Chapter Text

Prologue: 'Til Death Do Us Part

| Love is what brings two SOULs together. When you love someone, a part of your SOUL becomes theirs. When they’re no longer around, those parts of your SOUL will continue to hurt, because they belong to someone who’s never coming back.|

- Excerpt from the Ancient Monster Glyphs -

The phone call that would begin the coldest season Frisk would spend in Surface Home came in the middle of dinner. It cut through Asgore's story about the new shirts he bought that day to celebrate two years of reintegration—just so he had something “more fashionable” than his Hawaiian shirt in his modest wardrobe. He especially liked the one with the flamingo prints and even brought it out to show off to everyone. Toriel told him to tell her whenever he planned to wear it, only because she didn’t want to be seen with him when he did. Laughter broke out from the children at Asgore’s aghast look, and Frisk finally stood to get the phone. 

As she entered the hallway, she said, “Bet it’s Gaster with one of his out-of-nowhere scientific breakthroughs.”

‘I bet it’s Alphys with another SOS because of said scientific breakthrough,’ Chara replied.  

Frisk picked up the receiver on the wall. Laughter lacing her voice, she spoke, “Hello?”  

For moments, there was nothing from the other line. Then, a solemn voice. 

“Freya…”  

It was Charlotte’s.

Toriel noticed first. When Frisk returned to the dining room, her steps were slow and soundless. And the glow she always carried—that which she had upon leaving the room—it was gone. 

Immediately, the rest of them noticed.

“Frisk?” Asriel asked first. 

“What’s wrong?” Asgore followed. 

Frisk said, “Mama died.” 

Spoons and forks dropped on the Dreemurr's plates. 

“Her health had been bad for a while now," Frisk continued softly. "She was bedridden the past few times I went to see her. Doctor said she had many sicknesses that come with age but…” 

The only movement Frisk made was the involuntary shake of her shoulders that got harder to control with each word she said next.

“But last time I saw her…just a week ago…She was okay…She asked me how I was. She could barely stand but she was still so happy to see me. That was just a week ago.” Lifting her head, her face was covered in tears. “If I knew I never would have left—”

Toriel sprung from her seat and took Frisk in her arms, and the girl crumbled in them. 

That night, dinner ended with half-eaten plates that grew cold. The Dreemurr family gathered around Frisk, trying to console a heart that healed not too long ago, breaking again right in front of them.

Cardiac arrest. It happened on a rare occasion Elinor had enough strength to go to the kitchen in the middle of the night to make herself tea. She sat on her rocking chair at the porch and looked through a box of pictures until she fell asleep. Come morning, she had an empty cup of lavender, pictures neatly arranged on the table, and didn’t move anymore. 

It was an end they had been expecting, but when it happened, no one saw it coming.

There was no greater challenge than facing the death of a loved one. It broke the flow of the world; trapped you in the plane of grief that exists between a past you can’t have and a future you can’t imagine. Frisk knew this as well as the skin of her scars. She also knew the choice to love meant the inevitability of grief. But that didn't stop its full force from crashing down on her when she arrived at her grandmother’s home, and saw nobody waiting for her at the front porch.

Charlotte took Frisk into her arms as soon as she walked in, comforting her in the way words could not. Meanwhile, Cap was in the living room, setting the house up for more people to come, unable to look at her directly. Either because her eyes were swollen, or his were. 

Sans told her to rest before the service, but Frisk’s mind trailed endless paths taking her all over the place. 

In this house, she used to know where to find her—in the kitchen where she taught her how to use the oven; the living room where they'd chat on and on about their days; the staircase where Frisk helped her when her knees were no longer strong; around the dining table feasting on the vegetables and delicacies of the farm; and at the porch sharing tea before bed, giving each other warm company through the night. 

Every one of these places was now empty; colors washed out by the pale blue morning of winter, save the purple, heart-shaped entity hovering inside a glass case on the table at the center of the living room. Beside it was the urn—a ceramic pot of lustrous evergreen, unstinting in elegance and simplicity. Whoever chose it captured exactly what she was like. 

“What is most important about a person’s life isn’t how they lived or died, but how deeply they loved.”

For two years, Frisk came here to visit her. A weekend a month was all she gave. As in the end of most things, the time they had was never enough. So the lingering question could not be shaken off:

Did I love you enough?

“Do not waste time asking that, my dear,” Charlotte told her as they shared coffee in the kitchen. “The most we can do for her anymore is mourn. That, itself, is an act of loving.”

In her first time dressing for grief, Frisk wore a long-sleeved black dress, with the black tights and inch-high shoes to match it. Any other day, she’d say Gaster met his competition with this getup. The only colorful thing she wore was the red brooch necklace her grandmother gave her, paired with a modest set of gold earrings the shape of jasmines—something she found while looking in her room. It was here her absence was felt most. Everything was right where she left it. 

It was here, too, Frisk found a photograph hidden in her bedside drawer. Worn by time and colored in gray, of a family of four. A very curious photo, more so because her grandmother never showed it to her before. 

“Iliana Family, ‘bout thirty years ago,” Cap told her when she went to ask him. “Surprised you found that. Thought she’d tossed out all her family photos years ago.”

“Why would she do that?”

Cap stopped snipping the flowers from Elinor’s garden, going deep into his thoughts. 

When he seemed to sort them out, he said, “Not surprised she didn’t tell you. She never wanted to talk about it.” 

He continued his task, albeit slowly. “Havin’ a family’s been both her greatest joy and regret. As an orphan dawdling around in her day, she’da ended up another dead body on the sidewalk, but luckily someone offered her a patch of land to make somethin’ out of. Sheer grit and a strong belief in God got her to build everything you see now. The family she’s always wanted here, though…just didn't last as long.” 

He cut one last flowerhead, a white rose, and nodded to the picture in Frisk's hand. “Every person with her in that photo is gone. And for a time, she thought her granddaughter was, too. If that’s a pain anyone’s gotta live with, I’d try to get rid of every trace of it, too.”

Putting away the shears, Cap gathered the flowers. “Eh, but I’m sure throwin’ out those photos was just another regret she added to the pile. It’s why she held on for as long as she did when you disappeared. She didn’t know when or if you’d be found, but it was better than looking back at life thinking she shouldn’t have had it at all.” 

“I never gave up on you.”

 “The moment you throw away those you love…is when you truly have nothing left.” 

When Frisk returned inside, she took a closer look at the photo. Dressed in their Sunday’s best, her grandmother was surely the thin, short-haired woman at the center in a long skirt. To her left was her husband—a tall, square-faced man in a big trench coat with a soft smile. In her arms she held a little boy, no older than two, wearing a newsboy cap. And holding her hand was a young girl in a white dress, dark brown hair fixed in a high bun. A girl Frisk recognized instantly, for that girl had grown into the woman she calledー

“Mommy…”

The word drifted out the windows, and into the cold air.

The house was soon filled with people she didn’t know—previous farmworkers, the neighbors in the vicinity, friends from Elinor's younger days, and a whole lot of veterans that used to work for and with the Special Operations of Adam and Rosalind Everest, better known as SpARE. Every one of them had the same things to say. 

“Deeply sorry for your loss, Miss Everest...” 

“Sincerest condolences, Miss Everest.” 

They treated her with high deference. Like royalty or an important public official. Even after years, Frisk never learned how to carry the weight of that regard. Today, however, it felt extra isolating. 

By noon, the Dreemurrs had arrived. Frisk was glad for it. She didn’t want to talk to anyone else anymore. Cap and Charlotte seemed to read her sentiments, and kept the rest of the guests occupied the rest of the afternoon.

So when the next ring on the door was answered by Frisk herself, to their surprise, it was someone she—and everyone else—knew. 

Prime Minister Mark Alistair gave her a once-over. “You look tired. Go sit somewhere nice and quiet.” 

Frisk’s encounters with this man were few and far between. Nonetheless, he was a friend of her family's—and had been for a long time. She could see why; the way he greeted her might've been her favorite expression of sympathy yet. 

Frisk felt prompted to say, “Would you like a drink first?” 

He smiled. “Save yourself the trouble.”

For the first time that day, she smiled back.

With Frisk out of sight—probably grabbing a bite somewhere with Asriel—Sans left the living room as well. He hoped to escape the gloomy clouds hanging all over the house, but was surprised to find Alistair sitting alone at the kitchen counter with a can of beer in hand. 

Sans raised his browbones. “the hell you get that?” 

“Fridge."

“okay. why’re you walkin’ around like you own the place?”

Alistair shrugged. “It’s not my first time here.”

That shouldn't be a reason, but would Sans really argue with the leader of the Human Kingdom over that?

Instead, he followed his example, and grabbed ketchup from there as well. The two men shared a half-hearted toast and sipped their drinks in silence. 

Someone had to speak up eventually, though. 

“Did you tell her?” 

And Sans really wished he didn’t know what he was talking about. He put his ketchup bottle down.

“i figured i shouldn’t have to.” 

Sans side-eyed the window, catching two people in navy blue coats and ties, with a patch on their sleeves bearing the Western Human Kingdom insignia. 

“the talkin's the least your people can do.” 

Alistair stared at his hand around the cold aluminum can. “That’s fair.”

“You’re leaving?” 

Frisk only chanced upon the conversation Charlotte had with the man and woman in black coats at the porch, and upon overhearing enough, could not stop herself from interjecting. Her appearance had startled them speechless. First to recover, Charlotte, to both their regret, nodded. 

“After the funeral, yes,” she said. “Without her, I’m...compromised, Freya. Please understand.”

“I don’t understand. Why does she have to go?” Toriel asked, Asgore next to her on the couch as they were told what had to happen. 

Alistair answered, “Charlotte was the Ignis dei’s head of the illegal SOUL trade back when they had a monopoly on the black market. When SpARE seized it, for reasons never publicized she was given special protection by Adam and Rosalind Everest. Details aside, she’s no longer entitled to those protections.”

Despite the business-like manner he always spoke, there was regret in his eyes. 

“Their decision to protect Charlotte drew a lot of flak. She was the perpetrator of the bulk of illegal trade that happened here, and knew too much about the creation of forbidden SOUL instruments.

“But in the end she was a victim of the Ignis dei. See, her family—her husband, children, parents, and even in-laws—were all turned into SOUL artifacts distributed around the world by a notorious Monster trader from Central. The dei made a deal for her to head their illegal SOUL trade operations to help her find each of them. That way, they controlled her and their market more efficiently.”

He gave them a hard look that pained him as much as it did them. “As it stands, however…The agreement was she would be under supervision of any who signed for her shielding.” 

All signatories were: Adam Everest, Rosalind Everest, and Elinor Iliana.

“I’ll sign anything!” Frisk cried. 

The man in the uniform shook his head. “You can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s alright, Freya.” 

Charlotte smiled at her. Turning to the two adults, an exchange of stares was all that happened before she said, “I’ll cooperate.”

Turning again to Frisk, she sighed. “Freya…please look at me.”

The mists in her eyes made it hard for Frisk to do that, and perhaps it was less from the frustration she never told her this, but because beyond blood, this woman, too, was family. And she did not think they would be taken from her just like that a second time. 

“Charlotte, don't go…” Frisk said shakily, “I won't know what to do without you.”

“You've well outgrown your dependence on me, my dear.” Charlotte stepped towards her. “You can do more than I ever could for you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She raised her voice, but it cracked. “How can you just go, too?” 

Charlotte cupped her cheek and lifted her face. “Leaving doesn't mean I will love you any less.”

Frisk looked at her then, with Charlotte wiping her tears with her thumbs.

“This won't be the last time you'll see me. Though it might be…very long before you do, keep that in mind.”

She said that smiling, but guilt and sorrow spoke louder in her eyes. It wasn't a promise.

Voice clogged with emotion, Frisk said, “I’ll miss you…” 

“Oh…” Charlotte’s eyes watered. She took Frisk into the tightest embrace she’d ever given her. “Promise me, my dear, sweet one…” 

Charlotte pulled away, smoothing the chain of Frisk’s necklace with her fingers, and stopping at the shining red gem of her brooch. 

“Never believe you are alone.”

Frisk sat with Sans on a bench, overlooking Elinor’s ranch up on a hill. The late afternoon clouds covered these fields of green in grayish hues; the cold stretched all over the vast landscape. Everyone else had gone inside to stay warm; all they waited for now was Frisk’s call to officially begin the funeral. 

If she had the choice, she never would. Because after that, there was nothing. It was the end.

“Hey Sans,” she said, “is it wrong for me to wish I could RESET?”

There was no stopping that question from rolling off her tongue. It was the first and only thing on her mind the moment she woke up.

She thought she was ready for it. She had the conviction to live in a world where she had no control over her fate or anyone else's. But when the irreversible suddenly knocked on her door, it took everything with it. And Frisk couldn't stop falling into a treacherous chasm of what she could’ve done differently. 

Sans replied with a sigh. “listen, kid…”

He put his arm around her shoulders, letting her head fall on his chest. 

“all goodbyes come sooner or later. just so happens this one came a little sooner than we thought.”

Frisk’s tears returned, rolling onto his jacket.

“everybody's gotta go one day, frisk.” Sans brushed her hair aside. “it’s the way things work. right now, i’m here with ya, and i don’t plan for that to change. but the day’s gonna come, and it isn’t up to us to decide whatever happens when it does.”

It wasn’t that Frisk wanted him to say what she wanted to hear. But the truth often cuts to the bone, and she wasn’t prepared to hear it. 

“here’s something you really otta learn though.” Sans tilted her chin up, eye to eye with her. “the hardest part isn’t losing them. it’s knowing you gotta let them go…but it’s what needs to be done.”

Slowly, he pulled away from her. “and if you manage it, not all the memories you're gonna make without ‘em are gonna be sad ones.”

Funerals were a double affair—for the body and for the SOUL. It all served the single, colossal purpose of being a life’s last goodbye.

For her body, it was in Elinor’s will to be laid to rest scattered around the soil of her favorite tree—the lone acacia at the center of her land, which she built her home around. Cap made it his duty to carry that out.

As for Frisk, she had her duty made to her SOUL.

When the Vicar called her to send it off, what flashed in Frisk’s mind was how the first time she held a SOUL like this, she had thrown her father across the ocean.

Slowly, she walked to the front of the crowd, facing the creek at the end of the patch of land Elinor called home. It was overwhelming. Royalty, soldiers, and Monsters with unfathomable power stood back there, yet all eyes were on her, and she could tell by the silence of held breaths. Death, indeed, was the great leveler.

As the final moments trickled away, Frisk revisited the sunny autumn day she first arrived here two years ago—the day she learned what the love from this SOUL felt like. It came in the form of warm amethyst eyes, a woman standing tall by her wisdom, an afternoon of old toys, picture books of the past, truths told in the name of forgiveness…

And the comfort of her embrace, as she imparted the words that Frisk had written in her own SOUL:

 “When we let things in—kindness, love, even pain—we will always have a heart that’s full. A heart that has lived. And that is certainly better than having none at all.”

Frisk closed her eyes, and said her silent prayer. 

May you be unbound by the earth

Go where pain won’t follow

Dance on the stars you wished on

Reach your highest spirits

Be your greatest hero

And know I love you 

“Thank you for everything, Mama,” she said. “You can go…but I’ll remember you.”

The familiar cold throb in her chest made her sigh. The kind of hurt you leave…is the kind you can’t ever forget.

Lifting her hands, the SOUL gradually floated out of her reach—far beyond clouds of gray and white, leaving the earth forever.

After the funeral, Frisk and Charlotte said their final farewell in the garden, sharing an embrace they wished would last forever, with Charlotte telling her, just as in Frisk’s childhood days,

“You are going to be okay. So don’t cry more than you need to.”

They waved at each other through the fence gate as Alistair’s personnel led her to a car. Alistair himself bowed his head to Frisk before following. She couldn’t hate him for it. He seemed to do that for her already. 

Frisk had witnessed this scene countless times, but if it wasn’t easy before, nothing compared to how she watched that car shrink farther into the dirt road, knowing it will never return the moment it disappeared. 

She learned from Cap that Elinor left everything she owned to her. Frisk was free to decide what to do with it, but Cap would have to retire the farm. With it, disbanding SpARE’s ex-intelligence unit, the Cascade group. 

“Cascade was created as an intelligence group to combat the Ignis dei,” Cap explained. “You’ll never imagine how much power they had over us before, so it was our mission to keep the truth alive amid the lies they used to control all of us. With it and SpARE gone, we returned to bein’ retired soldiers makin’ ends meet in this farm.”

He pulled his straw hat over his eyes. “That’s another chapter closed, though.”  

Cap patted her head with his prosthetic arm. “But hey. You’ll still see me around. The least I can do is keep this place from growin’ old while it waits for yer turn to.” 

It was like she watched the final fragment of an old life leave her when Cap went to get the house ready for the first night he would spend in it alone. 

Sitting at the back porch, Frisk listened to the halls of this empty home sigh with blown out candle smoke. Sans and Asriel had been with her after, but she asked to be alone. They complied, and told her they would wait for her outside, with the rest. They, too, however, would have to leave this place soon. Along with her. And more than the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, more than feeling cursed to watch everybody she loved leave her, and more than the crippling fear of who she would lose next, it crushed her most to know that, in a matter of time—no matter what she does—the inevitable must come. 

With a soft cry, she called, “Hey, Chara…” 

Her SOUL appeared above her hands. He hadn’t spoken at all since it happened, but she knew he was there. 

There when she cried herself to bed the night she got the news. There in her lonesome moments in the house. There to lift her hands when they felt too weak to give Elinor's SOUL away. There to pull her feet off the ground from where she watched Charlotte's car leave her. 

Always there, and at this point she couldn’t imagine if he wasn’t. But she had to ask.

“When I die…” Her voice trembled. “Like really… really die…What’s going to happen to you?”

