Pain.
Real.
Immediate.
The medbay slammed back into place.
Buzzing lights.
Beeping machines.
Fire still roaring outside.
My lungs dragged in a breath.
Sharp.
Burning.
Alive.
Miles wasn't still there.
Instead, Boomer stood at my bedside, his weapons on his back clicking as he adjusted his grip on a fresh bandage roll. His tusks gleamed under the flickering emergency lights—too clean, too polished for frontline combat.
"War's done," he said, voice rough like gravel dragged through victory. "Seven days you were out. Terminus holds. Fort Knothole is ours."
His glove rasped against his chin when he scratched it—a nervous habit he'd had since I first dragged him out of Diamond Heights' gutters.
"Queen Ciara's forces helped to break the Overlander Supremacist siege."
"W-what?"
The word stumbled out before my brain fully caught up with consciousness again.
I blinked hard.
The room swam briefly before stabilizing.
No pain beyond soreness.
No tearing agony.
No broken-body feeling.
Just stiffness.
Like I'd slept in the world's worst position for a week straight.
"…Wait."
I flexed one hand experimentally.
Then my other.
My fingers worked perfectly.
I rolled one shoulder carefully.
Sore.
But functional.
"…Doc actually fixed me."
Boomer barked a short laugh.
"Yeah. That was kinda the point."
I stared at my hands for another second.
Then immediately tried sitting up.
Boomer pointed at me instantly.
"If you collapse after being conscious for twelve seconds I'm legally allowed to mock you."
"I'm fine."
"You sound offended about it."
"…I kinda am."
The soreness in my muscles protested as I sat fully upright, but otherwise—
Nothing.
No screaming nerves.
No instability.
No feeling like my body was about to implode from overclocking itself.
Just exhaustion.
Boomer watched me carefully for another moment before relaxing slightly.
"Okay yeah," he muttered. "You're actually fine."
I looked around the medbay properly now.
It looked… rough.
Not destroyed.
But overworked.
Extra supplies stacked against walls.
Fresh repairs on equipment.
Bandages overflowing from disposal bins.
Signs of a place that had been forced to function nonstop for days.
The reality of that settled slowly into my chest.
"…The war really happened while I was asleep."
Boomer's expression dimmed slightly.
"Yeah."
Silence settled for a moment.
Then:
"…Who's Queen Ciara?"
Boomer blinked.
"You don't know who Queen Ciara is?"
"I was unconscious before the war started properly!"
"That's fair actually."
He dragged a chair closer to my bedside and sat backward in it.
"Okay so. Queen Ciara's basically—"
He paused.
"…Actually I don't know how to summarize her safely."
"That's concerning."
"She helped save Fort Knothole."
"Oh."
"She's also terrifying."
"…Oh."
Boomer scratched his chin again.
"She's smart. Like. Really smart. Revolutionary leader type. Took Fort Knothole before the Overlander Supremacists got there, then helped Terminus forces break the siege afterward."
I frowned slightly.
"…And she's here now?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
Boomer gave me the flattest look imaginable.
"You're the king."
"…Right."
"Apparently she wanted to meet you personally."
That sentence somehow made me more nervous than waking up after a week-long coma.
"…Why does that sound threatening."
"Because everything sounds threatening when important people say it."
"That's fair."
I rubbed lightly at my face.
Seven days.
An entire war campaign while I was unconscious.
God.
The player part of my brain still occasionally forgot how horrifyingly fast history moved here.
Boomer leaned back in the chair slightly.
"Doc's been freaking out less now that you're awake, at least."
That pulled my attention back immediately.
"…He freaked out?"
Boomer stared at me.
"Arthur. He medically induced a coma on a five-year-old king."
"…When you say it like that it sounds bad."
"It was stressful!"
I snorted softly.
Then shook my head.
"He was right though."
Boomer blinked.
"You're not mad?"
"Boomer, I absolutely would've done the same thing."
"You would?"
"I probably will have to at some point."
Boomer froze.
"…That sentence is deeply alarming."
"Doc doesn't sleep enough."
"That is true."
"He overworks himself constantly."
"Also true."
"He absolutely would ignore life-threatening injuries if left unsupervised."
Boomer slowly pointed at me.
"…You just described yourself."
"Exactly. Which means I know the warning signs."
Boomer stared for another second before groaning dramatically.
"Anarchy Below, you're both impossible."
