroach? And the rest of the crew? How did he even end up here? Were they trapped in this strange place too?

He stood up, feeling a sense of urgency, and began moving through the hallways faster now, determined to find answers. But with each door he passed, the surroundings seemed to shift and warp, frustrating him further. 

A flash of orange fluttered past him, a delicate butterfly that caught his eye briefly. It vanished as quickly as it came, and just ahead, he spotted the spider-like man again, scurrying with hurried steps, his six fists shaking slightly as he moved.

Without hesitation, Meta swept forward, closing the distance in an instant. He pinned the man against the wall.

“Gah!”

Meta’s grip tightened on his collar. "You—" he growled. "Taranza. What is the meaning of this?"

The man flinched, his eyes widening with fear. "I-I don’t know what you’re talking about! Release me, I’ll be late to meet her Majesty!" he stammered.

Meta's stare remained fixed on him. 

"I am the Queen's appointed herald, the ‘White Spider!’” Despite the fear in his voice, he puffed his chest with pride.

“The... Queen?”

A chill ran down Meta’s spine.

“That’s impossible, and you know it,” Meta snapped. “Where are we?”

The Spider scoffed. "You brute! And obviously, we’re in the hallway! Can’t you see?"

Meta clenched his fist tight, ready to strike. 

“W-wait, wait!” The Spider stammered, backing up slightly.

“Fine! Come with me if you must, but at least make yourself useful. Here, hold this!” He shoved a large bouquet of roses into Meta’s hands.

Startled, Meta took the bouquet without thinking.

“Hurry now!” The Spider called out, already darting toward an opening at the far end of the hall.

“...”

Meta stood frozen for a moment, staring at the roses in bewilderment.

Chapter Text

     Not knowing what else to do, Meta followed The Spider through the opening, quickening his pace to catch up, only to find he was gone.

“Not again…” he muttered, looking around for any sign of The Spider.

He found himself in a peculiar room, filled with all sorts of furniture. Some pieces stood normally, while others were attached sideways to the walls or upside down on the ceiling. The entire space felt distorted, as if the laws of reality had bent around him.

He sighed, setting the roses down on a table with legs that braided together. Nearby, a small plate of simple tea cakes caught his attention. They looked like ordinary tea cakes, but in various pastel shades. Curious, he reached for one.

He attempted to pick one up, but his hand passed through it as if it existed on a different plane of reality.

Slightly irritated, he stood by, gathering his thoughts. After some time passed, he heard a click and the room shifted slightly. He looked up, and a small door that hadn’t been there before appeared in the corner.

Taking the bouquet again, Meta cautiously approached the door and crouched through.

The door led to a long pathway outside, where vines formed and surreal, spiraling flowers grew around it. They swayed gently, though there was no wind. As he moved forward, he noticed another familiar figure, what appeared to be Vul, smoking a pipe in a long, puffy blue robe instead of his usual uniform.

“V-Vul…!”

The man was lounging on a large mushroom, and exhaled a large puff of smoke from his pipe, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded Meta. 

"Who are you?"

A wave of defeat washed over Meta. Even Vul didn’t recognize him.

"It's…me." But as he said this, he realized it was pointless. Just like the others, Vul didn’t seem to recognize him.

The older man raised an eyebrow, taking another huff from his pipe before shaking his head.

"You’re you , are you?" His tone held a note of quiet authority, as if testing Meta.

Meta sighed and sat down on the edge of a nearby rock. It felt as though the weight of this twisted world was on his shoulders.

“Where…are we? Why are we here?"

The man didn’t immediately answer, he looked toward the surreal garden around them. 

After another slow inhalation, The Sage let the smoke hang in the air before answering.

"Where? Now, that’s a question, isn’t it?" His voice was low. He gestured vaguely to the garden, the surreal flowers that moved ever so slightly, as if to observe his movements.

"It’s not always about knowing where , but understanding what when you’re there ."

Meta muttered beneath his mask. “...I don’t have time for riddles. We need to escape this madness.”

The Sage huffed, his stern demeanor returning.

"Escape? Life’s not just about running away, boy." He tapped his pipe, watching the ashes fall into the grass below. Taking another puff, his eyes briefly met Meta’s.

"Look around, not ahead. Why does the wind change direction, yet always feel the same?"

“You’re not making any sense.” Meta Knight shook his head, frustrated. He glanced at the flowers around them. Their shapes were bizarre, some like spirals, others like twisted knots.

He was silent for a moment, trying to piece together The Sage’s meaning. 

Finally, he spoke again, in a low tone.