Asriel told her the six Human SOULs part of his own were not conscious beings. He had no ‘mindspace’ where he could talk to them, as they were only the residual energies of the SOULs after the barrier was shattered. 

Chara’s SOUL, however, had been revived. They were two SOULs able to exist by filling what was missing in the other. But when Frisk’s body one day expired, they knew it was the end of this partnership. Her SOUL would no longer be tethered to her, and in all likelihood she would leave his half behind. And without a body to die in, did a broken SOUL have anywhere to go? 

In the end, Chara said the one thing he could. 

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Frisk wept, pulling her SOUL close. But no matter how much she wished it, there was no way she could hold him. Even in the mindspace, touch was abstract. Never truly there. It was a reality she had come to regret. 

‘I've seen my own share of death…’

She went still, listening intently to everything he said next.

‘But until today, I understood it as merely the end of a person. I knew it had its consequences, but I never realized one…could have this many.’

Watching him in the white space they shared, his eyes were so distant, she could almost feel the space that separated his SOUL and hers. 

“Yet you waste the thought of yours on a person like me, who hardly cared about it in the first place.”

Had she not known him as well as she did, she'd never realize how many shades of meaning his words carried, nor catch the deep melancholy hiding so well under his detached gaze. 

“My end had passed. So had its consequences. This existence, therefore, is insignificant,” he continued. “I am here only because, beyond death, your SOUL called to me.” 

When Chara turned to her, Frisk looked straight into his eyes. “But you answered."

She saw it then. The tiniest chink in the armor—in the way his gaze flickered away from hers.  

“Hey, Chara…when the time comes and you and I are once again standing at the very end of it…” 

Walking to him, Frisk dared to take his hand. All she had was the sensation of taking it; she had never known the true feel of it. In this way, she said her next words.

“If I could choose to stay with you for all eternity, would you hate that?” 

His silence lasted long. She almost told him—no matter what his answer—she would. With all of her heart, she would. 

But his reply came with a smile that held neither joy nor contempt. 

“Better than anyone, you should know…I did not take your SOUL the first time because I wanted eternity,” he said. “And better than you, I know even if you had it in your hands, you will still long for a different fate.” 

Frisk kept her gaze no higher from where she held him. Chara truly never lied. 

“So I offer a compromise for us both.”  

He lifted her hand to the level of his chest.

“For your sake and mine, if there must be meaning to my being here anymore…it is okay for you to fit it to your needs.”

Shock made her meet his eyes once more.   

“So that if you must endure loss again in this life, my share of it is yours to make up for each one.” 

That strong red gaze held a quiet kind of power then, as he said, “And may that be enough to satisfy you until death do us part.” 

She almost forgot how to breathe. He must have no idea those very words were a vow for another kind of eternity. But his genuine intention—woven together with the same generosity that took his life once—to her, was as sacred. 

By a force beyond explanation, she was absorbed into a feeling rising from a deep well, ruthlessly taking every last inch of her into its fathoms in the same beautiful, heartbreaking way the sun sets to give the sky to the stars. 

And she replied, “Then you're free to use my share of life. For you to fulfill whatever battered dreams are left lingering in your heart…”

Her tears fell again, this time in quiet streams. “That it may be more than enough for you…”  

No matter what barriers between them, with all the strength of her SOUL, she held his hand back. 

“‘Til death do us part.”

Chapter Text

Prologue II: A Crueler Pain

“Have you ever thought of what you’d do if you had the whole world under your control?” 

“Why on earth would I imagine something like that?” 

“Because, perhaps you would have the power to right every wrong—undo whatever was done, redo anything you want, until everything is as it should be.”

A cough, a wheeze, and spit of blood came with the reply, “Those who wish to subjugate the world…always fall into its shadows.” 

“Hmph. Big talk, for someone already teetering at the edge.”  

The Rhino Monster made a deep chuckle at the sight of the Human bleeding at his feet—at death’s door as poison wracked his body. Above his debilitated form stood a Rose Monster, who bound him in her vines, with thorns digging deep into his skin. 

“The sorcerers of today are disappointing,” the Rhino Monster said. “So few of you know how to engage in real battle.” 

The sorcerer looked up at his assailant. This Monster’s hulking form, brutish behavior, and primeval savagery in battle had been known across lands, earning him the name Bartok the Barbarian. 

Yet, he had to scoff. “What are you talking about? Your little pet did all the work.”

He cried out in agony as the Rose Monster’s grip tightened, thorns clenching him to the bone. Her dark eyes remained void of any feeling, even from the cruelty of her own grip.

“You seem to misunderstand,” Bartok said. “That thing is merely the weapon. One especially made to destroy the likes of you. If those fools in the West were good for anything, it’s creating this formidable product of war for men desperate to win against their enemies. Such a bright idea shouldn’t go to waste, so another bright man decided to try new things with it. Now, even Monsters can be made strong enough to eradicate you lot. I hear they’re not as good as the originals, but against you? It indeed did the trick.” 

The remains of a vicious battle surrounded them. The guards who were here had become mere limbs and heads sprawled where they landed, while the sacred tombstones that made up this valley, all of which defiled, were reduced to rubble.     

“Gabor Kovac, Guardian of the Great War Graves—even I am ashamed to see this place come to ruin. It wouldn’t have come to this if you’d just given us what we wanted.” 

Gabor clenched his teeth. “Better this…than lose my honor to a fiend like you.” 

Bartok kicked his face against the dirt, making him cough and hack.

“See, that’s the sort of talk from you sorcerers I hate the most.” Bartok sneered. “You talk of your noble authority and great responsibility, acting so exceptional to the rest of us. But strip you bare and bring you to your knees, you’re back to what you really are—another helpless, fragile, ordinary Human.”

It was too much now. The pain, the blood leaving him, the poison flooding his system—Gabor could no longer think nor see beyond it. 

“Which leads me back to this—do you know what I would do if I had the world under my control?” Bartok summoned a halberd in his hands, the cold metal set against his neck. “Put you all back in your place.”

The moment Bartok raised his weapon to swing, the ground beneath him burst. His halberd flew off his grip as a spike of earth had struck him in the ribs. 

Bartok crashed on the debris. The next second a flurry of boulders attacked him. 

Gabor then heard light, rapid footsteps coming from behind. A shadow leapt over the moonlight and a Mouse Monster landed in front of him. Smacking his tail on the ground, a powerful magic took hold of every rock and stone and hurled them towards Bartok, burying him in their heaps.

Fast as the wind, another one had arrived. Gabor saw a man in a suit and tie, briefly thought it was a Human, until he saw the commanding antlers on his head. 

With a snap of his fingers, the wind chimed. The Rose Monster shrieked; the vines holding Gabor were sliced clean off.

The Elk Monster then summoned his sword and swung once—the force of it alone sending the Rose Monster flying all the way to crash into the valley walls. 

Gabor barely kept up when he finally saw three Human figures covered in cloaks rush past the Monsters. All but one had guns strapped to their backs. That one went to kneel beside him. 

“Don’t move,” he was told. The voice belonged to a woman. “We’re here to help.” 

He met a pair of violet eyes—or were they lavender? It was hard to tell in the dark, but her eyes spoke: this is bad. 

“Let’s get him out of here fast,” she said, pulling out a knife to cut the rest of the vines off his body. 

The man she spoke to eyed the Monster underneath the rocks. “Easier said than done, chief.”

Bartok broke himself free, stones and pebbles flying from the force. He attempted to summon his halberd again but the third hooded Human took hold of his arm with a grapnel launcher and shot towards him; throwing a kick up his jaw. The cloak had come off from the movement, revealing a woman with bob-cut hair and hazel, cat-like eyes. 

She skidded to the Mouse Monster’s side. “Eek, that felt like I just kicked a brick wall.”

“Aw, you afraid it broke your nail or something?” 

“Save the back-talk for another time,” the Elk Monster interjected. “This is no place for it.” 

The ground of scattered names and remains under their feet felt cold in eternal disturbance. 

The solemnity was cut short as they evaded spicules of ivory Bartok rained down on them with fervor. The woman launched her grapnel again and bound the Rhino Monster’s arms, but this time, he yanked her towards him. She flew almost face-fist into a fist and in her alarm, she kicked herself away before he could grab her in a chokehold. He had caught something around her neck instead and it snapped off. 

As soon as she hit the ground, she gasped, feeling for it—only to find it in his hands. 

Hanging from his fist was a dog tag. He read: 

RITA ORTEGA 

SPECIAL OPERATIONS OF ADAM & ROSALIND EVEREST

Bartok’s face cleared. “I know you...” 

“Shoot,” Rita cursed under her breath. 

He scanned the group that had taken guarded stances. “Here I heard you were all dead…”

All of them, soldiers. And in his side of the world, known for being too good at dealing with people like him. 

He glanced at the pair that remained on the sidelines. Their attention shifted from the injured sorcerer to him. Those two were definitely no exception to the fact. As he looked at them now, however, he knew a few things clearly remained true. 

“That lie served you well, hasn’t it?" Lifting his arm, Bartok smirked. "Still patching up the wounds from your last battle?” 

CLANG!

A gust of wind strong as metal itself deflected the halberd Bartok recalled just before it reached him. It spun in the air several times before the Elk Monster caught it in its stride.

“Do you think you’re in any position to make conversation?” said the Elk Monster. 

Bartok felt the rocks under his feet cuff his ankles. The Mouse Monster not only trapped him where he stood but threatened to sink him there if needed. 

Grumbling, Bartok put his hands up. “You've made that quite clear. But even if I surrender, will you let me go? I doubt you'll allow this to reach your real enemies.” 

They remained stone-faced, but nobody moved.

“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you hold onto your resolve to spare every scum you find in hopes we one day seek redemption?”     

At their continued silence, he couldn't help it—he laughed.

“You can put an end to me or stand around like that all night, it doesn’t matter. Anyone can tell you are nowhere near what you used to be. You were already defeated before, what makes you think you can turn the tides now?”

One by one, he looked them straight in the eye. “Only one of you truly lived and triumphed among the scoundrels of the earth. And without him, I don’t think you realize…” He grinned wickedly. “You can’t win.”

A powerful blast shot him right in the mouth. Bartok staggered back. In shock and in pain, he couldn’t react when he was shot next on the shoulder, calf, chest, and ankle in succession until he was down on all fours. 

Fear had his eyes shooting to the weapon it came from, to the two Humans tending to the sorcerer; no longer in the hands of the man in the cloak but the woman next to him.

That was no ordinary gun. That was powered by magic—one enough to rival that of a Monster with a Human SOUL. 

And under the moon, behind its scope, amethyst eyes burned him. 

“That’s about enough from you,” she hissed.  

Understanding fell upon Bartok quickly—of just how much he underestimated them. 

“We're leaving,” she told her team, passing the gun back to the man next to her. “Marcus, get him to the—“

The fast approaching thundering of rocks from a violent force raised alarm in every single one of them. The Rose Monster sprung upon them with a piercing outcry, shooting straight for her. 

Rita yelled, “ROSALIND!”  

BANG!

Ears ringing, head pounding from the blast, Rosalind barely registered the rise of a high rock wall protecting her. Her muffled senses picked up the whip of vines, gunfire and magic blows, and cries of pain from her comrades. 

As her vision stabilized, she lay witness to a vicious creature with ceaseless fury, only inhibited by the fact Marcus shot it at point blank range and weakened it. She fully recovered to see the Rose Monster's mangled, mutilated form, held by her neck above the ground. The Elk Monster readied with his sword to deliver the final blow. 

But then…

“I wAnT tO Go HoME…” 

He faltered. 

She was crying. Tears took form from her pitch black eyes, rolling down like blood, and showed them a staggering, punishing truth. 

She’s just a child.

“Luce!”

Marcus yanked him away before her vines sliced the Elk Monster's head off. Rita threw her knives out and fixed the Rose Monster to the ground.

“Finish it off, now!” she yelled.

Groggily, Rosalind grabbed the gun that had fallen to the ground and aimed right for its head. 

“I’m SOrry, I wOn’t Do iT aGAin!”

She gasped.  

“ I’M sORRy! ” the Rose Monster cried again, thrashing and clawing. “ I wON’t DO It AGaIn! ” 

It was a trick. They couldn’t afford to fall for it again. But no force on heaven or earth could make Rosalind shoot. 

When he gathered his bearings, Luce brought up his sword again and approached the Rose Monster—flailing violently as he raised his weapon over her. 

“I WON't DO IT aGAiN! I WoN’T dO IT AgAIn! I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!”

Marcus cut the last of the gauze and wrapped it over his left arm. Scars and open wounds from thorns and vine whips, on top of his countless bruises, made his body ache. He had a broken rib or two as well, but he’d consider this lucky. They were all worse for wear, but alive. For another night. 

Stepping out of his quarters, he walked across the deck of their little patrol boat. The tides, on this particular night, were uneasily calm. The sea itself, darker than the sky. He found Rita in its company, sitting on the floor against the boat's railings. Cradled in her hands, like the last piece of a delicate jewel, was her dog tag.

“You should’ve taken it off,” he told her.

Rita folded her hands around it. “You know I don’t like to…”

Someone else approached next to them. It was Luce who, for a regal Elk Monster, stood with none of the dignity his kind were known for, weighed down by the wooden box he carried to the edge. There was nothing but leaves and petals inside, yet it must be the heaviest thing he ever had to hold.

“Rose Monsters come from a beautiful clan of peace-loving forest guardians in the East…They sang songs to bring forth life, and only used poison to defend it.” 

Marcus and Rita watched him kneel down as he lifted the lid.

“This…is not a fate such a creature should have suffered.”  

They watched the cool wind carry the remains out to the sea, rose petals scattering on the moonlit waves. In silence they prayed for this SOUL to find peace and relief—even if none ever came to them.

Rosalind opened her eyes to the sound of a door opening.

Marcus had entered. “What’s the news?” 

She looked at the sorcerer lying on the infirmary bed—covered in bandages, hooked to an IV line, and breathing even. His SOUL hovered above his chest with a faint yellow glow.

“He’s stabilizing, but no guarantee yet. Even if he wakes up, I’m not sure he’ll be able to use magic for a while,” she replied. “And what have you figured out about our runaway?” 

Marcus grimaced. While they had been busy dealing with their adversary, Bartok the Barbarian got away. 

“Gabor Kovac was targeted tonight for his authority over the unrested SOULs hidden in the War Graves. Bartok was sent to kill him and take them all, but he had to find where those were.” 

“He didn’t, did he?” 

Marcus shook his head. “Place is left in shambles, though. Don’t know if it’s good news.”

“It’s good enough news,” she said softly.  

“There’s one other thing,” Marcus continued. “I heard they’re doubling down on the search for the document of Noah Cypress’ Last Confession—or maybe you know it better as ‘The Sorcerer’s Secret’. This operation seems to be part of that.”

“Why search for that in the Graves?” 

“Some say it’s buried with one of the first sorcerers of the Great War. Guess in the olden times, people literally took things to their graves.”    

He looked at the man lying on the mattress. “But like most of us, I’m sure he thinks that document’s just an old myth. Hell, even I still hope it is. Because if what they say about it is true…” 

Rosalind nodded. “We just have to find it first and make sure it stays one.” 

She stood to leave, but Marcus stopped her on the way out with, “You okay?" 

There was no shift in her tired expression, but she seemed a moment away from crumbling to dust. 

She whispered, “Watch him for the night." 

Marcus watched the door shut quietly on her way out. 

“You didn’t have to ask her that.”

Seated on one of the shelves of medical supplies, he found Benny throwing a thorn into the bin next to him, finished wrapping his own bandages upon expelling the poison in his body.

The Mouse Monster’s eyes were full of sorrow. “There were too many reminders already tonight…”

Passing the armory, the war room, and their sleeping quarters along the unlit hallway, the ocean breeze felt like ice on her skin when Rosalind made it to the end of the boat. The whirring engine was the only sound rivaling the stacking up and tumbling down of her thoughts. She had no company but the starless sky and the moon, no longer as high, drooping over the horizon as its light grew weaker by the second. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

Fingers clenched, shoulders tense, lips quivering, voice cracking—everything in her started to fall apart with every wave slapping against the metal below, when all she could see was the picture of brown hair and golden eyes at the other side of the gun. 

Every time her mind haunted her with this image, that tearing, burning pain in her SOUL struck as ferociously as it did two years ago, after hearing two words that had never tortured her more than anything. 

“She’s…alive.” 

Rita had gone on a mission to retrieve the stolen magic items from the Vestige case, only to come back emptyhanded. Her fraught silence and frantic eyes upon return were enough to worry them all, but she only approached Rosalind with a newspaper page in her hand.

 The headline read: She has been SpARED!

Rosalind snatched the paper from Rita. Trembling hands made the letters shake as her eyes took in their words. Her eyes stayed wide as tears gathered at their sides and fell without end. 

She bolted for the door. Each of them cried her name to stop her, only for all to be cut short by an overpowering squall that rocked the boat. 

When it steadied, they found Rosalind standing against Luce, who blocked the way. 

“Rosalind,” he said, voice deep and hard. 

“I have to see her. Let me through!”

“Don’t be rash.”

“I need to know how she is!” she yelled. “I need to know she’s healthy, that someone’s taking care of her, that she isn’t scared or alone or crying herself to sleep without anybody knowing! I need…her to know that her mom…” Her voice broke. “Her mommy’s right here… ”

When Rosalind started to cry, nobody could say a word. Heads down, they only listened. It was all they could do. After all, according to those same papers, they’re dead. 

Luce watched Rosalind nearly fall into the same pieces she did before, and in the barest hopes he could stop it, put his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry…for what I’m about to say to you. But go, and it will be the same as letting him die in vain.”  