"He's still worse."
"Debatable."
I grinned weakly.
"…C'mon. You know I'm right."
Boomer crossed his arms stubbornly.
"You once fought a military convoy with a concussion."
"In my defense, they were being rude."
"You threw a motorcycle at a tank."
"It worked."
"That is not the point!"
I laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Not weak.
Not forced.
Just tired and genuine enough that Boomer finally relaxed completely too.
"There," he said triumphantly, pointing at me. "That. You sounding normal again. Everybody's been waiting for that."
Something about the way he said everybody made the humor soften around the edges.
Because suddenly I could picture all of them.
Sally.
Patch.
Boomer.
Buns.
Collin.
Doc.
Miles.
Everyone waiting around a room wondering if I was actually coming back.
The guilt hit fast.
And immediately afterward—
The warmth did too.
I looked away briefly.
"…Sorry."
Boomer frowned immediately.
"For what?"
"For making everyone worry."
He stared at me like I'd just said something incredibly stupid.
"Arthur."
"What?"
"You fought Master Maximilian."
"…Yeah."
"And survived."
"…Also yeah."
"And then your body basically tried to explode from stress damage."
I winced.
"When you say explode—"
"Figure of speech."
"Okay good."
Boomer pointed accusingly again.
"You do not apologize for almost dying after fighting one of the strongest people on the planet."
"…That feels like exactly when I should apologize."
"Nope."
I opened my mouth.
Boomer immediately raised a finger.
"Nope."
"…You literally interrupted before I talked."
"I know your patterns."
"That's upsetting."
"It's survival."
Before I could respond—
The medbay door burst open hard enough to slam against the wall.
And then orange fur launched directly at me.
"Miles—OH GOD."
The fox kit collided with my chest at full speed while Boomer immediately folded over laughing beside me.
Apparently during my medically induced coma, Miles had discovered movement.
This was unfortunate for everyone involved.
"Buddy," I wheezed as tiny paws scrambled up my shirt, "you are significantly faster than last time."
Miles chirped excitedly while both tails whipped back and forth like hyperactive metronomes.
Boomer wiped tears from his eyes.
"He's been evolving."
"That's not how babies should work!"
Miles immediately tried climbing onto my shoulders.
"…Why is he so strong?"
Boomer shrugged helplessly.
"No clue. He grabbed one of my tools yesterday and I genuinely had to negotiate with him."
I stared at the fox kit currently halfway up my torso.
"…Miles."
He sneezed directly into my face.
Boomer lost control laughing again.
"Oh my Anarchy he missed you so much."
I wiped my face slowly.
"…I'm surrounded by traitors."
Miles chirped proudly and curled immediately against my chest like he'd never left.
And just like that—
The room felt warmer.
Real again.
I leaned back carefully against the bed while Miles settled comfortably against me, both tails flicking lazily over the blanket.
Boomer's laughter faded into a softer grin after a while.
"…He waited in the medbay a lot," he admitted quietly.
That hit harder than expected.
I looked down at the tiny fox kit.
Seven days.
And he'd still waited.
Something tightened painfully in my chest.
Not guilt this time.
Something gentler.
"…Hey, Miles," I murmured softly.
The fox kit looked up immediately.
"…Thanks for not giving up on me, buddy."
Miles responded by trying to chew lightly on one of my gloves.
Boomer nodded solemnly.
"Very emotional moment."
"I hate this family."
"No you don't."
"…Yeah," I admitted quietly.
Miles yawned against me.
Outside the medbay, I could hear Terminus moving.
People talking.
Tools clanging.
Life rebuilding itself after war.
And somewhere out there—
Apparently a queen I'd never met wanted to talk to me.
Fantastic.
Boomer stood slowly from the chair, stretching his arms overhead.
"Well," he announced, "now that you're awake, people are gonna start showing up constantly."
"That sounds threatening."
"It is."
"Can I fake another coma?"
"Nope. Doc specifically warned us you might try that."
"…Wow."
Boomer smirked.
"He knows you really well."
I glanced down at Miles curled against me.
Then toward the flickering lights overhead.
Then finally back toward Boomer.
"…Yeah," I said softly.
"He does."
-------
The medbay doors slid open less than ten minutes after I woke up.
Voices hit first.
Patch's loud enough to shake walls.
"I'm telling you he's awake!"
Buns immediately answered him.
"You are making assumptions based on literally nothing."