“...You’ve always tended to overcomplicate things, Vul.”

The Sage gave a low chuckle.

“There’s no complication, boy. You’re trapped in your own reflection. Stop chasing shadows and maybe you’ll find the way out.”

Meta stared at him, trying to grasp his meaning.
“Chasing shadows…” he muttered to himself.

He pushed himself up from the rock, glancing once more around him. Without another word, he began walking down the path again.

Roses gradually overtook the strange vegetation, spreading almost like a plague. Meta slowed his pace, watching as the flowers began to envelope everything in their path. Among them, a single blue rose caught his eye. It stood out, almost out of place somehow, but it drew him in with a touch of familiarity.

“...” 

He reached out and gently plucked the blue rose. For a moment, it brought him an unexpected sense of normalcy, reminding him of Daroach. He takes it with him, adding it to the bouquet he is still holding onto. 

Meta ventured deeper, finding something strange in between the roses. A mechanical estate that clashed with the delicate flowers around it. He stood by for a moment, observing. At the entrance mechanical bots zoomed in and out, busied with tasks. 

From inside, he could hear sharp orders being called out, and Meta felt a jolt of recognition. Then, what appeared to be Susie stepped out. He held his breath as he saw the girl, dressed in a metallic, sleek gown, stood by, ordering the machines around. 

Surely, this is just another illusion... 

The Duchess quickly took notice of him, pausing mid-step. Her gaze locked onto Meta Knight.

“...what do we have here?"

She quickly hovered over to him, bots and plants moving out of her way as though this world existed to bend to her will.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest,” she said, her voice sweet yet hollow.

“You must join me for tea.”

Meta tried turning back, but an unseen force pulled him forward, determined to have him sit at her table. Inside, the estate was filled with mechanical intricacies. Clockwork gears lined the walls, everything moving, perfectly in motion.

Yet it felt suffocating. 

She led him to an elegant table set with silver teapots and cups that gleamed like her gown, reflecting the cold metallic light of the room.

The Duchess seated herself across from him, pouring tea as she studied him.

“So… you’ve found yourself wandering here,” she began, but there was a tenseness in her words.

He remained silent, his hand tightening around the roses.

“I bet you’re wondering why you’ve come here, hm?” The Duchess smiled, sipping her tea as though the answer was already in her grasp.

“Everyone who arrives has a purpose.” She leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing. “What is yours, I wonder?”

A chill ran through Meta, as though the very walls were watching him, waiting for his response.

“I have no interest in these games,” He finally spoke, his voice low, guarded.

He didn’t trust her, not here, and certainly not outside of this strange place.

Her eyes glinted as she set her cup down. “This world has its rules… and you’re already playing.”

She traced the rim of her cup, the sound was unnerving between the clicks and ticks of the estate. 

“What are you looking for?”

Meta shook his head. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is. You seem to think you don’t belong here. That’s interesting.” She nodded to herself.

Meta Knight didn’t respond.

She chuckled softly, as though the silence amused her. “So secretive, even when you’re sitting in my home.” She smiled again.

“Tell me, why do you keep walking this path? Hope? Duty? Desperation?” Her eyes flicked briefly to the blue rose in his hand. “Or… something else?”

Meta refused to be drawn in by her words, but her eyes felt heavy on him.

She leaned in, lowering her voice.

“I’ll find out eventually, you know.”

Without waiting for a response, she stood, brushing off her dress as though their conversation had been merely a formality. 

“Well then,” she said as she turned toward the exit. “I must be off. The Queen doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Mechanical escorts followed her, leaving Meta alone. 

Meta Knight stepped out of the estate.

As he walked out, a figure caught his eye as he passed by it. He turned, realizing it was that merchant, or at least, the creature who looked like him.

“Lost again, knight?” The Cheshire asked, reclining casually in midair.

Meta clenched his fist. “If you know a way out, just tell me.”

"Out? Oh, dear knight, I thought you knew by now! There’s no ‘exit’ road here. Just paths that take you where you need to go.” He chuckled.

“Besides, you owe me, don’t you remember?”

The Cheshire floated closer, his grin widening. “

Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

“What do you want?” Meta’s voice was low.

“It’s simple,” The Cheshire floated lazily around him, tracing patterns in the air. “When you reach the Queen— and you will —you’ll need to give her something.”

“What?” He glared at the cat-like man, watching his every move.

The Cheshire vanished for a moment, only to reappear upside down in front of Meta Knight, plucking a rose from the bouquet Meta thought he left behind.