Rosalind looked up from her hands, shaking from the urge to rip his mouth off for saying that—but it was the teeth-gnashing, bone-snapping, heartrending truth. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears falling on the metal floor that felt like it could break under her feet at any moment.  

Through her teeth, she said, “Step aside.” 

Luce frowned.

“I won’t. I just want to be alone.”

He had to move as she walked past him anyway—shutting them away from her as the door shut with a SLAM!  

Rosalind had stood on this same edge after, eyes fixed on horizon. She could see daybreak creep above it—and it was another one where she had to go where all that she loved would not be. 

Night approached its end with the anguished cries of a woman. A wife. A mother. A pitiful Human being who couldn’t help but dream she’d wake up from this nightmare. To the face of the man she loved. In the warmth of a home she built. For a little girl who was, herself, an entire world she would’ve given everything in this one for. 

If, in another reality, beyond that horizon a dream like that was within reach, her cold fists clenched on the railing were all that kept her from trying to get there. And for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a crueler pain. 

So as the light of a new day peeked at her from the clouds, Rosalind stayed curled up under its warmth, for its empty promises had become too much for her broken heart.

Chapter Text

Welcome to Surface Home, please understand you must have a VISA and security clearance to enter

6 months later

EEE OOO EEE OOO

“Aw, come on!” 

Alphys yelled to the screen. She was just about to win first place in her latest TemmieKART game when the alarm for code: SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY went off.  

Everyman, the amalgamate assisting her today, snickered for he emerged victorious for a second time in a row. Alphys threw her controller on the couch, saying something about doing a best three out of four, and took the elevator to the monitor room a floor above, grumbling on how she truly almost got him, and whatever the fuss could be about today. 

Although she was technically still the royal scientist, now that Gaster was the one taking care of the breakthrough scientific inventions, Alphys found her seat at the Control tower, doing what she’s always been comfortable doing: watching everything from a distance. The alarm was meant to warn for potential disruptive threats. But if it was anything like that time Tsunderplane crashed into the Skeleton Family's home because of a pun she took the wrong way, Alphys was going to cut off everyone’s internet and TV for a week.

She sifted through the scenes happening around Surface Home—kids playing at the schoolyard, Shyren’s rehearsals at MTT studios, lunch rush at Grillby’s, Royal Guard training at the Sports Stadium, library lizard renewing the permit at the Monster law office, the empty pier, and finally, the coast. She switched back to the last one. 

An air vessel had approached—and not a Monster one this time. A blimp of some kind, stopping right over the lighthouse at the very edge of Dreemurr Kingdom territory. Which was shocking; how did they not detect that before it was this close? The most concerning part was…it wasn’t from the West.

Alphys returned to her office to find Everyman still gloating about his victory and high point difference. She clicked her tongue and turned the TV off. He made a displeased noise which Alphys dismissed, saying they had to go back to work anyway. Clearing the mess of papers, pencils, and potato chips on her desk, Alphys finally found the telephone and dialed Undyne’s number. 

Undyne’s phone rang in her bag, but rang with futility. 

Spring Break had just started and the screams and cheers of Monster and Human families in Waterfall Park overpowered even the lifeguard whistles. And of them all, the loudest was Undyne herself. 

“Papyrus!!! Are you ready to break the record of falling from the highest water slide in all history?! ”

Both of them were at the front row of the newest attraction in Waterfall park—a 50-meter high water slide ride. Despite the numerous hazards that kept the ride still pending approval with their safety committee, all that really mattered to the Monsters supposedly 'testing it out' was meeting the “you must be this tall” requirement. 

As they made their ascent, Papyrus yelled back, “THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NEVER UNREADY FOR ANYTHING! IN FACT, I SAY I’M READY TO BREAK TWO RECORDS TODAY!”

“What’s the second?!” 

“THE MOST BONES I'VE EVER BROKEN IN MY LIFE!” 

And as they made for the drop, both screamed:  

“NGAAAAAAAHHHH!!” 

“NYEEEEEEEEEHHH!” 

It was just another day at Surface Home, supposedly. 

Nice creams were sold at the Nice cream shop, Bunny Monsters worked the cash registers at the Snowdin Grocery store, Gerson sold antiques in front of his old ware shop, Temmies’ voices chimed from tram speakers as people hopped on and off, and Human and Monster kids loitered in the streets—making their way home somewhere around here. 

One of them was Asriel, who stopped by the Burger Emporium trailer parked right next to the school. As soon as they spotted his regal horns, tall figure, and princely gait, a group of girls waiting for him at a faraway table sighed. 

As usual, Asriel failed to notice them. “Uh, how much for everything, Burg?” 

Burgerpants looked torn between crying and tearing him apart. “That’ll be 120G, bub.” 

Asriel started, confused by his sudden hostility. 

“Hiiii, Prince Asriel!” 

“You, like, look super cute again, today!” 

Bratty and Catty appeared behind the counter, wearing their burger emporium employee uniforms. 

“So, like, how’s school?” 

“Like, did you learn the Pythagorean alphabet and all that?” 

At the back, Burgerpants busied himself flipping burgers, careful not to burn them with his rage.

“Uhh…school was the same as always,” Asriel said. “I mean when your teachers are more or less your friends…or your mom…is there anything I could talk about?” 

“Omg, Isn’t that like,” Bratty and Catty giggled, “so totally awkward?” 

Asriel forced a smile that felt a lot closer to a grimace. 

“So what about Frisk, is she doing, like, the best at everything?"

“Yeah cause like, there’s obviously no Human better than her, right?”

“We haven’t met one yet, that’s for sure! No matter how many years pass she'll still be number 1 in our eyes!”  

As the two kept giggling, a troubled expression passed over Asriel’s face. 

“She…doesn’t go anymore.” 

The three Monsters stopped what they were doing, looking at him now with concern.

“Can I have that?” 

Asriel suddenly pointed to the Cowboy Hat on the shelf. He was off as soon as they sold it to him, jogging away with a burger in hand and the hat on his head.

Bratty and Catty blinked at each other. “Even though he looks so much like a Prince now…” They cackled. “He’s still a major dork!” 

Smoking at the back, Burgerpants watched the same group of girls leave their tables filthy beyond imagination—and felt really jealous that the little buddy was excused from this sick society.

“Hm, hm, hm, hm, hmm, hmm, hmmm…” 

A nostalgic humming tune filled the room like the spring breeze fluttering through the curtains. Sunrays bathed everything in a soft glow, illuminating daffodil yellow walls, the animal-shaped paperweights on the desk, a shelf of messily arranged books, a video camera lying next to a family picture of three, and a corkboard filled to the brim with photos of every person considered family, too. 

Laid on her bed, Frisk kicked her feet in the air, busy with a pen and notebook—reviewing pages, scribbling footnotes, mumbling and tapping the tip of her pen on her chin. Scrunched brows, pursed lips, restless mind, she only stopped writing when she sensed a familiar presence arrive, and quickly closed it. 

Sitting up, Frisk beamed. “Good morning. Was wondering when you’d show up.” 

Chara yawned. ‘You’ve been on that thing for days.’ 

“It’s called journaling.” She put the notebook back in her bedside drawer. 

'You and your girly habits.' Another yawn. ‘Bores me to death. And I already died.’ 

“Your body is dead. But you’re alive. Or well, your SOUL is.”

‘Technicalities.’ 

“That you explained in the first place. I’m sure you remember being all dramatic saying, ‘Thank you. Your power awakened me from death.’”  

She didn’t need to go to the mindspace to know he rolled his eyes. He yawned again. 

Frisk raised her eyebrows. “Are you really that tired? You’ve been spending more hours asleep than…you ever have.” 

‘What’s to be awake for? Not like I take over anymore.’

“You can try again.” 

He groaned. 

“Here’s some incentive.” She pulled out a caramel chocolate ball from her pocket.

He gave her that half-hum, half-grunt that told her the negotiation was to her favor. Next thing she knew he unwrapped the candy with her hands and popped it into her mouth. 

‘ Hey Chara don’t get mad at me for asking…but how does it feel being in a girl’s body?’

“Weird and uncomfortable,” he said in the deepest tone Frisk’s voice could go. “Seriously how do you even deal with—“

‘ AH! Don’t touch that!’

Chara sighed. He tried to adjust the tights instead.

‘ AHH! Hands off that too!’

“Is this going to be our problem for the rest of your life, Friskie?!”

‘ I-I don’t know! I can’t talk to you about that stuff! ’

“You always make this more awkward than it already is!”

They couldn’t imagine the more challenges they’re bound to face the older Frisk got. At the very least, nowadays it was nothing compared to before. Their early teenage years were the worst. Never mind her own adjustments with her changing body—she knew they’d happen, had help preparing for them, and was a rare case of actually being excited about it. The problems came mainly because, despite circumstances, Chara was also very much a boy—if the nights she caught him in her body because his curiosity got the best of him had anything to say about that. She had done her all to be considerate of his situation. What could she say when Asriel had all the freedom to be the boy going through puberty he was? Regardless, these were things they made a silent agreement to never talk about.

Still, while they were past the most awkward stages, their differences have become unignorable. Frisk was just happy he’d kept to his word so far to stay asleep everytime she needed privacy.  

“You see, this is why I don’t take over anymore. It's disturbing and annoying and…different from before.”

They switched places again.

‘Besides, I get tired every time I do now. It’s lose-lose.’  

“What I can’t understand is,” Frisk said, “How come you aged too?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the SOUL sharing.’

“Technically, you’re a whole year older than me, right? Since you were thirteen when you died…and I met you when I was twelve, so I wonder how that—but then you were born way before me so…uh...” 

‘Stop thinking about it Friskie, even I’m getting a headache. Besides, whether or not I’m “aging” doesn’t really matter in our context.’

“Mmm…” 

‘Anyway. I'm down and out again. You got more booooring conversations ahead.’ 

Someone knocked on her door. 

Frisk smiled. “And yet despite all his handicaps, my so-called ‘sixth sense’ never fails to be my sharpest, does he?”

She could picture his cheeky smirk in his next words. ‘Don’t ever expect any less.’ 

Just as he went back to sleep, Toriel came in asking Frisk when she wanted her next module scheduled. After they arranged a class, she invited her downstairs for tea. 

When Frisk stepped out of her room, she was still smiling. Still humming. Toriel watched the way she skipped toward the stairs with a slight swaying motion. Slowly, she closed the door after her.  

Seated across each other in the living room, Toriel continued to observe how Frisk put two helpings of honey in her tea, lazily rested her chin in her hand, and had a soft smile that just wouldn’t leave her face. 

“You make me very curious, dear," Toriel said. “Anything…or anyone on your mind lately?" 

“Hm?" Frisk let go of her teaspoon. 

“Oh, I've noticed very interesting signs from you in the past months—but never more so than recently. Something's caught you in a whirlwind and knocked you off your feet.” 

Toriel grinned smugly. “And by that sweet tint on your cheeks I don't think I need to elaborate." 

Putting her elbows on the table, she leaned forward. “Sooooo?" 

Frisk laughed—a breathy, short laugh that made Toriel reminiscent of her early girlhoodーwith a shade of red above her shy smile.

“Mom, please,” she said. “Don’t…take it so seriously.” 

“I wonder with that look on your face, sweetheart,” Toriel replied. “I said the same thing about a man I eventually married.” And split with— but that was irrelevant right now.  

Toriel clapped her hands together. “Let’s go about it this way. Have I seen him before?” 

“Mmmm…yeah." 

“Oh! That makes things delicious! Let me sift through my memories and see if I—”

“But not recently. I don't think you’ll be able to guess who." 

Toriel blinked, easing back into her seat. “What a mysterious little crush you have, dear. By any chance, will you let me meet him one day?" 

Frisk’s smile became wistful. “Who knows…” 

Two taps on the front door interrupted their conversation. Through it, a deep voice spoke. “knock, knock.”

Toriel grinned. “Who’s there?”

“you know.”

Frisk looked to the door. “You know, who?”

Sans walked in and winked. “you know who.”

He caught Frisk in stride when she threw her arms around him. She asked, “We’re still going to the symposium, right?” 

“‘course we are. g’s been waiting for this for months and he's bound to take it personally if none of us drops by.” 

“Just give me a few minutes.”

As Frisk headed upstairs, Sans said, “nothin’ fancy, you know? just a gathering of old nerds and their baking soda volcanoes.” 

“I can’t go out looking like this.” She gestured to her white sweatshirt and lounge shorts. 

Sans raised his browbones as she went off to her room. He whistled. “never thought i’d hear that kinda stuff ‘til at least five years from now.”

Toriel's expression softened. “She’s growing up.” 

Picking up her tea, she side-eyed one corner of the room. “She’s also grown up in some other aspect but…I’m not sure you’re grown up for it yet.”

“what?”

Toriel chuckled.  “Come now, Sans. Frisk is turning sixteen soon. Almost a full-fledged lady! Have you seen how much it’s already sparked reactions among the Monsters? Her girlish charm remains, but the image of the child we had of her for the longest time, they’ve realized it isn’t going to last forever. Her interests have even shifted steadily. Nowadays, she likes to look at nice clothes, dainty accessories…romance books with attractive boys. Pretty little things like that.” 

Sans took his seat across from her. “welp. they’re in that phase, after all. look at fluffy junior—he hasn’t even gotten to the voice-cracking stage yet and all the girls want a bite of him already.” He snorted. “it’s hilarious. when i talk to him about it he goes all, I’m still waiting for the girl that catches my interest as well as I catch theirs—and phew, those horns grown big enough yet?” 

Toriel couldn’t help her laugh. “I'm sure he didn't mean to sound that way. Besides, they are, by and large, still kids. Too young to handle those sorts of commitments.” 

Her voice grew soft. “Still…it’s bewildering how fast the days come and go. Sometimes I think back to that day and wonder how years had already passed for her…when it has only been a moment for me.” 

Sans had no difficulty returning to the same memory. He remembered too well the image of Frisk, dressed in black, standing all alone in a cold home. 

“Human lives…are startlingly quick,” Toriel continued. “Surely none of us can ever grasp what it’s like.” 

A melancholy shared by the Monsters settled between them. 

“She's had it hard since Elinor died. It’s a blessing to see her smile again like she used to.”

Sans nodded. It would’ve been hard for anyone to carry on from that, but he knew it took a greater toll on Frisk. She couldn’t face death so easily when she was used to a world where she could undo it. And having to lose Charlotte too as a consequence, the kind of blow she took that day was beyond him.

For months, they had a Frisk that barely talked and, whenever memories of her family returned to her, couldn’t stop herself from crying. He was glad, other than himself, many Monsters helped her get through it. Even Gaster—in his own subtle, feigned indifference ways. Despite wanting to spend most of her time in solitude, they did everything they could to help her feel she wasn’t alone. Ultimately, however, while he’d grant themselves some credit, he’d give it to a miracle that Frisk can be as she was now. 

Sans was impressed at how much responsibility she’d taken, too. She still visited Elinor’s home every month, embracing her role as its owner. Which also meant she was Cap’s new boss until he retired, to his slight chagrin. She'd remind him to repaint peeling walls, fix up loose nails on picture frames, and keep Elinor's flowers as lively as they've always been. Sans could see her slowly maturing into the Lady of the house, and would only grow more independent each day. In time, he knew she'd outgrow her need for him, too.

But for now…

“hey, buddy," he called. “i’m sure you're plenty pretty already. we goin’ or what?” 

Sans heard footsteps shuffle from the second floor, then he was was graced with the sight of Frisk rushing down the stairs; in a navy blue sweater with dark pink stripes, matched with a brown mini skirt and a pair of suede ankle boots—all of which fitting the form no longer of a little girl but a young lady. Her hair had been released from its clamp, long enough to flow beyond her shoulders, fixed neatly off her face with the flower clip she got from Asriel.

She stopped in front of him, now only an inch away from standing at his same height. “Told you I’d just be a few minutes,” she said proudly. “How do I look?” 

And for a second, Sans saw a younger girl in a brighter striped sweater flicker over his view. He smiled. 

Sans patted her on the head, ruffling her hair a bit. The familiar gesture got her to laugh. 

“like old, but gold, kid.” He winked his left eye closed.

On the way to Gaster’s lab, they passed by Surface Home Park—and dodged a bit of colorful fire magic as they did. 

Asriel was in a spar with the Royal dog guards. Asgore had been coaching him from the sidelines when he called Frisk and Sans to stand where he was, lest they get caught in the next attack.

Nonetheless, Asgore was confident there was nothing to worry about anymore. Asriel had trained tirelessly to master his powers for the past three years. Finally, his hard work had paid off. He achieved impressive skill in all his attacks, from sparking the tiniest ember to tempering the wildest infernos. The disruptive incidents and property damage he once caused were now a distant memory. His magic ability, once something they dreaded, earned praises from Monsters all around, and it would only get better from hereon. Sans was proud of him, though he was a tiny bit wary that this kid would dunk him sooner or later. 

“Don’t be. It’s a sign you’re getting old.” Asgore chuckled. “But I admit—one day, he may become more powerful than I was.”

Adjusting his Cowboy Hat, Asriel met eyes with Sans and Frisk at the sidewalk. In that same second Dogamy got past his guard. 

Asriel yelped, down by a single swing of his axe handle under his feet.

 “At least, if he improves his physical fighting skills…” Asgore winced.

“You got this, Azzie!” Frisk waved at him. Asriel waved back from the dirt. Beside him, Dogamy and Dogaressa hoisted him back up for another round.

As they made their way, Sans and Frisk passed by Grillby’s—now standing two levels high, and packed for the lunch rush. Sans spotted Grillby behind the bar, chatting with the folks while sending out orders by the minute. 

“yeesh, haven't seen Grillby that hard at it since i ordered three hundred hotdogs for sellin’.” Sans grinned. “betcha muff’s in tears now that her biggest rival’s back on its feet stronger than ever.” 