"I got instincts."
"You once ate a glow stick because you thought it was candy."
"I WAS FOUR."
"That does not improve your case."
"It glowed!"
"It was radioactive!"
"I turned out fine!"
Boomer snorted from beside my bed.
"Debatable."
Patch gasped in mock betrayal just as the group finally stepped fully into the room.
And froze.
For a second nobody moved.
Patch's visible eye widened so much I thought it might actually fall out.
Buns stopped dead beside him.
Sally froze with Miles in her arms.
Then Patch shouted:
"ARTHUR!"
He immediately sprinted forward and practically launched himself at me hard enough to nearly send me back into the bed.
"Ow— okay wow—"
"You idiot!" Patch yelled while hugging me with enough force to crack ribs. "You scared everybody!"
There it was.
Patch D'Coolette.
The second real connection I'd made in this world after Doc.
Not because he was useful.
Not because he feared me.
Not because he treated me like a weapon or symbol or future king.
Just—
Because he genuinely liked me.
Patch had looked at me back when I was still Sonic and somehow decided:
Yeah. That emotionally exhausted blue disaster seems trustworthy.
Honestly, I still wasn't fully sure why.
But I was grateful for it.
I laughed weakly and hugged him back.
"Good to see you too."
"You were asleep for a week!"
"Medically induced coma," I corrected automatically.
"That's just sleeping with paperwork."
"That is not remotely accurate."
Patch finally pulled back enough to stare directly at me.
The grin on his face wobbled slightly.
"…You're really okay?"
There it was.
The real question underneath the yelling.
I nodded softly.
"Yeah."
Relief hit him instantly.
Not subtle either.
His shoulders dropped hard enough it almost looked painful.
Behind him, Buns crossed the room next.
Unlike Patch, she didn't tackle me.
Instead she grabbed both my shoulders tightly and looked me over like she personally intended to fight death if it tried anything stupid again.
"…You look terrible," she announced.
"That's basically what everyone keeps saying."
"Because it's true."
"I was unconscious."
"And now you're conscious ugly."
Boomer barked out a laugh loud enough to echo.
I pointed weakly at her.
"That felt personal."
"It was."
But despite the insults, her hands lingered for a second longer before she let go.
Relief all over her face too.
Real relief.
The kind people only showed when they'd spent days preparing themselves for the possibility someone wouldn't wake back up.
And Sally—
Sally still hadn't moved.
She stood near the doorway holding Miles quietly while staring at me like she was still waiting for reality to correct itself.
Her eyes looked exhausted.
Emotionally exhausted.
Like the last seven days had scraped something raw inside her.
When our eyes finally met properly, she exhaled.
"…You're awake."
"Last I checked."
"That's good."
Simple words.
Heavy ones.
The room quieted for a second.
Then Boomer immediately ruined the emotional atmosphere.
"He also says he's not mad at Doc."
Sally blinked hard.
"…What?"
I shrugged slightly.
"He was right."
"He put you into a coma!"
"Because my body was destroying itself."
"That is still insane."
"I probably would've done the same thing."
Boomer pointed dramatically.
"SEE?"
Sally rubbed at her forehead.
"You are both impossible."
"Doc doesn't take care of himself," I argued. "At some point I'm probably gonna have to force him to rest too."
Patch burst out laughing.
"Oh my God please do."
"You are not helping," Sally sighed.
Buns crossed her arms.
"To be fair, Doctor Kintobor absolutely would continue working through catastrophic injury if left unsupervised."
"Exactly."
Sally looked between all of us slowly.
Then groaned.
"…I hate that you're all making sense."
Patch immediately straightened smugly.
"That means we win."
"That is not how conversations work."
"It is now."
Miles chirped loudly from Sally's arms before immediately reaching toward me.
"Oh no," Sally muttered automatically.
"Oh yes," Patch corrected.
She carefully handed him over and the fox kit immediately climbed halfway up my chest like he'd been waiting all week specifically for this.
"…You got heavier," I informed him.
Miles sneezed directly into my face.
"Ew."
Boomer nearly collapsed laughing.
"He remembers you!"
"I don't think sneezing counts as memory!"
"It absolutely counts!"
Miles curled happily against me while both tails flicked lazily.
God.
I'd missed this.
Not the politics.
Not the war.
Not leadership.
Just—
People.
Noise.
Connection.
Family.