“A message,” he said, toying with the flower.

“...What message?”

He whispered something to the rose before slipping it back into the bouquet. 

“Don’t worry about the details, and remember—I always collect on my favors.” 

His grin widened, almost unnaturally so. 

“You will deliver it, whether you choose to or not.”

With a final snicker, he hovered back, fading into the air. 

“See you around, knight.”

Chapter Text

     Meta started to feel his temples ache from this nonsense. He just wanted a way out of this curse. He wanted things to make sense.

Meeting these illusions with uncanny resemblances to those he knew, left him disoriented. Every interaction brought more questions and no answers. He felt as if he were walking in circles, like the world itself conspired to trap him, but he forced himself to keep going. 

The surroundings seemed to shift with every step, making him question himself. 

Was the sky always that strange hue? And why were the shadows pointing toward the light?  

It felt like with every other blink, something changed. Perhaps he was just exhausted. Was he making any progress, or had he been walking in place all along? He shook his head, trying to focus. There had to be a way out of this.

Ahead, just off the winding road and beneath a large, sprawling tree, was an impossibly long table. This area was strangely devoid of roses or flowers, and the table seemed to stretch endlessly into the forest. On the table were pastries, elaborate cakes, and bottles of wine. Meta narrowed his eyes as his steps slowed.

Further down, he spotted familiar faces. An older-looking Squeak, resembling Doc, sat on a stack of cushions to reach the table’s height, wearing a unkept vest and thick, broken goggles as he poured wine for the others. 

Next to him, a young, blonde Squeak, resembling Spinni, was dressed in a well fitting waistcoat but was missing his usual scarf and shades. He happily chatted with the other Squeaks.

A larger Squeak, who could only be compared to Storo, wore a similar waistcoat as Spinni, however, it was too small, the buttons straining across his chest as he slumped in his chair. 

A bit further down in between other Squeaks, was an unsettlingly familiar figure. A jester-like being Meta had encountered once or twice before. A horrible little creature.

They all moved and spoke as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Meta approached cautiously, hoping that this time, these illusions might be real.

Before he could catch their attention, a theatrical voice rang out.

"Another round of wine for the guests!"

Squeaks scurried along the table, hurriedly placing more bottles between pastries and cakes. Meta turned toward the voice.

"It wasn’t easy ‘borrowing’ these from the palace, you know?" 

At the head of the table stood someone unmistakably familiar.

Daroach—or at least someone who looked like him, stood confidently, wearing a large, elegant, albeit tilted hat and equally lavish trench coat. In one hand, he held a cane that closely resembled his usual staff.

At first, he seemed oblivious to Meta Knight’s presence. 

Meta held his breath before approaching. Without waiting to be noticed, he began to speak.

"Daroach, I’ve been searching for you and the rest—"

The man turned, raising an eyebrow. "And who might you be?"

Meta blinked.

“Daroach…?”

The man gave a light chuckle, waving his hand dismissively.

“No, no—you must have me mistaken for another dashing fellow. I am The Hatter .” He bowed with a theatrical flair.

Then, with a charming smile, he pulled a small top hat seemingly out of nowhere.

“And you, my dear, look like you could use one.”

Before Meta could respond, The Hatter placed the tiny hat atop Meta’s head with a flourish, then tilted it slightly. 

'Perfect,' he murmured.

Meta Knight stood still for a moment, staring blankly with the hat on his head. Without a word, he leaned forward, resting his head against The Hatter’s chest.

“I’m tired of this,” Meta muttered, his words trembling slightly. "...I just want things to be as they were."

The Hatter blinked, momentarily flustered by the sudden closeness, and his charm slipping just enough for a hint of concern to show in his eyes.

He placed a hand behind Meta, resting it lightly on his back.

“Come now... I can’t fix that,” He spoke softly. “But why dwell on such things when you can join our little gathering instead? As my guest of honor, naturally.”

The Hatter guided Meta toward a seat near the head of the table, his arm resting casually around Meta’s shoulders as he led him to the chair beside his.

The old Squeak raised his glass in a salute. “Welcome, knight,”

He elbowed the large Squeak beside him.

“Oh, hey…” he murmured, before slumping back over the table, asleep. Various Squeaks climbed over him, using him as a seat.

Meta settled into the strange scene, the chatter and clinking of glasses surrounding him. The constant sound felt overwhelming, but gradually they faded into the background. He looked down to the bouquet of roses still clutched in his hand. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had held onto it for so long.

The Hatter's attention was quickly drawn to the bouquet.