“Maybe you should take his offer to help him manage the place to finally cover your debt," Frisk said. "I think it’d be a nice change of pace for you.”

Sans snorted. “charming prospect, but not sure i like the idea of bein’ contracted to do everything grillb's tells me to." 

He nudged her lightly. “sides, he knows i've got other commitments. i'm sure he could wait a bit longer for those pennies i owe him.”

“Sans...” 

He stopped to look at her.  “yeah?” 

Frisk’s eyes seemed to shift between two pebbles on the ground. “You don’t plan on binding yourself to me forever, do you?” 

He blinked. Now where’d this come from? 

“somethin’ bothering ya, kid?”  

“Just thought, maybe, once in a while you could focus on something that makes you happy. Like going on a date with a nice lady, or working on your next book, or coming up with a bigger gig at the resort. Maybe even getting another PhD in whatever, I don’t know.”

Sans laughed. “‘whatever,’ huh? gotta tell ya, there's more than enough eggheads out there with ‘whatever' on their degree already. as for the book and the gig, the ones i got are still makin’ laughs and payin’ bills and that’s enough. now, as for the ladies, i know this for a fact—they won’t take kindly to me putting another lady before them, so that’s in the back burner. but honestly kid, don’t worry ‘bout me. i’m doing great where i am.” 

He smiled at her. “i get to be right where you are anytime. that not something i could be happy about?” 

Frisk returned a small, heartfelt smile. “I never said that." 

"likewise, kid," Sans said. "i'm tellin' ya. ain't nowhere i'd rather be than here." 

At the next street, Sans opened the door for her to Gaster’s lab. Just in time, they found him standing behind the podium, speaking to a crowd of intellectual-looking Monsters and Humans.

Gaster had arranged this symposium for his new invention—which was, instead of a new energy source to power the Western Continent like he initially planned, a teleportation machine (as much as Gaster insisted to call it a space-time metaphysical transporter, Sans told everyone it was).

His goal was to make travel so convenient it got people where they needed to be in a literal snap, being far more efficient than any car, train, flight, or boat. Though in reality, the main reason was because Gaster’s last experience on public transportation—on a sinking boat ridden with dead people—led him to fear all forms of it. 

 "Now I've received criticism, the harshest from the poets. To which I shall not respond to in this symposium as I do not wish to offend them more than I already have,” Gaster said, speaking through the microphone. “In science, the destination is the chief priority. All means necessary must be used to arrive at it in the shortest time possible, or in no time at all. The matters of the 'journey' are for the sentimental, and the world of progress has no room for such trifles. Thus, in your best interests and mine—”  

Gaster’s speech was interrupted by a trombone ringtone of Bad to the Bone . Sans quickly shuffled his pockets for his phone as all heads of the symposium attendees turned to him. Gaster only had his arms crossed and eyes closed, as if he expected something like this. 

Frisk followed Sans outside as he answered his call. She heard Undyne’s voice through the speaker—something about an issue near the pier and needing him there to check it out. It didn’t sound too urgent, so Sans told her he would be back in about twenty minutes. She waved goodbye and he was gone in a literal snap.  

Having fully settled as a Monster Kingdom, they had to deal with security concerns on their own. Alistair and Asgore agreed the two Kingdoms would operate autonomously, only intervening when issues involved one or the other. It was for the best, and what they all wished for upon reintegrating anyway. 

Though their security issues were few and far between nowadays, Sans, along with Undyne, had to be at the forefront of any immediate and pressing ones—mostly because they had a bigger responsibility to do so than their other guards. 

So, Sans was a hard-worker now. Quantum physics with jokes book author by day, stand-up comedian by night, and Frisk's personal guard 24/7/365.

Sometimes, though, Frisk really wished he could get a well-deserved legally required break. 

While waiting, she peeked into the lab again. Gaster was still busy answering questions from the symposium goers. She would just have to talk to him later. 

A presence arrived. She smiled. “What's got you up all of a sudden?” 

‘I thought something felt off,’ Chara said, 'but turns out it's just the quack doctor and his new whatchamacallit.’

“That makes me wonder if you were ever scared of Gaster in your past life.” 

‘First of all I find that incredibly insulting,' he replied. ‘Second, mind you, if not for this “itch" of mine you wouldn't know if someone was already stabbing you in the back.’ 

“How sweet of you to look out for me,” she said. “Now that you're here, keep me company while I take a quick detour.”

‘To where?’ 

“Wherever. In fact.” 

In the mindspace, she hopped next to him, locking her arm with his. “Take the lead for a change. You used to always do that back then.” 

He scoffed. “You mean way back? To that time you kept crying for me to give your SOUL back all while burning me with your eyes?” 

Frisk laughed stiffly. “Ahaha. A mystery where the times go. Because now…” 

She made him twirl her, then winked at him over her shoulder. “I’d let you make it yours again anytime.”

“Will you stop that?” Chara said dully, retracting his hand. “Ever since you got back the powers of the void for some reason you’ve been flirting with me just like everybody else.”

“That’s not true.” She looked at him, blank-faced. “I don’t do it to you the same as everybody else.” 

His expression froze, shifted to confusion, then embarrassment, then the deadpan tired look he made when he wasn’t impressed. 

So he shut her out with a conjured wall that completely separated him and her in the mindpsace. 

“Hey!” Frisk laughed, knocking in the wall. “Come on! You’re no fun!”

She kept laughing until she breathed the last as a sigh, all red in the face, as she turned her back and slid down that same wall.

“Come on, Chara…If you think that's funny, you should be laughing.”

Above them, just a little higher than the lighthouse at the pier’s edge, an airship loomed—in a way that Undyne and Sans thought was really cocky of them. 

There was a symbol of a family crest of some kind on the ship, with text underneath in a different writing system. Clearly, they had high status of some kind, and didn’t know it had zero value in the face of this pair of Monsters.

“how long’s it been up there?” Sans asked. 

“When Alphys called it apparently just arrived,” Undyne replied. “I’ve tried getting in touch with whoever’s on that thing but we keep getting a dead line. Came here to get their attention upfront but these jerks aren’t even making signs of life. If I wasn’t held back by our new ‘diplomatic confrontation’ policy, I would’ve torn a hole through that thing already.”

“mind if i try?” 

Undyne shrugged, handing him the megaphone in her hands. Sans booted it up and spoke through it.

“listen up, pals,” his voice fought with the buzzing engine over them. “where you are is a strict no parking zone. if you ain’t gonna move it, prepare to be towed.”

Undyne grabbed the megaphone back. “Did you seriously just threaten to tow an airship ?”

Sans snapped his fingers, wrapping the whole vessel with his magic. It began a slow descent towards them. 

“yeah. i did.”

Undyne muttered, “Show off…”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Stop that right now!” 

They heard the voice all the way up where a long ladder unraveled from the ship. A short Human man in a suit and tie rushed down. He had round spectacles and gelled up hair characteristic of a fresh graduate on his first job—and certainly acted the part with how he clumsily hit the ground on his bottom.

Out of breath, he got to his feet, putting his hands up. “C-Calm down, we mean no harm!” 

“Yeah? Could’ve said so while I hopped all over the place to make sure of that!” Undyne yelled. 

“We intended to notify you as soon as we arrived but the signal here is all over the place! Our telecommunications went completely bonkers!”

Undyne grumbled on as he explained, but that did catch Sans’ attention. 

“Apologies for our unannounced visit,” the short man continued. “We assumed the absence of a magic barrier meant open access to the Kingdom." 

“yeah, we don't do barriers here. kinda makes everyone feel like throwin' up,” Sans said. “now if ya don't mind cuttin' to the chase spiffy, who are you and what do you want?”

“Fair enough.” The short man huffed, pulling out a clipboard and ID. “I am Arnold Turk. My colleagues and I come on behalf of the Kovac Sorcerer Family as envoys for the Western continent.”

His eyes went to his papers. “We wish to speak with one…”

As soon as he spoke the name, the Monsters had the same tired, belligerent thought:

Here we go again.   

Chapter Text

An Invitation You Can't Refuse

“so…what business do you have with her?” 

Sans, Undyne, and the Royal family had gathered in the Dreemurr living room. Learning the ways of diplomacy, Asgore allowed their visitors in and had Asriel ready tea and biscuits. That didn’t stop them from throwing skeptic looks at the two men at the other side of the coffee table. 

The short man who called himself Arnold stammered a frantic explanation in the face of their hostility. 

“L-look, we heard information on her is well-guarded so w-we got in touch with Simon Cypress—I'm sure you know him—who asked permission from Mark Alistair to give the details of her official residence. We needed to talk to someone from the Everest family and so brought us here!” 

“Simon Cypress and Mark Alistair?” Toriel asked, surprised. “How come we didn’t hear from them first?”

“Who knows. I imagine those two are busy men. Besides, we were sent by the Kovac family. You seem unaware, but they lead the most powerful military defense force in the world—and are one of the only Sorcerer families granted permission to use magic for this purpose. Surely you would not suspect us to be criminals!”

“We learned the hard way you never really know,” Undyne said. 

“Then would this allay some of the doubts?” 

One of their guests was a tall, burly man, years older than the overzealous worker next to him. He wore the same suit and tie, but clearly, he was involved in more than liaising for his superiors. He presented a badge with gold stars and a label showing he was an official member of said defense force. On top of that, it bore the official seal of the Central Continent Military. 

“He’s here on the Kovacs’ business. I’m more of a concerned affiliate. But I speak for both of us in saying we’re on a tight schedule, and hope to be done here immediately. I suppose you want the same.” 

Sans’ pinpricks went to the staircase for a brief moment. “well there’s no denyin’ that…”

From the top of the steps, Frisk listened to everything. She could hear Undyne start to argue back, adamant not to give in, and knew Sans would rather deal with this without her. Unfortunately for them, she was on the side of their visitors.

“Now, where is she?” Arnold said. “We wish to speak to her directly, please. ” 

“Wish granted.” 

Their eyes bulged when they saw her appear at the bottom of the stairs. Sans breathed a resigned sigh. Asriel made space for her to sit next to him as the two men raised their eyebrows at her sight. 

“How old are you?” Arnold asked.

“Sixteen…by next week,” Frisk replied. 

The men exchanged a look. “Is there someone older we can talk to that’s related to you?” 

The Monsters’ eyes were on her—gauging her reaction. 

She maintained a polite smile. “You’re not from here, so maybe you’re not fully aware, but I lost both my parents years ago…to a tragedy.” 

In silence, the mild surprise then understanding on their faces subsided with sympathy. 

“I was under the care of my grandmother but she passed away a little less than a year ago. As far as relatives go, I'm sorry to tell you I don't know any more.” 

Another beat of quiet. Words fell short of being said.  

“I guess the next person you can talk to is Sans.” She nodded to him. “But I’m here now, so you can proceed.”

Clearing his throat, Arnold then reiterated they were sent by the Kovac Sorcerer Family, and came all the way from East of the Central Continent to invite her to something called… 

“The what?” Frisk asked.  

“The Quinquennial Sorcerer convocation!”  

The rest of them stared dumbfounded. Sans was the first to speak. “say that again, but slower.”

“The Quinquennial Sorcerer convocation,” Arnold continued, “is an event held every five years where Sorcerer family representatives are summoned for various purposes—namely to present progress in the fields of SOUL research, Human-Monster relations, the magical item trade, and all matters concerned with maintaining our world peace. Descendants of Sorcerer blood have a greater responsibility to uphold it, thus it is the obligation of the families to remain unified in their causes.” 

He gestured to Frisk. “We are inviting you, Madam, to represent your family in this year’s convocation.” 

“Whoa, hold on.” Frisk recoiled slightly. “I never heard of us being part of this sorcerer…coalition… thing.”  

“Not surprising, this is only the third time you were ever invited. You were never recognized as one of the families before Adam Everest came around. Curious fellow, that one. What’s your relationship with him?” 

“He’s her dad,” Asriel said.  

“Oh.” 

The man next to Arnold made him sit back down. “Forgive him, he’s just an intern that knows nothing,” he said, passing Arnold a disappointed look. “I’ll take it from here.” 

Looking at Frisk, he continued, “Sergeant Kandor. While I have no connection to him whatsoever, anyone in my line of work has heard of your father.” 

He bowed his head. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” 

Frisk, no longer smiling, nodded once. 

“As he said, yes. The Everest family was never involved in these matters simply because, before their name was known, they were the world-feared Ignis dei." 

That name had a haunting grip on every person in the room. Despite years of only hearing it, there was an unshakable terror left in its wake. 

“Only when your father decided to turn over a new leaf, and subsequently eliminate the organization entirely, did you officially return as one of the Seven Sorcerer Families—that which fought alongside the allied peace forces of the Great War.” 

Frisk’s eyes stayed wide. Until then, she never truly grasped the profound impact her family had on the rest of the world. 

“You should know he only attended the convocation once and never again,” he continued. “While you normally have that option, this year all family representatives are obligated to attend. Even those they don't…typically engage with.” 

Something about his tone put Frisk off—was that awkwardness, or wariness?

“Do be advised. The Kovacs head this year’s Convocation. These are their orders.”

“hold up,” Sans interjected. “what's the consequence if she doesn't go?” 

Sergeant Kandor's eyes narrowed, but only for a moment. “Simply put, distrust.” 

He had a stern look about him as he spoke. “I'm sure you heard the news of the gross desecration of the Great War Graves some months back.”

Asgore and Toriel exchanged looks. 

“We have,” Asgore replied. “We heard it was by a Monster after the Human SOULs hidden there.” 

“That's not all. See, the Graves were put under a Sorcerer’s protection particularly because it attracts the power-hungry and their ill intentions. Our former Captain, Gabor Kovac, was in charge of guarding it from such threats. He did so without fail until suddenly, the enemy was so powerful, they laid waste to the entire site. Not only were those sacred tombs defiled, but the perpetrator got away, and the Captain had gone missing.” 

Looks of concern passed around the Monsters. 

Asriel, however, had to ask, “But how does that involve us—I mean, her?” 

“Understand this—the Graves are not simply a resting place, but symbolize the price of the hard-won peace between Monsters and Humans. That which we’ve enjoyed to this day. We are not inclined to think this attack is just because a Monster wanted some powerful SOULs for himself. In fact, in the worst case, you could see this as a declaration against that peace itself.” 

The news had the whole room frozen in grave disbelief.  

“Which brings me back to you.” Sergeant Kandor looked at Frisk. “Although you can hardly be considered a functional Sorcerer Family, you are known both by name and reputation as such. In fact, we have heard of your own feats—freeing a Kingdom of Monsters, successfully aiding them in their reintegration; perhaps you didn’t intend it, but that continued to seal your place among the families. Absence will give the impression you, and your affiliates, are unconcerned with matters of peace and cannot be relied on against threats to it.”

Frisk swallowed. 

“i hope you’ve noticed this ain’t sounding like an invitation anymore,” Sans commented. 

“Does he give the final word for you, madam?” The soldier's eyes did not leave Frisk. 

Unsure, Frisk looked at each Monster around her. Toriel and Sans held their tongues, but looked like they wanted her to refuse. Meanwhile, Undyne seemed to urge her to do the opposite. Asgore was hesitant to influence her to any side, but she had a feeling he was with Undyne. Then there was Asriel, who, like another presence, simply waited for her decision. 

Which didn’t help, really. 

“A few things first,” she said. “Am I allowed to bring anyone with me?”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Arnold spoke, like he’d been waiting forever to. “Escorts are welcome, but limited to only one.” 

Frisk looked at Sans. He nodded. 

“Another thing,” she continued, “you said there will be research, right? Do I get a chance to look at it?” 

“Certainly. You can even bring home copies if you wish." 

“And the last thing…” Her face stretched in a big smile. “Will I see the sorcerers that can use magic? Like really use magic for when they fight, cook, clean, eat, drink, sleep and everything else?” 

Frisk’s eyes seemed to sparkle then. The rest of them had to raise their eyebrows at the sudden shift. 

The two envoys shared the same confused look, then Arnold said, “Yes?” 

Her eyes lit up even more. “Cool! So when does this thing happen?" 

Arnold hesitated. “About that—”

“In a day,” Sergeant Kandor answered.

“Huh?” they all gaped.

“Gotta tell you—these people are really inconsiderate. Couldn't they have sent a memo or something a week ago?”

Asriel could still not believe the turn of events that led from a regular Thursday for him to Frisk and Sans going all the way to the Central continent by tomorrow. Although, he may just be bitter about being left behind—something they had no control of as royalty wasn’t allowed to attend, apparently. 

Still, he would’ve wanted to feel excited for them with ample preparation. Not grumbling at the MTT studio dressing room while waiting for Frisk to decide what to wear so he could have it dry-cleaned.

Meanwhile, Sans lounged in the corner, lazily going through their itinerary. “that’s just the way of enforcement, junior. when the superiors say it’s urgent, they come up to our faces and practically coerce agreement so we don’t got a real choice.” 

Asriel huffed. “Who do these guys think they are?”

“Relax, Azzie, it’s not like I had any plans to cancel,” Frisk said, going through dress pieces. “But I’ll admit, if not for all the cool stuff, I’m not sure I’d wanna go to this thing.” 

Sans knew it wasn’t just their manner that got to her. Even he felt daunted and clueless in the face of what was coming. 

What he couldn’t get his head around was—where were the Human and Monster Kingdom leaders in all this? If this ‘declaration against peace’ was serious, shouldn’t they be having this discussion instead? Why were the sorcerer families at the forefront? 

“Because the area of concern was under the jurisdiction of a Sorcerer, not within the scope of any Kingdoms,” Asgore had explained. “It seems they want to avoid premature involvement of any Monster or Human leaders, which I believe is sensible. Hence, they’re the ones supposed to deal with it for now.”

But who put them in charge of it in the first place?