My quills brushed lightly against the pillow behind me as I shifted and Sally narrowed her eyes slightly.
"…Your quills got longer."
Instinctively I reached back slightly.
"Oh."
Boomer grinned.
"You actually like it, don't you?"
"…Yeah," I admitted quietly.
Because I did.
The longer they got—
The less I looked like Sonic.
Less like the person this world expected me to be.
Less like the reckless cartoon blur I tried to be better than and then tried to be exactly like.
And more like—
Arthur.
Patch grinned.
"It looks good."
Buns nodded once.
"You look older."
That one almost made me laugh internally.
If only they knew.
Mentally I was older than every single person in this room combined.
Older than Collin.
Older than most commanders fighting this war besides Patch's parents and Doc if you counted him...
I was... over thirty mentally at this point.
I think...
I was at least mentally Twenty five.
My memories as Isaiah are slipping as time goes on.
Although that was to be expected, besides that dream/vision I had with the Devourer of All, there was nothing to remind me of my old human self outside of my previous identity issues.
I'd have to reread my journal to double check.
Good thing I wrote it the first chance I got.
Actually... where is my journal?
Anyways, I was a grown man trapped inside the body of a gradually somewhat innocent looking hedgehog king.
Still surreal.
Still deeply weird.
Still somehow my life.
Patch suddenly pointed proudly toward his own head.
"Speaking of looking better."
That finally made me notice it properly.
The eyepatch was gone.
Instead he now wore a military-style beret tilted slightly to one side with a stitched patch emblem sewn into the front.
I stared at him.
Then immediately started laughing.
"Oh my God."
"What?!"
"You made your nickname even more literal!"
"No I didn't!"
"You literally put a patch on your hat, Patch!"
"It's fashion!"
Boomer lost it immediately.
Buns snorted loud enough to nearly choke.
Even Sally smiled slightly.
Patch pointed accusingly at all of us.
"Doc said even if I kept switching the eyepatch between eyes it would mess up my vision!"
"That sounds medically accurate," I admitted.
"He said my depth perception was becoming 'artistically concerning!'"
"…That also sounds like him."
Patch crossed his arms.
"So I adapted."
"You absolutely turned your nickname into branding."
"It looks cool though."
Honestly?
It did.
The beret worked weirdly well for him.
"You look like a tiny revolutionary," I admitted.
Patch immediately brightened.
"YES."
"You are way too happy about that."
"Because I have style."
"Debatable."
"Wrong."
The room settled again after the laughter faded.
Warm.
Comfortable.
Then Sally cleared her throat quietly.
"There's something else."
Boomer immediately looked entertained.
Patch looked curious.
Buns just looked tired.
Sally inhaled softly.
"My name is no longer Sally Alicia Acorn."
That made all of us blink.
"…What?" Patch asked first.
"I changed it."
Boomer tilted his head.
"To what?"
Sally looked strangely nervous for a second.
Not uncertain.
Just vulnerable.
Like this mattered more than she wanted to admit.
"…Guinevere," she said softly.
The room went quiet briefly.
Honestly?
It fit her weirdly well.
Elegant.
Strong.
Different enough to stand apart from Acorn entirely.
Patch blinked twice.
"…That actually sounds really cool."
Boomer nodded.
"Yeah honestly that's a good name."
Buns smiled warmly.
"It suits you."
Sally visibly relaxed slightly at the reactions.
"I read it in a book," she admitted. "And I… liked it."
"Well congratulations then, Guinevere," I said sincerely.
Something softened in her expression immediately at hearing it said out loud.
"…Thank you."
Then Boomer suddenly scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Y'know technically my name's not actually Boomer either."
Everybody looked at him.
"…What?"
He shrugged.
"It's Rotor."
Patch blinked.
"…Rotor?"
"Yeah."
"That sounds like a machine part."
"My mom... was a mechanic."
"…Okay... that tracks actually."
It was pretty easy to tell what he meant by 'was'...
Boomer the moved the conversation along by pointing accusingly.
"I just prefer Boomer."
"That is fair honestly."
Then Buns casually added:
"My full name's Bunnie Rabbot."
My brain stalled for a full second.
Because somehow—
Somehow—
I had genuinely thought Buns was just her actual full name this entire time.
And now all I could mentally hear was:
Bunnie Rabbot.
Bunny Rabbit.
God Damn it.
I had lived through wars in two different worlds and somehow THIS was what nearly broke me.