“Well, well, what’s this?” he asked as he reached for the flowers. “Are these for me?”

Meta was slightly taken aback by this question, but didn’t stop The Hatter from taking it.

The Hatter spun the flowers delicately in his hands, twirling them as if they were a prized treasure. 

“Roses…They don’t grow here, you know. By order of the Queen.”

As he continued to spin the bouquet, his eyes landed on the single blue rose hidden among the red. The movement stilled as he carefully plucked the blue one from the bundle.

“Marvelous…”

"...Keep it, if you wish," Meta muttered, turning away slightly. He thought it rather fitting that this Daroach-like illusion would take a liking to the blue rose.

"The others aren’t mine to give."

The Hatter gave a contented smile, twirling the blue rose between his fingers.

“This would go lovely on a hat…” he mused, his gaze fixed on the rose as it shimmered faintly.

Meta watched his movements, his thoughts momentarily trailing off with the twirl of the flower.

“Glad you could make it!”

Meta flinched, quickly turning to find The Cheshire grinning widely beside him.

"You're looking... distracted," he added.

Meta narrowed his eyes, but before he could muster a suitable response, he heard wild laughter from down the table. 

The Jester was gleefully antagonizing the Squeaks around him, flicking pieces of cake at them.

The Cheshire’s grin widened at the chaos, vanishing and reappearing beside The Jester, as he spouted absurd phrases between bouts of laughter. 

The Hatter sighed, looking mildly irritated, as a bottle of wine tipped over, spilling across the table. 

“Why did I invite him again?” he muttered under his breath.

He waved a hand, directing Squeaks to clean up the mess, while keeping the gathering lively and distracted.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, something felt… off. Meta glanced around, noticing the stillness. The sun didn’t move, the shadows stayed in place. It felt as though time itself had stopped. 

“What… time is it?” he asked quietly, more to himself than anyone.

“Time for more wine, yes?” The Hatter announced smoothly, raising his glass to keep the mood vibrant despite The Jester’s antics.

“No, I’m serious—”

The Hatter raised a hand, interrupting.

“Time, my dear, is a fickle thing. Best not to worry about it too much.” He took a sip of wine, seemingly unbothered.

The Cheshire let out a low chuckle. 

“Time stopped working here long ago. Or maybe it’s just playing a little game of hide and seek. Who can say?”

It all felt wrong.

Meta couldn’t help but feel that they were all trapped in an endless moment. He sat there quietly, observing the exchanges in front of him before looking at the spread on the table. 

It was extravagant. 

Towers of cupcakes, glistening tarts, and various flavors of croissants lined the table. Plates overflowed with macarons and vases held glazed flowers and fruits, along with the fine bottles of wine. Though it all looked magnificent, it left Meta Knight feeling hollow. The sweet scent felt suffocating rather than enticing. 

He stared at a golden frosted cake in front of him, flawless, yet he had no appetite for it. 

He watched as the others happily partook in the indulgences without a second thought. The Jester, laughing at his own jokes, slathered jam on a biscuit before tossing it across the table to a confused Squeak, while The Cheshire watched in amusement. 

The Hatter, for all his charm, didn’t pay much mind to it.

Meta Knight felt no desire for any of it. 

He was exhausted, tired of the absurdity, tired of being trapped in a place where nothing made sense. 

Just then, The Hatter slid closer, sliding his arm around Meta’s shoulders. 

“Enjoying yourself?” His voice held that familiar charm.

Meta tensed slightly, shifting his attention again to the seemingly endless spread of desserts, then the frozen sun in the sky. 

"I... Everything feels wrong."

The Hatter tilted his head, giving Meta a curious look.

"And what’s so bad about that? Sometimes confusion is the best part.”

Despite the strangeness, Meta felt a sense of familiarity in their presence—even with The Jester and Cheshire—giving him a semblance of comfort.

Yet, no matter how close he was or how warm his words sounded, it all felt slightly off, like a beautiful mask.

He tried to make sense of the situation he found himself trapped in, his thoughts drifting further from the festivities. Snippets of nearby conversations caught his attention, mutterings spoken with disdain. 

It seemed The Queen was hosting an event of her own. 

Her name kept surfacing, mentioned by the strange people he encountered. Perhaps she held the key to escaping this place.

“The Queen…what can you tell me about her?”

The lively chatter halted. Even the shadows seemed to recede, as if recoiling from the question. Silence followed as all eyes turned toward him.

The Hatter straightened, his usual playfulness turning into something more serious, yet evasive.

"Ah, yes... the Queen." He twirled his cane absently. 