It was frustrating. Three years on the Surface, and there was still much he didn't know about it.

“look, kid you got nothin’ to do with all that. if you wanna stay behind, you should. who cares what they say?”

“You heard them, Sans. It looks bad on all of us if I don’t show.”

Sans rolled his pinpricks. “we can handle it." 

“If I can help it, I’d rather you don’t.”  

Her strange tone made him lift his eyes from the papers. Frisk had her back turned, so he couldn't read her properly.

“Besides, I say we make the most out of it. I’m actually excited. We get to go abroad for the first time, attend a globally significant occasion, and to top it off, it’s free. Plus, I doubt they expect anything from me because I’m underaged and have zero experience. I'll just sit quietly and enjoy the perks. Isn’t that great?”

“Not yet, it’s not!” 

They turned to Mettaton, who had burst through the door. 

“But only because you’re in terrible shape right now, darling. You’re not gonna represent anyone looking like that. ” 

“so you’re the culprit…” Sans muttered.

Mettaton and his crew of stylists walked in, carrying large suitcases that may have held every beauty product the planet had. 

“You’re not leaving until I make sure you’re as representable as glamorously possible! I promise you’ll be turning heads faster than the volts powering my circuits when I’m done with you!” 

From one of his clothes racks, he pulled out a dress covered in a plastic bag. “She will wear this, your highness. Tell them to put it under steam that’s hot but not too hot! And don’t get so much as a spec of dust on it once it’s done!” 

He shoved it in Asriel’s hands—to his annoyance.

“As for you…”

Mettaton squinted at Sans. The latter raised a browbone. 

“Never mind I can’t do anything for you.” He gave Sans a dismissive wave, then grabbed Frisk’s shoulders. “Come, darling! We won't let the sun rise tomorrow until you’re absolutely stunning in my eyes!” 

As he watched Mettaton and his staff drag her away and Asriel glad to leave after him, Sans rolled his files like the day’s newspaper and went to get his own things ready. Sudden as everything was, he would have to stop by The Royal family house to iron out the details with themーfrom the time they leave to the time they’re expected to come back in two days’ time. 

Stepping outside, Sans strolled along the now serene streets of Surface Home under the twilight sky. He walked past Monsters and Humans taking their nightly stroll, walking dogs or resting on benches under the cozy light of the lampposts not powered by some CORE but solar energy. He wondered when this view had turned from one he basked in to just another scene of everyday life. 

From here he could see the silhouette of the envoys’ airship against the moon. As averse to it as he was, it was convenient that was their means of getting there. For better or worse, the sight awakened a feeling in his bones that, he discovered, had been waiting a long time for something like this. 

I say we make the most out of it. 

He managed a smile, wondering what the ketchup must taste like in East Central.

Gaster clocked in at his (un)official office in the Dreemurr residence early in the morning that day. He planned to report how the feedback of his symposium was so positive, he would finally test his new invention today—and the Royals were not to argue with it this time. 

But first, he made his stop in the kitchen to take from Toriel’s instant brews. He had just picked out his usual—the darker than dark roast—when he heard someone at the doorway. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. 

“Shouldn’t you be off?” he asked. 

Frisk replied, “Sans never wakes up to his alarm so we’re still waiting for him.”

He gave her a quick look—she wasn’t dressed yet herself, other than her hair fixed in a braided updo and her face embellished with makeup.  

Gaster made a short hum, ripping open the coffee packet.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“So I’ve heard.” He failed to sound interested, turning on the kettle.

“I figured out what you meant thanks to the notes you gave,” she said. “But…is there another way?” 

“If there was, I would have told you already.” 

There was soft disappointment in her voice. “You said you would help me…”

“Your reasons and mine are not the same. And frankly, I’m not so keen on entertaining the matter anymore.” 

He turned to her. “Even I know to put an endeavor down if it brings no good to anyone.”

The sound of boiling water filled the pause, ending with a click . Although Gaster went ahead to finish his business in that kitchen, Frisk remained there without moving an inch. 

Very quietly—conveying everything she needed to—she spoke again.

“Please, Gaster…” 

He clicked his tongue. “What is it you want from me? Haven’t you learned enough about the consequences of trying to change fate? Surely you realize exactly what your actions lead to.” 

“It’s not that I want to change fate. But it has to return to who it belongs to.” Frisk pleaded with her eyes. “The same way you reclaimed yours.” 

He should have dismissed that with a scoff had he not been taking a sip from his drink. Instead, he ended up giving more thought to that than he should. 

For who was he, if not someone who suffered a fate he was hopeless to escape from, yet was granted the mercy to be spared from it too. 

His answer took long, so Frisk sighed, ready to leave.  

“If you find something noteworthy in the convocation…" 

That stopped her. 

“Bring it home. I'll give it a look.”

When his words sank in, Frisk left him with a grateful smile and a bow. 

Right before departing that morning, Frisk stopped by her room to collect a little black box from under her bed covers. She set its lock, prayed over it, and tucked it securely in her coat pocket.

Chapter Text

They were told the airship ride would take about five hours. So far, surprisingly, the experience was dull. 

There was limited space to move. The rest of the rooms were occupied either by engines, communication tech, weapons, or emergency supplies. It was clear this was never the sort of ship for leisurely travels. With Sergeant Kandor at the helm with his soldiers, they were left with Arnold Turk. Who, since their departure, sat across them with his back straight and cheeks red from his wide smile that even Sans thought hurt just looking at. 

“ey.”

Arnold’s shoulders jumped.

“relax. you’re gonna split your face in two doin’ that.”

He blinked a few times. “Pardon?”

“look man, i ain’t askin’ for any sweeping entertainment but at this altitude i’m running out of clouds to count.” 

Arnold sat there looking like he wasn’t sure he heard a language he understood.  

Frisk chuckled. “He means we might as well have conversation if we’re going to just sit here.”

Arnold took a moment to register their words, before his face muscles relaxed and he almost slumped on the table between them. 

“You’re not what I thought Sorcerer families were like,” he said. “I was prepared for severe admonishment for what we did.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say this was convenient for us, either,” Frisk replied. “Considering something as important as this, I thought there’d be more…preparation to it.” 

Arnold pursed his lips. “I suppose I can take this chance to explain ourselves better,” he said. “The convocation was actually planned a month ago. All the letters were sent to the sorcerer family heads by then, but a situation at our post office led to them scattering to the wrong addresses.” 

He stared at Frisk. “Yours, in particular, was found with the burned garbage.” 

Sans and Frisk turned to each other, blinking. 

“What happened?” Frisk asked. 

Arnold grimaced. “It’s an embarrassing story…One afternoon a Ghost Monster broke into the premises and in its frenzy of mischief tore open every package and re-sorted all the mail.”

Sans gave him a crooked smile, if only to keep from laughing out loud. “you couldn’t stop it?” 

“Incorporeal beings have a knack for quick escapes. It’s still at large to this day.” Arnold breathed out, tired. “After receiving no word from the Sorcerers, that’s when they realized the letters weren’t spared from that crazy incident. It made our Lady furious so she sent all staff members across the world to call the Sorcerers ourselves, even if we had to use the military ships to do it. With that, I hope you excuse the Sergeant for his attitude—this was thrust upon him too.”

Sans said, “sounds like you guys are really goin’ through if they're even sending interns for important matters.” 

Arnold heaved a sigh that had his body fully folded on his seat. 

“You’re right. I’m barely a month into this job and already there’s all this trouble. It began ever since the Captain went missing,” he said. “I grew up in the country so I never knew much about these matters. I thought this internship would allow me to learn more about the world, but I’m starting to think that with all this happening, I should've just stayed home.” 

Frisk couldn’t help the tug in her chest at his dejected look. It warmed her heart to learn, unexpectedly, that she could relate to someone from a different part of the world. 

“Here."

Arnold watched her take a pastry from her bag and hand it to him. 

“It’s a Cinnamon Bunny. My mom packed more than enough, and I figured you might want to try something from where I'm from.” Frisk beamed. “It can get a little too sugary for some people, but see for yourself.” 

Sans grinned, watching as Arnold’s pure gratitude made the smile return to his face. 

The rest of the way, they entertained each other with stories of where each of them came from. Arnold became particularly interested when they told him about the tales of their Kingdom. How, not too long ago, they were also stuck in a place that kept them from knowing anything about the world. How they worked and waited a long, long time for the freedom they finally had. And though it didn’t welcome them as nicely as they hoped, they’d never trade it for another second of waiting. 

Eyes lit up with inspiration, Arnold told them, “I hope you will be as enthralled as I am by the time you see where we’re going!” 

He grinned—finally in a way they knew was genuine. “And just as I do, I wish the world to be more than you ever imagined it to be.”

The Quinquennial Sorcerer Convocation

Sights. Sounds. Scenery. People. All of it was new. 

It took one step out of that airship to overwhelm their senses with all of it. Sans and Frisk gaped at towering gothic structures, the shiny cars passing over sturdy stone bridges, and the classy-looking folks—both Human and Monster—bustling down the sidewalks and shopping centers. They witnessed, for the first time, what Monster-Human society looked like outside of theirs. 

The airship station was on the most impressive overlook a city could have. The air was cooler and, admittedly, cleaner than what they usually breathed. Instruments could be heard from below with tunes filling their ears with their novelty. 

Frisk rushed to the edge of the stone bridge, captivated by the morning sun glimmering on the river, and the colorful ferries taking people across it under the lively blue sky. 

“Are you seeing this, partner?” she whispered. 

Chara stayed silent, but words were unnecessary. Here they were, finally—in the bigger, wider world they heard all about. 

“Sans! Frisk!” 

Arnold waved both arms widely at them from the airship entrance, yelling over the propellers and engines.

“Welcome to Ethel-Ferzus! There’s a bit before the convocation begins, so you can use this chance to explore the City! This is where we say our goodbyes, but I’m glad to have met you both!” 

They waved him goodbye back and watched the ship fly off.

"I think we just made our first friend outside of Home," Frisk said. 

"guy set a pretty high standard to start with," Sans replied, grinning.  

To their luck, their event was at the foot of the mountain across the river, all the way at the other side of the city. And the moment they stepped inside it, the buzz of the new environment quickly enveloped them.

Every view was breathtaking, from the serene flower gardens to the busy market streets. They left no food stall untried, no shop window ignored, and no tourist spot unvisited. Sans knew it was a good idea to bring a camera—they may have taken a hundred photos with the historic statues and monuments they passed that were sure to make everyone else jealous by the time they returned home. 

All the while, Sans observed the joy in Frisk’s eyes; her excitable gait juxtaposed with her two-inch high golden pumps, elegant white lace dress, and royal blue flare coat. With her hair and face done up, despite himself, Mettaton’s handiwork deserved praise. He knew exactly what to do with her. 

Frisk was growing up beautifulーthat much was obvious to all. To witness it was something Sans took pride in, even if he knew underneath she was still the same kid who called herself a doodoo butt. 

By late afternoon, they boarded the ferry to take them across the river. With them were folks from the city—tourists taking pictures, locals reading newspapers, mothers and fathers tending to children, and elderly folks enjoying the breeze in silence.   

It was so nove, cheerful and vibrant here, Frisk wished she could just bask in it all day. To think they’d been called here because of a potential threat to all their lives grew more and more unbelievable, and far more unsettling by the minute. 

Upon docking, the walk to the Kovac Family Estate was short. They took in the sight of large, green gates with silver locks the shape of two swords clashing over an emblem of a star—the Kovac family crest. Behind it was a massive white mansion, said to have once served as the main home of the family in the olden days. It told them more about the nobility of Sorcerer families than anything did.

At the front of these gates, a man attended to several groups of Humans and Monsters; all of whom seemed to come from different corners of the earth. This taste of how big the world was, all in one place, had Frisk in an awestruck daze she only recovered from when somebody snapped their fingers for her attention. 

“Excuse me. If you have no family crest to show, do state your name.” 

She straightened in attention, as did Sans. Apparently they were both too distracted by the surroundings to notice they were next in line. 

Frisk responded, “Fr…F-Freya.” 

The man stopped short of jotting it down. “Full, please?” 

Struggling against the well-ingrained instinct of shutting her mouth at this question, she gave her answer very slowly.

“Freya…Cordelia…Iliana…Everest.”

The attendant dropped his pen.    

Silence followed. Beyond the gates, many heads whipped her way. 

Shakily, Frisk waved at them. “H…Hi.” 

The attendant’s smile twitched. “Ah. Yes, we were expecting you too.” 

Sans watched their audience gradually go back to their own business. “what’s with all that?” 

“Sorry, nobody here means disrespect. It’s just the typical reaction when they hear of anyone from that family.”

“The Everest family was never involved in these matters simply because, before their name was known, they were the world-feared…”

Frisk had to ask, “I thought they were only really…in the West…?” 

“My dear, nearly every corner of this earth has heard of the atrocities that group has done,” he replied. “To see a descendant of theirs just…catches people off-guard.” 

At a loss for what to feel, Frisk couldn’t speak. 

So Sans did. “you’re the ones who wanted her here, champ.” 

“And we do, of course we do,” he amended. “The past doesn’t diminish your family’s contributions to the world. It’s delightful to have you again after so long.” 

He leaned in to whisper to Frisk. “Just, for your sake, I need to tell you…Adam Everest was renowned as a force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, he was also greatly feared for it.” 

You must understand why. 

He looked back at his logbook, then to her. “You are his daughter?” 

With nothing she could say, Frisk nodded. 

The swords on the gates slid apart as two guards pulled the gates open. 

Once inside, Sans asked, “all good?” 

“I think I see why he only went to this thing once…”

They followed the cobblestone path towards the building, standing powerfully amid the natural rock formations and the river surrounding it. It was four stories of brick and stone that stood the test of time, lustrous under the sunrays.

The inside of the mansion was as sophisticated as its exterior. High ceilings and marble pillars, shiny tiles, paintings with gold frames decorating its walls, and a doorway leading to a wide, green courtyard. All the guests dressed accordingly, too. It was intimidating at first glance, yet there was a surprising comfort about the atmosphere. All around them, Monsters and Humans from distant lands mingled and laughed over drinks, food, and stories. 

“I've never seen so many Monsters and Humans so friendly in one place,” Frisk commented.

“whoa, look at that. ever seen a Monster purely made out of water before?” Sans followed. 

“Grillby’s made of fire so I guess it implies…” 

“heh, good point.” 

They continued to explore. Yet as much as she tried to ignore it, Frisk still felt the stares from those who heard earlier. Some of them tried to be subtle, but she did not miss how they whispered to one another after. It confused and, to a greater degree, annoyed her. 

What that attendant said stayed heavy on her mind. Frisk regretted she didn't argue with it. She couldn’t imagine how the man who raised her—read her storybooks, gave her piggyback rides, and planted flowers in the garden of his ashes for her—was in any way like the vicious devilry he ended. 

“Frisk?”

A voice cut through her thoughts. Her eyes lit up at its familiarity, and more so seeing who it belonged to, standing at the hallway. 

Frisk squealed and tackled Marissa in a hug. She laughed, greeting Sans next with a quick embrace.  

Stepping back, Frisk looked in awe—her belly showed more than it had the last time they met. It amazed her how big it could get. 

“Is he or she…?” Frisk asked. 

“His name is Nathaniel and he’s due in a month,” Marissa replied. 

That was soon. “Are you sure you should be here?”

“As the new Cypress head, I can't afford to miss this,” Marissa replied. “Besides, I’m with my husband. He’ll take care of me.” 

Sans and Frisk looked at each other. It was news to hear Mr. Sim had retired. 

“Oh, just a second. There he is now.”

Marissa walked toward a tall, blond-haired gentleman who just entered the building. Frisk never met him before, but the caring and attentive manner he approached Marissa with, and the warm fondness in her eyes when he did, said much about him even if they were out of earshot. 

And how great the joy and longing Frisk felt at their sight, that she forgot what bothered her so much.

Marissa accompanied them as they strolled along the courtyard. Ever accommodating of their questions, they learned all about the Sorcerer Families from her.

“In the past, the Sorcerer family heads were a council of nobles leading the efforts of the then new age of peace. Now, every family has their own specialty, but still share the common goal of uplifting peaceful Monster and Human societies.   

“Three of the families are from Central. The Kovac and Myrrhil family specialize in military and guardianship duties; they're the only two exceptions to the decrees that no Human shall use magic to fulfill this purpose, but they’re often kept in check by the Central Kingdom; given very stringent limits on who is allowed magic, and the restrictions of its use. The third is the Zor family who are skilled academics and diplomats. They founded the first university offering education on Monster-Human relations, which I’m a graduate of. 

“In the East continent there’s the Ginto family, the biggest manufacturers of magic items in the world, who probably have the most wealth out of all of us. In contrast, the Alkunaya family are modest, traditional folks who work in the Southeast mountains, where they pioneer research on the nature of the SOUL. They tend to work privately, but all studies on the SOUL are subject to their approval.

“Then there’s us from the Western continent. The Cypresses, as you know, uphold Monster-Human rights worldwide, mainly through legislative and social aid.” 

Marissa smiled at Frisk. “The Everest family is the newest addition, but you were known for heading very special operations against crime. I’m sure you know more about that than I do.” 

While they talked, Sans noted armed and armored men stationed at every door, and groups of them passing the halls, not few and far between. 

“there sure are a lot of guards around here.” 

“Oh…it’s like that around here nowadays.” Marissa sighed. “This City has been my area of focus lately with the increasing incendiary attacks linked to crime groups. With the Kovacs caught vulnerable from their recent loss, it boosted the confidence of criminals in the area.”

A guard they passed bowed to her briefly as they proceeded. 

“The Cypresses are often called to deal with these issues. We're not policemen, but we ensure justice is served to anyone who tries to disturb peace between the races.” 

“all on your own?” 