I physically covered my mouth trying not to laugh.
Buns narrowed her eyes instantly.
"…What."
"Nothing."
"You're thinking something."
"I absolutely am."
Patch then pointed toward himself proudly.
"Well technically my actual first name's Antoine."
That made Buns blink.
"…Wait really?"
"Yeah. Patch is just what everybody calls me."
Boomer snapped his fingers.
"OH."
Sally suddenly froze slightly.
Everybody looked toward her.
And slowly—
Very slowly—
Realization crossed her face.
Then she pointed vaguely around the room.
"…Wait."
Boomer grinned immediately.
"Oh no."
Buns burst out laughing first.
Patch followed instantly.
Sally looked horrified.
"I was the only one still going by my actual name."
Boomer pointed dramatically.
"YOU WERE."
"Oh my God."
Patch doubled over laughing.
"You accidentally joined the nickname club!"
"That was not intentional!"
"Too late now," Buns wheezed.
I leaned back against the bed laughing quietly while the room completely dissolved into chaos again.
And honestly?
For the first time since waking up—
Everything finally felt normal again...
-------
I swung my legs over the side of the medbed slowly, feeling the stiffness in my muscles more than any real pain.
Not injured.
Just… aware.
Like my body had been put on pause and someone had restarted it a few seconds too late.
Boomer was still hovering nearby, arms folded like he expected me to collapse out of sheer principle alone.
"I said I'm fine," I muttered, rolling my shoulder.
"You were unconscious for a week," Boomer replied flatly.
"And now I'm not."
"That's not how recovery works."
"That's exactly how recovery works when you don't want paperwork."
He gave me a long look.
"…That is the worst medical philosophy I've ever heard."
I swung my legs down fully and stood anyway.
Sore.
Stiff.
But functional.
That was all that mattered.
Boomer handed me a folded set of gear—cleaned, patched, repaired in places it definitely shouldn't have held together.
"You've got a meeting," he said.
"I assumed," I replied.
"You don't know who she is."
That made me pause slightly.
"Queen Ciara," I repeated. "No. Today's the first time hearing it."
Boomer scratched his chin.
"She helped break the siege. That's about all anyone agrees on."
"Helpful," I said dryly.
He shrugged.
"War doesn't come with pamphlets."
I adjusted my gloves and rolled my shoulders again, testing the weight of myself.
Still me.
Still here.
That counted for something.
-------
By the time I left the medbay, the base felt… different.
Not fixed.
Not peaceful.
But stabilized in that fragile way things get when everyone agrees not to fall apart at the same time.
People moved faster.
More coordinated.
Like they were trying to convince reality it hadn't just survived a war.
And I—
I was just trying to remember how to walk like I belonged in it again.
-------
By the time we reached the meeting hall after I put put on anew suit, the atmosphere had shifted again.
Heavier.
More official.
Less like recovery.
More like consequence.
Two figures stood waiting near the entrance.
Sir Armand D'Coolette.
And Mary Lulamae D'Coolette.
They were speaking quietly, but stopped the moment we approached.
Armand's eyes met mine first.
Measured.
Respectful.
Tired in a way I recognized.
Mary's gaze followed immediately after—sharper, analytical, assessing in a single sweep.
I had the sudden impression I was being filed into a mental cabinet somewhere.
"King Arthur Sylvannia," Sir Armand said.
I winced slightly at the title.
Still not used to that.
"Yeah," I replied. "That's me."
Mary stepped forward slightly.
"There are matters we need to discuss before the formal introduction—"
A distant set of footsteps cut through the corridor.
Faster.
Intentional.
The room didn't even finish preparing itself before she arrived.
Queen Ciara.
The air shifted instantly.
Not magically.
Not dramatically.
Just… socially.
Like everyone subconsciously agreed something important had entered the room.
She stopped at the threshold.
Looked at me directly.
And smiled.
"King Arthur Sylvannia," she said clearly.
I stared at her for a moment.
Something about her face…
Familiar in a way I couldn't place properly.
Not memory.
Not recognition.
More like—
A frame I'd seen before.
A scene I didn't fully understand.
My brain tried to align it with something.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed harder.
And then, very faintly, an absurd thought surfaced that made absolutely no sense at all.
Is… is that the mom from the Sonic Underground theme song?
My thoughts slammed into a complete stop.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
…What in the actual FUCK?!