"She does like to throw her own little gatherings. Though I'm not sure you’d enjoy hers quite as much as ours."

Guests exchanged uneasy glances. Even the Squeaks fell silent, their chattering turning into nervous whispers.

"She’s awful!" blurted the young blonde Squeak.

"Cruel, vain, and rules with a twisted heart," muttered the one resembling Doc.

Suddenly, The Jester leaped onto the table, bending down low until his face was inches from Meta’s. 

"Careful now,” he taunted, raising a finger to his lips. "You might catch her attention."

The Hatter shoved The Jester aside. 

"He’s right. You’re better off not meeting her."

“Perhaps… but maybe the way out lies with her.”

The Hatter's smile faltered as he paused, staring at Meta for a moment before twirling the blue rose between his fingers again.

“Why would you want to leave?” His voice carried a hint of hurt. “Am I not a good enough host?”

Meta hesitated, glancing around at the table and at the guests waiting for his response before shaking his head.

“No…That’s not it,” he muttered.

“No one here is themselves. You’re not… you.”

The Hatter blinked, his confident demeanor slipping. For a moment, he looked almost lost.

“Then… who am I?” His voice softened, like something more than a mere illusion.

Meta watched him for a moment, his words leaving him with an odd feeling. As comforting as it was to be surrounded by those who reminded him so much of the crew he was fond of, it wasn’t real. He couldn’t stay here any longer.

“I have to go,” Meta said quietly, but firmly.

The Hatter’s smile returned, though dimmer now, forced.

"As you wish..." His hand still held the blue rose, tightening his grip slightly, as if to stop it from slipping away, too.

The blonde Squeak and a few others gathered around Meta.

“Maybe we could tag along!"

The older Squeak nodded in agreement. “Safety in numbers, eh?”

The oversized one remained snoring.

Meta appreciated the offer but didn’t want them to get involved, illusion or not.

"No. I don’t wish to drag anyone else into this."

They watched in silence as Meta left, stepping back onto the winding road. He felt somewhat melancholic as he continued forward.

Behind him, he heard The Hatter’s voice call out once again.

“Always the lone knight, aren’t you? So determined to bear the weight of the world, even when it’s not yours to carry. But there’s so much more to life than duty, my dear.”

Meta’s steps faltered for just a moment, but he didn’t turn back.

Chapter Text

     A bit further ahead, Meta Knight found an open door standing in the middle of the road. He paused, glancing around, but there was nothing behind it. He stepped through it, as it was easier to enter the open door than go past the ledges around it.

On the other side, he found himself in a vast garden. Oversized roses bloomed all around, filling the air with a sweet, almost overpowering fragrance. The flowers covered nearly every surface, up vines and hedges. These hedges stretched high, forming a labyrinthine enclosure, creating a maze of blooms.

When he looked back, the clearing was no longer behind him. The door now stood in the middle of the sea of roses. An orange butterfly fluttered through the air, landing delicately on one of the blooms.

He stepped forward, intent on making his way through the maze, but soon, every turn began to feel disorienting. Each path seemed identical to the last. He took another turn, only to find the path splitting ahead in different directions. He paused, studying both options. They both appeared exactly the same, yet something told him neither would lead him where he wanted to go.

The garden’s true nature began to reveal itself. The paths ahead seemed to twist and loop back on themselves, making it impossible to tell which way would lead out.

Meta gritted his teeth. If only he could fly above it all. And without his sword, cutting through the obstacles was out of the question. He reached for the vines on one of the hedges to climb, but the moment his hand touched them, he flinched. Thorns covered every inch, making climbing impossible. 

The maze felt as though it were designed to trap him. 

He scanned his surroundings for another option but found none. His only option left was to keep moving forward.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been wandering. Hours, or only moments. A part of him wondered if time was even passing at all.

He began to feel hopeless, until something caught his eye. Up ahead was an opulent palace that blocked the sunlight. The sheer size of it was daunting.

Slowing his pace, he spotted an open gate. Meta Knight hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside what appeared to be an actual garden. This place, too, brimmed with roses, though these were more vibrant and perfect than any he had seen before. As he glanced around, he noticed wilted dandelions strewn across the ground.

In the distance, he heard faint sounds of scuffling, like something or someone being chased.

He paused, but the noise faded, and his attention drifted back to the roses. There was something unnerving about them, yet they drew him in. His hand hovered, almost compelled to touch it, but a sharp voice cut through the stillness.

“Stop!” 