“Not quite, but we’re the first response before the Kingdoms involved decide what to do. Luckily, we’ve had help from the Myrrhil forces to keep things under control.”

A clap and fizzle from a spark of blue grabbed their attention. One corner of Marissa's lips curved up. “While we’re on that topic…” 

They followed where Marissa looked to the center of the courtyard. At once, Frisk’s eyes were glued to the scene. 

A young manーprobably only a little older than herーstood head to head with someone who seemed like his senior. Who, to their pleasant surprise, was a Monster. An Eagle Monster standing with command as he spread one of his wings, calling forth a volley of sharp steel feathers towards the sorcerer. The young man did not move an inch as a shield of blue magic emerged in the blink of an eye. 

The Eagle Monster charged with incredible speed and broke through it with his beak. The young man evaded the incoming attack, ducking under and skidding across the grass as he shot a massive blue beam of towards his opponent. The Eagle Monster spread his imposing wings and redirected it with a single flap. The sorcerer dispersed the attack with his bare hands—from it, creating two gauntlets coating his fists, charged with a great magical force that shook the ground when the two clashed. 

An exchange of blows followed. Human and Monster magic electrified the vicinity, creating smoke from the dirt until the sparks of each attack were the only things visible. It ended with a white flash that parted them both to the other ends of the sparring ground. The Eagle Monster, as the one that did not land on his feet, knelt with his head bowed. 

A tingle up his spine, Sans whistled—so that’s what Human magic looked like. Not short of what he expected from the legendary counterattack to Monsters with Human SOULs. 

He looked at Frisk for her reaction, but was in for a surprise. For all her giddiness—it was masked but he could tell—she was underwhelmed.  

“not what you were expecting?” 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive.” She smiled at him. “Just…not quite on the level I’m used to.” 

Sans couldn’t help his grin. Chuckling sheepishly, he rubbed his nose. “aw, come on, kid. don't butter me up too much, i'll slip.” 

Conscious this whole time, Chara had another thing in mind when she said that. 

Ever clearly, he could picture the immense magical power he witnessed in the battlefield all those years ago. An explosive, uncontrolled power, where the flick of a sorcerer’s hand was enough to blow an entire brigade away. Compared to what he saw then, this was quite boring. Frisk was just too nice to admit the same. 

Now, what kind of power did Adam Everest have to outmatch an entire family of that caliber?

“Your purpose is to eradicate them.”

A voice from the past echoed in his mind. It shocked him. 

No, he will not remember it. Not here. Not now.   

“All that said,” Marissa continued, “the alarming statement by the Kovac family has forced  all of us to gather here for the first time in years. It’s not good news, but we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

She looked at Frisk. “I know you’re hardly ready for this. I’m sure they didn’t know your special circumstances by the time they had to call you. So going in there, just know you’re not obligated to do anything but listen.” 

Marissa gave her a warm smile. “Leave the burden of this world’s problems to the adults.” 

Frisk replied with an appreciative nod. That did the trick to prepare her for whatever came next. 

Three rings of a bell cut through every conversation in the halls. It was about to begin.

Joined by their escorts, the representatives of the Sorcerer families gathered in the Council Chamber. Each had a designated seat by the walls, the grand room providing enough space for privacy to themselves while still in everyone’s sights. The tallest seat was at the center, against stained glass windows bearing the Kovac family crest. When all introductions were finished, Lillie Madeleine Kovac took her seat, facing them with the grace and charm of the esteemed Lady of the family. 

She began, “Welcome old friends and new faces—Monsters and Humans gathered in good service. It brings me great hope to see all of you here.

“I apologize for having sent you all in such short time. This was, however, a decision made with our best intentions and yours in line, in the face of…disturbing new developments of our time.”

Her smile faded. “As you’ve heard, my family is suffering through the loss of our former captain, Gabor. It’s been six months since the attack on the Great War Graves, but we have yet to hear any word of him…

“Of course, we cannot let this incident pass without action on our part. The Graves were not only the resting place of our fallen heroes, but the first land to be shared by both our races in the name of peace. Today, in the absence of its Guardian, it is nothing but a desolate pile of rock, dust, and bones—so thoroughly, brutally disturbed.”

A solemn pause. 

“Since that night, we’ve gathered evidence that points to seven others who were there. Some Human, some Monster. And one…we are unsure is a creature made by nature.” 

Whispers among the audience ensued. 

Frisk and Sans passed each other a look. The air had shifted. 

“We have every reason to believe this was no mere attempt of robbery. They left nothing but the bodies of all men assigned to guard the area—none in one piece.” Lillie’s hold on her armrest went tight. “And the blood of our Captain, contaminated with the poison of a forest guardian from the East.”   

Sans eyed the other groups. The whispering grew frantic.

“I do not want to get into who we think did it and why. But this forced us to take all the SOULs of our Heroes, miraculously untouched, out of that sanctuary. Nowhere, however, is safe. Not for these SOULs. Not for anyone protecting them. Nothing can convince us they will not strike again. For we have enough evidence to believe this is only the beginning.” 

A chill ran up Frisk’s spine when all sound stopped.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. The strength of this enemy threatens the life and order each of us is bound to protect. You have been summoned for we face a new and growing movement against our peace—one that can match the same forces our forefathers met in battle long ago."

Lillie’s gaze hardened. “We act against it now, or see further destruction upon us.” 

Sans watched a frigid silence take hold of all of them. If only to free her from it, he took hold of Frisk’s shoulder; she released the breath she held. 

Then, someone stood. “Pardon me, Madam Kovac," a man named Farren Zor said. "But best not to make such allegations so quickly.”

The Zor representative continued, “One such attack on one symbol of peace does not immediately pose a threat to the entire world. Besides, we've known the Graves would be a hotspot for acts of malice since its conception. It's why your family was placed in charge of it for generations.” 

Lillie peered at him. “Do you mean to say I'm overreacting?”

“No, no. It's abysmal what you’ve gone through. But it’s irresponsible on our part to jump to conclusions when that’s all the evidence we have. What if this stirs unnecessary unrest with the Kingdoms?” 

Frisk was closer to the front than the rest, so he might not have seen the way Lillie Kovac clenched her dress in her fists.

“While we’re on that page,” Kamon Alkunaya said, “to say a forest guardian was involved is as good as accusing the whole tribe of them. They are not solitary by nature and don’t deal with outsiders unless necessary. If one did go rogue, we should look into that with their people first.” 

“How do we know for sure that these people want something as extreme as war?” Mina Ginto added, “For years I’ve handled smugglers of illegal magical items who go through tremendous lengths to make quick gains. Barbaric things they sometimes do, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they want to completely destroy our way of life.” 

“And how many of those have you dealt with recently?” 

Everyone turned to Jaron Myrrhil. Next to him was the young man Sans and Frisk saw earlier—who must be his son, with the resemblance. 

“I…don’t have the numbers,” Mina replied. “It’s hard to keep track when they happen in many places at once.” 

“And that is why I have to suggest otherwise.” 

The Myrrhil representative had the attention of the room. 

“The Northern border has festered with chaos lately,”  Jaron continued. “Despite decades of my family's guardianship, a number of forces we’ve weakened through the years somehow regained strength. My men are tired out by rising incidents of Monsters raiding Human settlements in the area, just as in the old days. We’ve even seen Humans partake in this by selling out others for a share of the spoils. The perpetrators we captured proclaim only one thing—that it’s their turn.”

The urgency in his eyes was clear in spite of the calm way he spoke. “We can't completely reject this threat does exist.” 

He looked at everyone in the room after that, and Frisk last—he did for longer than the rest, in a way that she couldn’t tell the intent behind it. 

But soon after his words settled, it drew out the climbing anxiety in them, as every sorcerer family in the room clamored. 

“What do you military men expect the rest of us to do? You think we can just walk into battle the same way you do?” 

“Our goal is to uplift the economic welfare of all our societies. If my family entertains the idea of this conflict we might as well be throwing it to nothing.” 

“Can these people not be negotiated with? Have you even tried?”

“You’re all so quick to resort to combat it’s no wonder others think we wish to subjugate them.” 

“Everybody, please.”  

Marissa stood, shifting the room's focus to her. 

“We are, first and foremost, protectors. Called by the Kingdoms of this world to aid them in safeguarding Human and Monster lives—as we have done for half a thousand years at this point.”

At their silence, she continued, “If fear overtakes us at the first sign of danger, how can we expect to do anything for them if it does come?”

Marissa met eyes with all those who protested. “I don’t want to believe this is happening either. But the time we waste fighting about it strays us further from the truth. Please, let’s arrive at it with only one thing in mind—to save all Humans and Monsters. No matter what sacrifices we have to make.” 

Her words reawakened something in Frisk. It was deeply ingrained into her skin how she had given life and limb for the salvation of a whole Monster Kingdom. She would hate to see them in the conflict she spent thousands of RESETs preventing. 

“Well then. Now that you've said so, Marissa Cypress, I hope you can tell us this,” Lillie Kovac said, her words like acid. “What do you know about a confessional paper written by Noah Cypress called ‘The Sorcerer’s Secret’?”

Eyes went wide all over the room. 

“A document said to contain information about the Great War that has the potential to start another. That is what we found out they were looking for when they attacked us.” 

Every member of the convocation held their breath. Marissa, taken aback, could not move nor tear away from Lillie’s heated gaze. 

She replied, “No such document exists.”

“Then what did my son have to get killed for?”  

“Lillie, please,” Jaron Myrrhil said. “We don’t know if he’s dead.” 

“Gabor was one of the greatest soldiers of the Central Kingdom! He never abandoned his duty to his people or to his family!” she yelled. “I have given you the truth and it is happening as we speak! If you can’t believe me I hope you will when your family comes next in the line of fire!”

Gasps broke out—from everyone in the room including Lillie herself. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.” Tears pouring from her wide eyes, she covered her face and shriveled up in her seat. “I didn't mean that…”

Frisk sprinkled water on her face, leaned on the sink, and thought she’d break it from how heavy she felt. 

They called for a quick break after that. While waiting, other aspects of the convocation best be enjoyed—which Sans did now, by the bar. She excused herself to go to the bathroom then, if only to find some respite. 

This was far more than she thought it would be. It turned out, Frisk could not escape the massive weight of responsibility by being here. She couldn’t shake the shame of her powerlessness in that room. For all her so-called accomplishments, she could offer nothing. Not even words. Nothing that will measure up to any effort they could’ve done. 

But here she saw them, in the bathroom mirror. Her mother through her lips and hair. Her father through her facial features and golden eyes. She saw their whole lives, continuing through her. Stepping foot here only made her realize how much she carried on her shoulders, and how unprepared she was to do it.  

“Look, you're my kid, alright? That means you gotta be strong.”

A memory of him surfaced.  

In it, she was crying. She couldn’t recall why, she just was. Her father knelt to the height of her four-year-old self with the look adults made when they had to tell the truth. 

“One day, you’re going to face a whole world coming at you on all sides,” he said. “To live through it, there will be things you really don't want to do, but have to. That's what being my kid means. You need to be able to handle it…even when you feel like it’ll hurt you forever.” 

Through her hiccups and sobs, he gently pulled her hands away from her face. 

“It sounds scary, but trust me. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You know why?” 

Tilting her chin up, he smirked proudly. “‘Cause you’re my kid.” 

Frisk’s eyes grew misty. That only made her miss him all the more. 

‘You shouldn't have gone.' 

She wiped her nose. “I wasn't given the best choices.” 

‘You have a choice to not go back,' Chara said. 'Doubt they'll notice with how steeped in their own heads they all are.’  

Frisk chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it.”

She faced the mirror again, but could only see him now. Just like magic, she felt incredibly light, and couldn't help her fond, nostalgic smile. 

Fair enough, he made an interesting point. If there was nothing she could do, there were better uses for her time. If she already fulfilled her role by coming, then…

“I have an hour ‘til they continue,” she said. “We can use it to explore a bit. And if I somehow get lost in this enormous piece of land…sounds like a good enough reason to have missed the next part, right?” 

‘Troublemaker,' Chara said, almost like he was proud of her. 

“What can I say? You rubbed off on me.”

Sans waited at the edge of the bar, and discovered that the ketchup here, while tasted healthier, was criminally watered down. He could drink actual tomatoes  in tapwater and wouldn't know the difference.  

That disappointing thought aside, this whole thing really put him off. He couldn't tell what concerned him more—this terrible foreboding, or that nobody here seemed ready to face it. 

From the other table, he overheard some of the Monsters. Apparently, the Lady Kovac had lost her only son. She hadn’t recovered after the shock of what happened, which may have led to her wild declarations in that room. Others made sympathetic remarks that if they one day woke up to what she did, it would indeed feel like the world was ending. Meanwhile, in another table, folks whispered about how the two military Sorcerer heads must be out of their minds, and hope they realize what exactly their words meant for the rest of them. 

The sorcerer representatives themselves, however, were all silent. Fear felt like a chokehold around the room, and didn't make it feel like Lady Kovac pulled all that out of thin air. 

And most bewildering, while not in any way malicious, the Myrrhil head looked at Frisk strangely at one point. It was impossible to decode when Sans didn’t know where to start with these pieces at play. 

To speak of which, Sans noticed him—along with his son, the Eagle Monster from earlier, and a type of Twig Monster—quietly headed out of the room. 

He looked around. The guards stood by all doors like they wouldn't even let a fly in, so he guessed it’d be ok to meet back with Frisk later. He wanted to get some information on his own.

Starting with wherever the hell they’re going. 

Time passed swiftly once they took it into their own hands. Frisk and Chara had explored a good fraction of the four-storied building, spending most of their time in the library where the research of the Sorcerer families was displayed for the convocation. Having enough of the white walls, they strolled along the estate garden—which took up most of the space in the property as it was connected to the mountain. Serenity found them here, as Frisk looked through her printed copies with growing curiosity. 

“This is amazing. I don’t think we’ll find a vast collection of knowledge on SOULs like this anywhere in the world.” 

The Alkunaya family indeed had groundbreaking findings. She learned more about the SOUL in these ten minutes of reading than she did traversing the Underground. 

For instance, Monster and Human SOULs, while different in structure and fundamental strength, were inherently the same. Both are made of three main parts—vessel: the visual entity, essence: the life force itself, and residue: the parts that belong to the body. While the nature of the SOUL is not fully understood yet, this structure remains true in all cases. But what caught Frisk’s interest was a report on how even inanimate objects may contain traces of one’s SOULーparticularly items the person held at some value. Such traces are typically as weak as fingerprints, but in some cases, where intense emotional states are involved, an item may contain stronger qualities of a SOUL—even as powerful as determination. As there were no ways of quantifying a SOUL yet, there is no way of proving this outside of anecdotal evidence. But if this is true, then such items may theoretically be used as a fitting vessel to preserve a SOUL’s essence, even after life. 

It hit her like daybreak—the epiphany she got. 

“Never believe you are alone.”  

Frisk pulled her red brooch necklace from under her coat. Could it be… 

“...as long as you have this, you will never be far from love’s protection.”

Examining it closely, the gears of her mind went round. 

“Hey, Chara, this is gonna sound weird, but sometimes I see a boy in my dreams.”

Confused, Chara replied, ‘Friskie, keep that stuff to yourself. That’s embarrassing.’ 

“Wha– no! Not like that! It’s a boy I’ve never met before. I only see a brief image, but he seemed really young, and sometimes I catch him waving at me. Other than that I know nothing…but, somehow, he feels familiar.” 

‘…’

“I don’t get it either,” she replied. “So I wonder if it has something to do with this.”

She traced her fingers on the paragraph. “It says it’s possible that SOULs can be infused into objects as long as there are traces of it there,” she said. “Not like a SOUL artifact which is just made of SOUL parts. In this case, it’s possible for a SOUL to be preserved in it.” 

‘Okay, but it doesn’t explain why you see this “apparition” in your sleep when you only wear it in the day. Besides, it’s a theory. I highly doubt SOULs can be placed into non-living entities—that's like saying even objects can be “alive”.’

Frisk's eyes narrowed. “I don’t think it’s that far-fetched. Do you remember what Alphys said when we were still in the Underground? That SOULs can be transferred to another vessel as long as they’re compatible? Doesn’t it sound similar to this?”  

She flipped through the research pages. “But Alphys was a step ahead—beyond preserving it, she knows this logic can be used to transfer another being to a suitable vessel, and bring them to life. Hear me out, but when I fell down, you said the remaining pieces of your SOUL came alive and filled the gaps of mine. That made me, essentially, your SOUL vessel. Now I wonder if this makes sense to you, but the fact I can see you, talk to you, and even share a body with you tells me a bunch of parts of your SOUL ended up with me. More than the residuals part of Asriel's SOUL. More than the kind of SOUL he had when he was Flowey. You might just have nearly all of your essence. And if I have all of mine too, maybe we’re not sharing one SOUL. We're two SOULs borrowing from each other.”

Chara let her go on, trying to see where she went with this.

“But what always bugged me is how it’s possible for us to do that. What made me so compatible with you? ”   

Frisk paused, voice falling to a whisper. “But what if it's enough that you are?”

An odd, unwelcome feeling replaced his curiosity. ‘What are you getting at?’ 

“If this is true, and parts of my SOUL can be found in things outside of me, then isn’t it possible to find what’s missing in both of us in them?” 

Yeah, he didn’t like where this was going. 

“What if it can be extracted? If my determination brought you back to life, then it must be what you’re missing. We have just the machine for it. As for me—” 

‘Frisk, enough.’  

“Hold on, what if—” 

‘I said enough.’  

“Chara, I don't say this to make you—” 

‘I didn’t ask! Just stop it!’

Frisk bit back her urge to snap back. She decided to face him in the mindspace, unfazed by the angry look he gave her. 

“I’m not saying anything wrong,” she said.  

“Nothing right, either.” He grunted. “I thought I made it clear long ago I don't want to be saved?”