Meta flinched, startled. From a nearby bush, a figure rustled and rushed toward him. It was unmistakably Blade Knight, wearing black armor adorned with rose motifs.

"Don't touch that, or you'll end up like them," Blade Knight warned, gesturing to the scattered weeds strewn across the ground.

A moment later, Sword Knight emerged in similar red armor, appeared at his side.

“Those roses are dangerous. You don’t want to find out what they can do.”

“Beautiful, but deadly—just like The Queen.” Blade added.

Meta remained silent.

Of course they didn’t recognize him either. As much as he wished to speak with them like before, he knew it would be in vain.

Judging by their armor, it was clear they served The Queen, yet they didn’t seem hostile. Instead, there was a sense of concern in their demeanor. Despite not knowing him here, something about them felt true to the knights he remembered.

“Say, what’re you doing here, anyway?” Blade asked.

"You fool! He slipped by while you were off chasing that mouse!" Sword snapped.

"We were both chasing him! Better we find him than The Queen!" 

Meta watched their back-and-forth, and for a brief moment, it brought a small smile to his face. Their familiar banter, despite everything, reminded him of how things once were.

“I’m only passing through.”

Their bickering stopped, and both knights stared at him, puzzled.

“But, the only place this path leads is to the castle!” 

Meta nodded. “Then I shall keep going. I must see the queen.”

“Listen,” Sword warned, “There’s no good reason to seek her out. The Queen… she’s not someone you want to meet.”

Meta's voice was quiet but firm. “I have no choice.”

The two exchanged wary glances, then leaned in for a hushed conversation. After a moment, they slowly stepped aside, leaving the path open.

“Just… be careful up there,” Sword Knight muttered. “And watch your head.”

Meta gave a curt nod, and without hesitation, continued forward.

Meta advanced further into the garden, with the scent of roses becoming thicker with each step until it became unbearable. Every so often, he glanced around, noticing fly-like gardeners moving from flower to flower, working in silence as they plucked away imperfections. They were completely absorbed in their task, paying him no mind.

He paused, debating his next move. The palace was just meters away. His thoughts were soon interrupted by a familiar voice.

“There you are! It’s about time!”

Meta barely had time to react before The Spider appeared, grabbing his wrist and tugging him forward with a huff.

“Come, no time to waste!” he urged.

Meta halted, planting himself firmly. “What are you doing?”

The Spider blinked, startled by the resistance, though he quickly masked it with a frustrated huff.

“We must give The Queen her gift!” he sounded exasperated, clearly having expected him much sooner.

Meta’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask. “The Queen...” 

Surely, this queen must be... 

“That’s right!” The Spider cut in, excitement in his eyes as he reached for Meta’s wrist again.

Meta hesitated, weighing his options. He briefly considered ways to get rid of him, but if he was to meet The Queen, it might be wiser to let himself be led straight to her.

As Meta stepped into the palace, his vision strained. It became difficult to focus, almost painful to look at anything for too long.

The floor beneath him showed distorted reflections that didn’t seem to match what stood above. There were shadows belonging to nothing, while some furniture seemed to lack them.

The Spider marched ahead, his excitement growing with each step.

“Isn’t it grand?” he exclaimed, his voice unnaturally loud as it echoed off the walls. 

Even the echoes sounded strange, returning as something slightly different, like whispers of something else or laughter.

Occasionally, Meta thought he caught subtle movements along the walls, only to disappear from sight just as soon as his attention was drawn to them. They continued down the corridor. 

“The Queen has excellent taste, as you can plainly see. She has brought this kingdom to perfection. Every inch of this palace reflects her power, her beauty, her vision…”

Meta barely registered the words. His gaze drifted instinctively around the palace. The walls curved unnaturally, seeming to lean in, funneling them deeper inside. Ornate doors lined the colored hallways, their surfaces covered in roses, while mirrors lined the halls. They didn't seem to reflected anything here.

And as always, more roses. They crawled up the walls, winding around pillars and spilling out from doorways. 

The Spider droned on.

“She transformed this once pitiful land into a paradise. Her rule is absolute, her beauty unmatched, her wisdom boundless. There’s no one like her!” 

Meta’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask, growing irritated.

He glanced down at the floor again, at the distorted reflections. They moved out of sync with his steps.

Finally, they reached the grandest corridor yet. 

The air here felt heavier, and Meta's vision blurred for a moment. He glanced down at the bouquet of roses he carried. 

Why would she need these? This palace is already drowning in them.

When the towering doors swung open, they revealed a lavish room in gold and crimson. The opulence was overwhelming, with every inch of the throne room covered in luxurious fabrics, gold, and roses. 