“Are we really doing this now?" 

“Quit testing me.” 

Frisk hardened her will, so she could face him earnestly as she said, “Is it really so bad that I think you deserve something better than this?” 

“Don’t talk to me like that.” 

His words were sharp, like a blade twisting deep inside skin. 

“There are times I appreciate it, that much I’ll give. But do me a favor—just don’t.” 

She frowned. “Chara—” 

“Don't give me your pity.” 

She froze from momentary disbelief and, unexpectedly, how deep his words cut.

“You should know it isn't pity driving me to say these things.”

Something about that felt strange to Chara, in the way a knot in his chest untied without warning.

“I thought you would’ve known,” Frisk continued, “not once since knowing you…did I ever pity you.” 

Kindness softened her gaze. “But are you really… really convinced you’re okay this way? Because I do see it—sometimes, you regret it.” 

Profoundly unnerved—by her look, her words, and everything about her right now—Chara avoided her sight. 

“Chara, are you really so against it you won’t even try?”

“You’re missing the point.” 

“What if it’s because I have a different one?” 

“Quit it or else I'll—” 

“You sound exactly like Asriel did,” she snapped. 

“Don’t try to make this the same thing,” he growled back.

“Staying stuck like this isn't right, and we can’t run from that forever. Is it so bad that I want to find a way to get you your own life back? Is that really something you’re so scared of?!” 

“Frisk, do everyone a favor for once and stop insisting saving a person's supposed to make everything better!” 

At his sheer display of fury, it took a mighty willpower not to back down—in the form of her fist tight around the black box in her coat pocket, as Frisk took a deep shuddering breath. 

“Just answer me honestly…Can you tell me that this is all you want? Me, you, and…this expanse of nothing until it all ends?” 

With increasing fervor, she asked him, “That even if I were to meet an impossibly cruel fate, you would be willing to share it with me?” 

In all honesty, Chara would rather not answer. He’d rather leave this unresolved and sleep for several days, without caring how she’d feel when he had to face her again. 

But as he looked at her now—angry with the best of intentions—a force he couldn’t name kept him in her sights. And his plan of escape was no longer as compelling as the truth he ought to tell. 

“Frisk, understand this. I no longer want anything. In fact, this coexistence has grown meaningless to me. I don’t even care about the deal we made for you to keep going with your life, I know you will. Whatever it leads to, I’m no longer interested in getting in the way of it. I told you, my time here is done. There is no fairness in seeking more."   

All the anger and discomfort left his features, as his voice fell quieter.  “But still I made you a promise. I have no plans of going back on it.” 

Then, he met her eyes. “Is it not enough?” 

Sorrow was written all over her face, but it was not the same as the one from that winter day. It did not come from grief, guilt, or despair, but in the most perplexing way, she conveyed that feeling. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask for some time…” 

In a voice that had both softness and desperation, she asked, “When you made it…who had I become to you?” 

The question blanked his mind. He searched her face for her reason for asking. Yet of the many faces of Frisk he’d seen, he could not recall a time Frisk looked at him the way she did now—in fearful longing for what he'd say next. 

But no thought or answer came to him. This was not something he'd asked even himself. Utterly floored, it stopped whatever made him protest in the first place and forced him to think—

What was his answer to it? 

“ ጮ ል ጋ ጎሃ ል ⶴ …”

Chara snapped to attention. It was barely audible, but he just picked up something a whole other level of alarming, and froze at what he saw.

Since his death bed, Chara had not felt fear in any true way. Yet beyond all explanation that feeling rose in him at tremendous heights. For in this space that only they ever shared, a set of giant black claws crept up from behind his full image of Frisk. 

“Get down,” he said. 

“What?” 

‘Now!’  

Frisk fell flat on the dirt, covering her ears from a grating shriek that flew past above her. 

In terror, she laid eyes upon a ghastly creature that appeared from the trees. It took the form of a ghost, but not like any she’d known. Its body was full of sharp edges; like hunched human bones cloaked in webs of shadows—but no darker than the gorges of its eyes. Its long black claws clenched on a tree bark as it bore sharp, rotting teeth. The picture of a creature of death, and everything about it wanted to harm her. 

Nothing beyond a breath escaped her when another clawed shadow sealed over her lips. Another bound both her legs.  She belted a scream no one could hear her as it dragged her body mercilessly across the garden, all the way to the edge of the river. Into the water. 

Frisk held onto the roots at the edge of the surface for her life, struggling against the bruising grips trying to take her to the darkest depths. 

The sight she saw there made her scream. 

Pale white faces. Tens of them. All with the uniforms of the guards she’d just seen earlier today. 

She thrashed desperately. Losing her breath by the second, but she couldn’t afford to stop. 

Chara took over, both hands finding a thick tree root to grasp as he kicked against the creatures, but to no avail. Every attack had no effect, not even loosening their hold. With every struggle, he felt the tightness of Frisk’s lungs, getting ready to give out. His head spun; he was losing power over his own grip. 

Something moved from the corner of his eye and ascending into view was the face of what attacked them, staring straight into his eyes.

An intense cold enveloped him. He couldn’t move. All he did was stare back as it opened its mouth.

A tearing pain snapped him out of it. Frisk’s SOUL had been drawn out, and felt as if it were being ripped out of her body. 

Both of them howled from the sheer torture of their SOULs breaking apart by force. Their consciousness tore between two planes of reality until they could think of nothing else but the pain. That they couldn’t breathe. That they could die.  

Then it ended. 

Frisk opened her eyes, back in her body, in time to see a blinding white beam had broken through the water’s surface. The creature had disintegrated into particles of dust. Several more beams followed after it, wiping out every piece of shadow that had grabbed onto her and forcing that darkness to retreat. 

Someone yanked her by the scruff and pulled her out of the water. Frisk gasped for air, scrambling onto the surface into a man's arms. She held firmly onto the cloak covering him, his hands keeping her trembling body steady. He might’ve asked if she was alright but everything was muffled but her own hitched breath. She held her chest, nearly calling Chara’s name, assured to still feel his presence with her. 

Her vision had cleared enough to meet the eyes of who saved her. She gasped. 

She recognized him. She had seen this face in a photo frame inside the Kovac mansion next to a vase of flowers. It’s the missing sorcerer. 

He helped her up. “Hurry, come with me.”

That took her out of her shock. “Huh—?”

“You stay here, you’ll die.” 

Her protest was cut by chilling whispers from the water. Several pairs of dark eyesockets emerged from the river’s surface, their sights keen on them. 

“ Quickly!” 

Frisk’s cry of Sans’ name never made it out of her mouth. He pulled her along with a speed that rivaled light itself as they fled into the mountain.

Chapter Text

Who Else Is Alive?

Sans followed the Myrrhils to the estate garden, hiding in the shade of a tall green bush. He caught sight of them occupying the benches in a serious discussion, and overheard this:  

“This convocation only showed how cowardly the families have become,” said the Twig Monster. “How quick they were to deny the Lady Kovac's claims when they should’ve addressed them head on. I’m starting to think they’d forgotten their responsibility to the rest of the world.” 

“They’re only afraid and right to be,” the Eagle Monster replied. “Maybe it was too rash to share the state of the Northern Border when even we are still unsure what’s behind it.” 

“Rash or not, they ought to know the problem exists,” Jaron Myrrhil said. “Right now, I’m more concerned about something else.” 

He stood and started to pace. “Everyone overlooked Lillie’s statement that one of the attackers was some freak of nature. Neither Human nor Monster. Does that remind you of anything?” 

The Eagle Monster stroked his chin with his feathered fingers. “The last time I heard of anything like that…”

A dark look hung over his face. “Was the nightmarish Human-Monster chimera experiment the Ignis dei did over a decade ago.” 

A chill crept up Sans’ spine. He listened more intently.

“I won’t forget how many carcasses we had to dispose of after that laboratory was seized,” the Eagle Monster continued. “You think somebody tried it again?”    

“It’d be better if they only did the exact same thing...” Jaron put his fist to his lips, pensive. “Do you think the Everest girl knows anything?” 

“She doesn’t look like she knows half the things that went on in there,” the younger Myrrhil said. 

“Frankly, Ragnar, neither do we,” his father chided. “I think I want to have a talk with her. See if she has any inklings as to what we’re facing.” 

He stopped pacing, then said in a low voice, “And if it has any connection to Adam Everest’s demise…”

An impulse surged through Sans that would’ve led him to reveal himself, but he was prevented by two frantic guards that passed. They caught the Myrrhils’ attention as well, who stopped them to ask what happened. 

Many guards were missing, they said. But as far as they knew, none have left the premises.  

Sans followed quietly as someone yelled at them from the river, where they met another group of guards who found traces of the missing ones. Discarded boots, helmets, knives, guns—all of which found leading to the water’s edge. 

“You mean to tell me they all decided to go for a swim and haven’t come back?” he heard Jaron say, incredulous. 

Sans tried to get a closer look, until he caught movement from the corner of his eye. A split-second of flight from the trees followed by a quiet splash in the river. He moved closer to scan the water’s surface. Something was there and he knew it. Its sinister intentions reeked in the air.

If it wouldn’t show itself, Sans would make it. His eye lit up, challenging whatever power they had with a brief show of his own, charging the surrounding area with it.

The shadows under the currents drew back. He squinted to see what exactly it was, but his view was blocked by a piece of paper floating by. 

Then another. And another. And another.

Several sheets of what he could tell were research documents oddly came in succession. All of them were about the SOUL.

He recalled—Frisk wanted to look at these. 

Sans followed their trail, page after page. He must have taken about ten paces before it ended where the grass parted in the most unnatural way, like something had been dragged violently over it. 

The only thing that kept him from losing his mind to fear of the worst was the sight of tracks nearby.

Sans knelt by them. Two people had been here. One larger than the other. Both ran away. The tracks led away from there, disappearing as soon as Sans reached the back fences of the garden—to a gate with a lock forced open with magic. 

There he found the only clue he needed, as he picked up a golden shoe. 

The next second, Sans teleported up the mountain. 

It struck him immediately—the chilling wind, the malicious intent thick in the air. No birds sung, no trees swayed. The grimness of it made him fully aware of the vibrations on the earth, telling him there must be dozens—even hundreds more people hiding here. For whatever purpose, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but alarm surged through his bones, teleporting him to each and every part of the mountain trail at lightning speed. 

At the next corner, he rounded out of the woods, skidding back to the edge of a cliff to face the trees—because he was not alone right now. 

Realizing they’d been caught, his pursuers emerged from the darkness. Snarling, growling, creeping towards him. 

There were four of them. Large creatures with the face of a wolf and the body of a lion. Their eyes were white and empty; their gray fur was so wiry and unkempt they looked like splinters on their thick skin. With bared fangs, they struck their razor-sharp claws on the ground with every step. If Sans didn’t know any better, these things were nothing more than feral beasts. But there was no denying it—those SOULs belonged to a Monster’s. 

Whatever reduced them to this, he couldn’t think about. One of them pounced and for a moment he feared its weight coming down on him alone would crush him. 

Sans wrapped it in magic and it roared, in anger then in agony, as he threw it over the cliff.  

In shock of his own actions, pure reflex made him teleport away when the other three charged in retaliation. He reappeared behind them, summoning several bones bursting from the ground beneath the beasts, entangling them in a cage. 

An overpowering chill ran up his body. There was one more. 

Sans turned around and he was face to face with wide jaws ready to bite his skull off. 

It released an howling outcry before it reached him, falling to the the ground. As it convulsed in pain, Sans noticed it had been shot in the eye. He turned to the origin of the bullet and spotted a hooded Human figure holding a gun, moving swiftly behind the trees. 

Bright blue entered his periphery as something flew past him. Donning a pair of grand, blue wings, a Butterfly Monster arrived, picked up the creature that attacked him from the ground, and despite her thin appendages she flung its whole mass at the others, throwing them all off the edge.

One of them managed to claw itself back up before it did and sprinted violently towards them. 

A Mouse Monster then landed between it and Sans. Raising his arm, a huge rock broke from the ground and floated above their heads. Sans panicked. 

“hey, wai—!”

The Mouse Monster used shot the rock right above the creature's skull. Its body went flat on the ground and didn’t move anymore. 

Sans could do nothing but watch it disintegrate into dust particles swept off by the wind. 

The Mouse Monster turned to him. “Why’d you try to stop me? Did you think it wouldn't kill us?”

“no, but come on—”

“They have no concept of mercy.” Under his anger, something akin to regret flashed. “Showing any won’t make a difference.”  

Sans blinked several times—struggling to grasp the situation he found himself in, as the three figures that arrived remained tense, alert as the surroundings seemed to grow far more restless. 

“We have to move,” the hooded Human—a woman, by her voice—said. She turned to the Butterfly Monster. “Faida, can you lead him out of here?” 

“whoa, hold on a minute,” Sans said. “mind tellin’ me what the hell is going on? who are you anyway?” 

“Trust me, friend," the Mouse said. "You should escape rather than waste time on introductions. It’s not safe for anyone to be here.” 

“yeah, go figure,” Sans snapped, “but i'm not leavin' ‘til i find my friend so we can both high-tail it out. now, i’m gonna cut to the chase—have any of you seen a teenage girl, ‘bout this high, with a roundish face, dark brown hair and gold eyes?”  

Their faces broke with shock. As if in reflex, the two Monsters looked at the hooded figure, who had gone more rigid than a stone.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

That reaction took Sans aback too.  

Pure horror bled through her voice. “She can’t be here.” 

The Mouse Monster stammered, “R—commander, wait, we don’t know if that’s—“

“who the hell are you?” Sans demanded. “you. lady. quit hiding and tell me exactly how you know who i’m talking about.”

An assault from behind caught Sans off-guard. The Butterfly Monster, Faida, locked him in her multiple limbs and began to wrap him tightly in silk. 

“Commander, go. Stick with the plan, I’ll look for her. Please, just go—“

The Butterfly Monster gasped. Silk fell to the ground as her hands had gone empty. 

Sans teleported in front of the hooded woman and with magic blew her cloak off. 

He wished he knew the world would change after that. 

“you gotta be twisting up my spaghetti…”

They made it deep inside the mountain, beyond forests of large trees and rows of steep hills, until they finally lost those creatures’ tails along a spiky maze of rocks. There, they entered a thin opening between the boulders leading to a hidden cavern. When he set her down on her feet, that was when she noticed she’d lost one of her shoes.  

Frisk took in the surroundings. It was dim; the only light came from the crack on the wall. She spotted the remains of a campfire and signs people were here. 

The sorcerer continued to peer through the cave entrance, eyeing for anything that followed. 

Frisk went to his side. “What are they?” 

“SOUL wraiths,” he replied. “Prehistoric Monsters without physical forms. Devourers of SOULs.” 

A swift wisp of a shadow passed them. He pulled Frisk away from the entrance. 

“They are nothing like the Monsters we know now. The only goal of their existence is to hunt for SOULs; their own have nothing but the hunger for another.” 

Frisk could hear the echoes of the wraiths’ vicious screeching from here. 

“They were supposed only stay in the deepest places in the world, but now they’re here. Under another person’s will.” 

A sullen look took over his features. “They won’t be the worst of our problems soon, though. Come, there's a way for you to escape from here.”

Beckoning her, he went further inside the cave. Frisk had no idea where to start with this, but had enough clues to know waiting would not get her any answers.

“You're Gabor Kovac, aren't you?” she asked.

He halted. 

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” 

Gabor looked at her over his shoulder. He hesitated to reply, turning away from her when he did.

“Every person in that building is about to be killed.” 

All of Frisk’s blood rushed out of her body. 

“This whole mountain is infested with the people here to do that.” He clicked his tongue. “I just never expected SOUL wraiths, of all things, to be part of this plan.” 

Frisk had a million questions she still wanted to ask, but the most dire one had to come first. 

“If they're going to be attacked, shouldn't you warn them?” 

He didn’t answer.  

Her fear shot off the roof. “You have to tell them to get out of there!" 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“I have people I love still—!”

He grabbed her when she tried to run out. “So do I, but this is just what they want! Part of this is a trap laid for us!” 

She quit struggling, processing his words. “Who’s…‘they’?” 

His lips formed a thin line. 

Frisk continued to search him for answers. “And who's ‘us’?" 

Slowly, Gabor put his hands on her shoulders, leveling his gaze with hers. 

“Listen. There are many things happening out there that I cannot let people like you get involved in.” 

He took her hands in a firm hold. “I will do everything to get them out safely. So do me this favor and leave while you still can. There is a tunnel at the end of this cave that leads to the riverbank. That’s your best chance of escape.”

“No, I can’t go,” Frisk protested. “My friend won’t leave unless he knows I’m—“ 

‘Frisk.’ 

Chara broke her out of her panic. 

‘The skeleton can take care of himself. He has better chances of finding you. If you know what’s good for you, do what he says.’ 

He sounded really tired. 

Of course; he took over earlier. 

The reminder grounded her. Terrifying as leaving Sans was, he was right. And she should not ask any more of him. 

A hard decision made, Frisk said to Gabor, “Sans the Skeleton. If you find him, please tell him where I’ve been.” 

She recalled who else was there and knew what more needed to be said. “And your mother, too. Save her. Let her know you’re alive.” 

He held her gaze, then nodded once. 

The sound of rapid footsteps approached. All the hairs on Gabor’s body rose. 

He pushed Frisk behind the cave rocks. He shushed her before she could make a sound. Covering her mouth, she did as told as he gestured for her to go. She crawled, slow and soundless. Keeping herself hidden in the darkness of the cave. 

What she didn’t expect was Gabor to meet two people, out of breath, who stumbled inside. 

He asked them, “What happened?” 

“There’s way more than we expected. We had to fall back,” a man said. 

“What about you?” another one spoke. A woman. “Why’d you head back here?”