The Spider scurried forward with exaggerated excitement, nearly stumbling.

"Look what I got you, my Queen!" His voice was eager, almost manic with adoration.

The throne room was filled with The Queen’s courtiers, seated around a circular table along the perimeter. They sat in stony silence, their eyes fixed on Meta Knight and The Spider as they entered.

They were cold and unblinking, like statues. Above them all, seated in the highest chair was The Queen herself.

"Who interrupts me?" Her voice sliced through the air, sharp enough to shake his resolve.

It was her. 

Queen Sectonia. She stood tall, her golden wings shimmering in the light, casting fractured reflections across the room. Her stare was cold, piercing, as unforgiving as ever. The very color around her silhouette seemed to flicker, as if reality itself struggled to contain her presence.

Memories flooded Meta’s mind. The helplessness, the feeling of being reduced to a mere possession. Standing before her again was like being thrust back into a nightmare he thought he had finally escaped.

A cruel twist of fate.

Meta never fully understood why she despised him. His very presence seemed to bring her scorn. Her voice, always so controlled, also seemed to drip with disdain. 

Unlike others, she demanded he keep his mask on at all times. To him, it was a symbol of duty. To her, it was a way to hide what threatened her—a beauty she couldn’t control.

She kept him isolated, forbidding any to speak to him. He moved through her palace like a shadow, always trailing behind her. She didn’t see him as a knight, but as a servant, forcing him into menial tasks far beneath his skill, holding up her mirror for her, scrubbing the floors until they reflected her face. She controlled everything, when he could sleep, when he could eat. 

From her throne, she would watch him, her eyes on him as if she were observing a pet, waiting for him to fail.

‘Even this you can’t do right,’ she’d mutter.

No matter how perfectly he executed her orders, it was never enough. She would always find some fault. 

She made him wear gaudy armor, lined with her colors.

‘You must reflect my greatness,’ she’d say.

Every day, his sense of self eroded, replaced by a version of himself that existed only to serve her. 

The grace and strength others saw in him, she denied. The idea that anyone might admire him was intolerable to her.

The isolation was soul crushing. Days, weeks passed without hearing any voice but hers. He became something hidden, a beautiful thing locked in a gilded cage. When others came to the palace, they saw only her, never the shadow behind.

What had he done to deserve this punishment? The answer was never clear. 

Her cruelty was not from any particular fault of his, but from something she could never admit; jealousy.

He possessed a natural grace, strength, and, though he didn’t realize it, beauty. For that, she punished him. He was everything she lacked, a mirror of her own inadequacies.

At least this time, Meta Knight knew it was an illusion. 

That didn’t change how incredibly real it felt.

He looked over the gathered court, recognizing those who sat there. Familiar tormentors; those who had captured him, those who had watched his suffering, Susie, with her empty smile as hollow as ever.

The Spider’s voice broke through his daze. 

“It’s me, my Queen, your faithful herald.” He bowed deeply, his cheeks flushed as he gestured toward the bouquet in Meta’s hand.

“I brought you a gift!” 

But The Queen's eyes barely gave the flowers a glance. Her attention fixated solely on Meta. He felt her gaze pierce him. 

She approached him with slow steps. 

She stopped before him, her head tilted ever so slightly. 

"What a stupid hat." 

Her hand reached out, plucking the small hat from his head. She tossed it aside carelessly, as if it were a piece of clutter. 

Meta’s fists clenched at his sides. Though the absurdity of the little hat had once left him exasperated, its absence now cut deeper than expected. Cast away like it meant nothing, just as she once tried to cast aside everything he was.

He wasn’t that subservient knight anymore, and she was not the one who once held him in chains.

The mirrors lining the room reflected The Queen from every angle, circling Meta like a predator inspecting its prey.

“A new servant…?” Her voice was lazy, indifferent, as if he was beneath her.

Meta gritted his teeth, biting back his anger.

“And you hide behind a ridiculous mask,” she mused. “As if it makes any difference.”

She paced around him. In the mirrors, her reflections appeared distorted just beyond his vision.

“You serve. You grovel. In the end, you're all the same.” 

She finally reached for the bouquet that Meta still held. She examined the roses, turning them in her hand, disinterested, until something caught her attention. She leaned in towards the flowers, as if listening to something. 

“What’s this...?” she muttered, barely audible.

Her violet eyes darkened, and her demeanor immediately shifted to something more hostile.

The world around them began to bend more erratically, colors blending together, the walls twitching out of place. She tossed the bouquet aside, like a worthless offering. 

She leaned in closer to Meta, her eyes narrowing as if seeing something for the first time.

Her voice, low and threatening, broke the silence.

“The mask,” she commanded. “Take it off.”

Meta didn’t move, remaining still.

He stiffened, momentarily caught off guard by the demand.

“I will not repeat myself."

Meta’s fists clenched tighter, but he remained firm.

“I do not serve you.”

The room seemed to pulsed with her rage. The mirrors around them began to crack, warping the reflections further. Meta caught glimpses of himself in the fractured surfaces, distorted, broken, as though he were looking at someone else.

The Queen stepped closer.

“I’ll take your head as a trophy, to show all who dare defy me.” 

The ground beneath Meta began to tremble. The floor felt as though it were tilting, and the world around him seemed on the verge of collapse, coming apart at the seams.

Out of the shadows, The Cheshire emerged with a wide grin. His eyes gleamed with mischievous delight as he glanced between Meta Knight and The Queen. 

"Such a tense atmosphere, don’t you think? All over a little mask."

The Queen's attention snapped to him.

"So, you were behind this. This pathetic little message—do you think you can mock me?"

“Never my queen! I wouldn’t dream of it.” His grin widened, the mischief in his voice almost daring. “Though, you both seem rather fond of that mask. Tell me, what if—”

In one swift motion, The Cheshire’s hand darted forward. Meta barely had time to react before the mask was in The Cheshire's hands. Grinning, he held it up like a trophy, while observing the reactions.

What The Queen saw was exactly what she dreaded. Beneath the mask, Meta Knight’s face held a quiet, natural beauty.

A purity she could never possess. Her own twisted reflections stared back at her through the mirrors, mocking her with every distorted version of herself.

The Spider gasped, covering his mouth in shock, along with the astonished courtiers whispering among themselves.

Her eyes scanned the court, trying to catch any trace of admiration in their faces. She saw their subtle glances toward Meta, their hushed whispers, and it only fueled her paranoia. 

What were they thinking? Did they dare admire him? Was his beauty eclipsing hers?

"Ah, is that it? You think you're more beautiful than me, do you?" she spat, her voice trembling.

The sight of his face, pure and untouched by the corruption that had twisted her, was unbearable.

Around them, the illusion began to rupture, the very fabric of the world unraveling.

The cracked mirrors twisted into distorted reflections. Taunting her.

The Cheshire glanced around, unfazed by the chaos. 

"Well, it seems I’ve done what I came for," he said, almost playful. 

With a final grin, he vanished, leaving The Queen to spiral further into her madness.

The mirrors contorted, splintering off into thousands of fragments that rained down like glass.

As the shards fell, they coalesced around him, forming a dome that expanded into a nightmarish hall of mirrors that stretched endlessly in every direction. His own fractured reflections stared back at him, distorted and warped, as they trapped him within the prism. 

It was silent. The Queen, The Spider and the court vanished, leaving him alone in the glassy expanse. 

A myriad of facets of himself surrounded him. Each one warped in ways that unsettled him.

One showed his armor cracked and splintered, barely holding him together.

Another, suffering from some unknown burden, with eyes dark and hollow.

In yet another, his features were darker, scarred. Perhaps a corrupted version of himself, glaring back as if blaming him.

Some reflected a younger version of himself, unscarred, naive, arrogant.

The more he stared, the more they seemed to bleed into one another.

Meta took a deep breath, keeping himself steady. He stepped forward, moving past the reflections as his eyes searched each surface.

He wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but deep down he knew there was something hidden among these facades, or reflections, that he needed to find. He gazed into the infinite versions of himself, some powerful, some broken—yet none of them felt real. They all carried pieces of him, but they weren’t him.

Something was missing.

His eyes narrowed as he continued his search, moving past the versions of himself that pulled at his vulnerabilities and doubts he kept buried.

Then, he spotted a reflection that made him pause. Unlike the others, it didn’t display strength or weakness. It was quieter, subtler, as if hiding in plain sight. The reflection was turned away, seemingly unaware of Meta Knight’s presence. But as he stepped closer, it began to turn toward him.

There was something about it, a pull he couldn’t ignore, as though this reflection held a truth that was kept buried.

Before he could reach out, the world around him collapsed further. Colors drained away as the mirrors crumbled, leaving Meta standing in darkness.

In an instant, everything dissolved into obscurity.

He blinked, and the next moment, he awoke in a daze. The strange dream already slipping from his memory, like it was lost in the fog.