Frisk froze. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

“SOUL wraiths?!” the woman exclaimed.

“Damn these pieces of shit,” the man followed. 

“We have to hurry,” Gabor continued. “The best thing we can do now is eliminate every threat we can to give them a chance to run.”

“They're too many,” the man replied. “Even if we try this whole plan will still be a bust because that’s just what they intended us to do.” 

When she had listened enough, Frisk could no longer feel the cold rock under her hands and knees.

“Those two…” she mumbled. “I know those two…”

“What do we do then?” Gabor pressed. “If we wait to move until the others give their opening it’ll already be too late.” 

“Then we’re moving now,” said the man. “We won't win this one, but there’s a good chance we can still save some lives. Let’s regroup with Rosie and get this info to her.” 

The sound of flesh sliding and hitting against rock was soft, but it was heard. 

Gabor stiffened. 

“What's with you?” the woman asked. 

The man lifted his hand and silenced them. “Did you have company?”

With wide strides, he approached that corner fast. 

“Lieutenant, stop,” Gabor said.

“Since when did you call me ‘lieutenant’?”

“Don’t—!”

He grabbed behind the rocks and pulled someone up by the collar. 

And froze. 

Frisk hung from Marcus’ hold, wide eyes staring back into his own. 

Rita’s hands flew to her mouth. 

All hearts stopped. 

With trembling hands, slowly, Marcus set her down. Frisk's feet made gentle contact with the floor and they failed her. She crumpled to the ground, but her eyes never left his. 

Shaky breath bounced off the walls. Within them, the world had gutted apart. 

When she regained feeling in her body, Rita shoved Gabor against the wall, caging him there with her arm against his neck.

“Her? You brought her here?” 

Gabor struggled against her chokehold. “This is the safest place I know.”

“You have any idea what you just did?” 

“Believe me, I have every idea !” He shoved her off him. “But what was I supposed to do? She was about to be devoured by the wraiths!” 

“Who else is alive…” 

The barest of voices came out of her. With it, holding every bit of desolation a SOUL could have. 

“Marcus…Rita…tell me,” she choked out. “ Who else is alive?” 

Nothing could break the icy grip that held everyone in that cave. 

Marcus had barely a mind to respond. Only saying, more to himself, “You shouldn't be here…” 

“Tell me,” Frisk demanded.

Silence was an answer in itself. 

Her fists clenched, bunching up her dress. “You…you said her name…Is…is s-she…” Frisk swallowed. “Is she here?”

Hot tears spilled down her face; with them, furious sobs raising her voice with the words, “Is my mother here?” 

The force of her weeping shook her whole body, too much to be contained. Violent hiccups and cries filled their ears and no one could speak. The air in the room grew thicker with each passing second even as they only watched and waited until she calmed. 

First to find himself, Marcus said, “This doesn’t have to be harder than it needs to.”

“I don’t see how it gets easier.” 

With that sharp-tongued hiss, they felt the several years that passed since that night.

She looked at the two soldiers, all at once pained and aggrieved. “You can’t ask me to pretend this didn't happen.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Marcus clapped back.  

The pang of resentment shot through her system. She had just about enough of that. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears overflowing.

When they opened, she glared at them all. 

Marcus and Rita jolted when she slipped past them.  

Gabor grabbed her before she sprinted past the exit. Frisk thrashed and kicked against him and he covered her mouth trying to keep her screaming controlled. 

“Quiet down, do you want to draw anyone here?!” 

Frisk stopped but continued to struggle; eyes wild with the thousand emotions that came from learning the greatest loss of her life had been completely overwritten, shattering the world she knew all over again. 

Hardening his resolve, Marcus went to them. “Kovac, watch the perimeter. We'll handle this." 

He took her despite her continuous flailing, carrying her back and setting her against a rock. 

“What’s your plan, huh? ” he snapped. “What will you do when you see her? Do you think it’ll accomplish anything?” 

Frisk’s writhing grew more violent. 

“Listen. We didn't do any of this because we wanted to. If we had a choice we wouldn't have let any of it happen,” Marcus said. “But I won't allow anyone put it all to waste—even if it's you. ”

Rita grabbed his shoulder. “Marcus, stop, you’re hurting her!”

When he loosened his grip, Frisk stopped moving all the same, tears in an endless stream.

“I say this for your own good. If you don't want this to end up like that day, you'll leave. Right now.” 

Frisk recovered some bearing of reason, to challenge Marcus’ strong vehemence with her own.

“I was the last one to see him,” she cried. “I was the very last one he saw.” 

Both soldiers took in her raw gaze and the awful truth in it.  

“You'll never imagine…what that was like for me. I know I'll never have a day like that again.”

Plenty of emotions flashed in their eyes. Words failed them.    

All strength and resistance gone, Frisk begged, succumbing to her sobs.

“Please let me see her. Please…Because I once wanted to die too…just so I could again.” 

In that moment, they both looked more Human than soldier, their hearts bearing itself on their faces. 

Rita made Marcus move aside, so she could hold Frisk’s shoulders far more gently. 

“I know none of this is fair to you. It has never been fair to you since the beginning.” 

Fixing her hair away from her face, she cupped Frisk’s cheek. “I wish we could grant this to you. Truly, I do. But now is not the time,” she said. “Please. Do as we say and get out of here.” 

Rita looked into her eyes, conveying the best of intentions. “It’s both for your sake and hers.” 

Frisk’s heart sank. She grasped more to those words than she wanted to. 

“She won't come for me after, will she?”

The pain in their faces told her the truth. 

Frisk fought to hold herself together. “If this might be the last time I’ll get to see her, let me do it now.” 

Frisk, stop! 

Chara yelled. And he had been yelling for minutes. 

He yelled for her to get a grip. To calm down. To regain some sense and realize just what she’s trying to do. But no matter how much he tried, his voice was muted. An unseen force kept him from reaching her even in the mindspace. Frisk’s mind was somewhere out of touch with his, and he had never been more desperate for her to come back.

Because they had to run now.

“Please…" Frisk sobbed, hugging herself tight. “Give her back to me…”

“Freya…” Rita couldn’t continue. 

Even from a distance, it was difficult for Gabor to watch the scene. Knowing now exactly what the stakes were between them, he could only think of what might be, when eventually he had to face his own mother, knowing he could not promise to come back to her either.   

A strange ringing suddenly pierced his ears. It sent him on high alert. 

The other two heard it too and moved in the blink of an eye. 

Marcus and Rita grabbed Frisk and took cover behind the rocks. Gabor protected them from the explosion above with a magic barrier. 

The destruction forced them out of the cave and in shambles, all but one of them started running. 

Marcus yelled, “Freya!”

She was down on all fours, among the debris hitting the ground.

Even if instinct told her to run, she couldn’t get up. With every pound of earth like a stab in her chest, she could find no power to. Weighed down by the thought of how cruel the world must be to her, if she was fated to find a loved one in the middle of a massacre.

In despair, in time with the next explosion, Frisk wailed.

Chapter Text

You Were Everything

Ragnar Myrrhil sprinted through the white halls at a speed that tested what a body should have been capable of. It was still far too slow. 

Thirty of the Kovac Family's guards. All of them known as the best in the land. All of them found lifeless at the bottom of the river.

They had died without sight nor sound—a feat only the world’s darkest creatures could do. Yet their presence only alarmed them of far more evil they failed to realize was here. Evil now all around, storming in towards them from all sides. 

We can’t fight them off— his father said in trepidation. They had to run. And they had to do it now.

Ragnar burst  the Council Chamber doors open. All heads turned. Before anyone could say a word, he yelled at the top of his lungs. 

“Everyone, get out ! We’re under at — !”

“— Attention all Sorcerers and those who believe in them. ” 

A voice from the PA system overpowered his own. One young, lively, and clearly not among any of them. 

“ For this year’s Peace Agenda, we only have one favor to ask you. ” 

For a moment in that room (one the world will remember), every force on earth stood still. 

“ Die .”

“Faida fly down there and save as many people as you can! HURRY!” 

Rosalind shouted through the rumbling of the mountain as they ran. The Butterfly Monster did as told, diving down with incredible speed. 

“Benny, go with her!”

The Mouse Monster hesitated. “Wait, Rosie, what about the plan?” 

“Forget it, save them!” 

“Rosie, think straight for a second!” Benny yelled. “What about you? If we go, what happens to you?!”

Rosalind’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t matter now. We can’t let them die.” 

“Ros—“

“That’s an order, GO !” 

Benny skidded to a stop before he did. 

“We won’t leave without you,” he said, a fierce look in his eyes. “Got that? We won’t .” 

The Mouse Monster raced down the mountain, out of sight in seconds. 

Through the sheer pandemonium of events, Sans could barely keep up nor process any coherent thought. Shortly after his shocking discovery, they had heard two explosions nearby, then another, huge one below, as loud as the screams that came with it. The whole mountain made his ears ring as every succeeding scream and sound of gunshots put together the horrifying picture of what exactly was going on. 

Grabbed by his jacket, someone pulled him into the dense shrubs. With his shoulders taken in a firm hold, Rosalind looked him dead in the eye. 

“Listen. There’s nothing I want you to do other than what you came up here for and that’s it,” she said. “Don’t get involved in anything I’m trying to do if you want to make it out alive.” 

She gripped his shirt collar tight. “Now you promise me this. If you truly are a friend of hers, and care for her for even just a fraction as I do, you will find her. You will take her far away from this place. And do everything it takes to make sure none of this follows her. Understood?” 

Sans couldn’t move under her gaze. He only had enough of a mind to grasp that he had found every puzzle piece he needed, and regretted ever looking for them. 

“just tell me one last thing,” he managed to say, “do you have any intention of returning to her or not?” 

Rosalind tensed; her expression was hard, but he saw it—the jab in her heart. 

“I’m going with you until you find her. But as soon as you do, I’m moving along…no matter what.”

She let him go. “If you’re smart, you’ll understand.” 

Painfully, he did.

Though he wanted to say more, Sans’ attention snapped to the sound of massive gunfire echoing through the forest. This time somewhere above. Far too close, that they both feared they knew exactly who their target was.

Bullets trailed after them as they ran. Rita strayed behind and shot back with her rifle as the rest squeezed themselves through a maze of rocky spikes, their assailants hot on their tail.

As they rounded the corner two attackers appeared, one holding twin hatchets and the other with whips in both hands. Whether they were Monster or Human, it was difficult to tell. Their faces were concealed by full white masks, with black robes covering them—just as every person with them did.

They yelled angrily in languages they did not understand. The one with the hatchets threw one of them and it dug into the stone just a hair away from Marcus' head. He had moved fast enough to lunge forward and smack the back of his shotgun into that one's stomach, the force enough to hit him fatally against the rock wall. At the same time, the other masked man lashed his whips towards Marcus, but blood burst from him as he was shot in the chest. Rita had caught up and stood by his side as they faced the dozens more that trailed after them. Both yelled for Gabor and Frisk to keep running. 

Gabor pulled her at full tilt, taking her through each path just before any bullet or attack could reach them. As fast as they were, every corner they turned, somebody was there forcing them into another one. The lineup of enemies coming after them had no end. 

By the time they reached their last turn they found themselves at the edge of the plateau. Every path behind them had the drum of feet closing in fast. They would be cornered within seconds. 

With one deep breath, Gabor’s body became charged with a magical energy that brought chills through Frisk’s body, before he put it all into slamming his palms on the ground.  

Beams of blinding white light burst forth from the force, piercing through every person surrounding them—some bleeding where they'd been speared through with the rays of light, the rest crumbling into dust where they stood. All of them killed instantly. 

Gabor covered his mouth, body wracked by a cough of blood that brought him to his knees. 

Yet they were not given even a moment’s respite. Ghoulish howls now familiar to their ears resounded from the higher levels. SOUL wraiths were soon to be upon them.

Gabor tried to get up, but pain shot through every part of his body. The poison it could not purge flooded his veins. 

Frisk caught him before he fell but he weighed like a dead man. Both their knees gave in. Breathing labored, his features had grown pale and sickly. Blood spilled from his lips as his uncontrolled coughing kept him from getting up. Frisk tried to drag him, but her head pounded with images she couldn’t contain. They resurfaced in her mind like nightmares—blood and bodies. Guns and violence. The death of many. 

The death of one. 

“Freya…”

Then, careening through it all, the familiar sound of blasters somewhere below them took her out of it. 

Frisk let Gabor go, raced to the edge, and screamed to the whole mountain, “SANS!” 

Sans heard it. So did Rosalind. 

They had followed the sounds of violent chaos until it got close enough for Sans to see the masked fighters responsible for them. Shocked and overwhelmed by the sheer thirst for carnage they displayed, he had shot his blasters to block the path of several more of them coming down from the mountain, when they heard her scream. They spotted her immediately. At the edge of a cliff, just above them. 

Out of nowhere, a beam of blue magic from the lower elevations pierced the sky. 

Then, the earth shook. Shook so strongly, they were knocked off their feet as a powerful bolt of blue magic ruptured the ground, splitting the entire mountain through as shrieks and cries of all creatures caught in its wake sounded across the land. 

The force made the ground under Frisk’s feet break. She hardly gasped when the stone she stood on crumbled and she slipped off the edge. Frisk's vision became filled with the sky and the cliffside, turning into the rocks falling with her. 

Gabor shot up and, as fast as his weakened body could, tried to reach for her hand. 

He missed. 

An instinct Rosalind thought her body lost had revived. 

She braced herself, threw the consequences to the wind, and moved. 

Sans jolted when Rosalind ran past him, reacting fast enough only to keep the cascades of rocks from crushing them, before he lost them in a heap of smoke and debris.

The contrast of cold stone and warm flesh shot Frisk’s eyes open. She vaguely recalled the feeling of someone catching her, upon awareness of a touch her body remembered better than her mind. 

Hands on her shoulders, knelt by her feet, and looking at her with the most incomprehensible clash of emotions, the moment Frisk saw her, all her other thoughts and senses failed.

“M...” She swallowed. “M...” 

Tied to too much pain, she struggled to say it. Too much to bear. Too little meaning compared to the clogged sound of her voice spilling from her in another wave of sobs. 

So she didn’t say a thing. Instead, threw her arms around her mother in the tightest wrap a person could ever give—meeting more warmth, soft flesh, and a scent that brought her entire being back to the past. 

It overwhelmed her. She was real.  

Not a memory, vestige, or picture she held onto for years. All those lost their value in the face of her breathing, walking, living form.

Rosalind couldn’t help herself either. Through her misty eyes, she reached for her face and lifted it towards her. How she longed to see this face. It had so much of all she ever loved. She just wished it was not so wrought with pain and sorrow. If she only could, Rosalind would take every burden that caused it. And yet while looking upon these delicate features—at long last held in her hands—she forgot the rest of the world, if just for these precious seconds.   

The gunshots and screaming from afar returned her to it. Rosalind pulled back. 

The others found them. On one side of the wall of debris, Sans. On the other, Marcus and Rita, carrying Gabor with them. They looked at them as if time stopped. 

Rosalind, no longer able to meet her daughter’s eyes, let her go.

She turned to Sans. “Take her.”

“Huh—?” Frisk whipped her head between them both. Before she knew it her mother stood, her warmth leaving her.

“What? Wait, no!”

Sans grabbed her wrist before she could go after her. His grip was so strong she could not pry it off, as she watched her mother get ready to leave. 

“Wait, stop— Mommy! ” 

Rosalind froze up. 

Frisk cried, “Mommy…” 

Rosalind's voice nearly exploded with all the emotion it carried. 

“Please,” she said. “We both can’t stay here any longer.” 

With no end to the deep affliction tearing her apart, Frisk no longer spoke with regard for anything. 

“You’re leaving me again?”

Silence. 

“Or did you never plan to come back?”

With her shoulders pulled back, Rosalind took a deep breath, then huffed it out. 

“I do what I have to do,” she said. “It’s not for me…and it’s not just for you.” 

Slowly, Rosalind turned to her. “I never wanted you to see me. And that’s not something you can take against me,” she said. “Because if you think I can come home with you, and create from scratch whatever we had in the past…”

Her expression turned stony. “I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen.” 

Frisk felt her life just broke into pieces in front of her. She never thought her mother could look at her that way. Not even in bad dreams.

To all this something unbridled welled up inside her, bursting forth from the depths of her being, like she raised it from the dead. 

“Tell me why…” Frisk muttered.

“Go, now,” Rosalind told Sans. 

“Not until you tell me why! ” Frisk yelled. 

Sans had to hold her back with both hands. She had gone out of control.

“I spent so much of my life believing I would never see you again! You can’t imagine everything I went through because of that! You’re supposed to be my mother, why did you let that happen?!” 

“Stop it, I'm begging you to understand—!”  

“I can't! I can’t understand! Why do you insist things have to be this way?! Aren’t I old enough for you to explain it to me yet?! For once in my life, just tell me the truth! Why do you always choose to leave?! ”

“You say you’re older but you’re screaming like a child!” Rosalind yelled back, “I have never done it because I want to and I still don’t! But I already told you before, you’re not the only one who needed me!”

“Well, I’m sorry! I needed you the most !”

Her harsh outburst made Sans’ grip tighten with the building turmoil inside him. This was too much; but he couldn’t say a thing.

“You were everything I had! Everything!”

“ Freya, ENOUGH !”

Rosalind finally broke into tears. 

“I failed, ok? Your father and I failed to do everything we promised you. There’s no trying again after. Because I’m telling you, I will fail again.” 

Covering her face, Rosalind cried, “So please. Go. ”

Frisk nearly fell to her knees. Sans held onto her, but she felt loose; unable to carry her own skin. Even as she broke down into weeps, he no longer felt power in her body. 

Except to say one more thing, “I wish I never knew you…” 

If Rosalind had a response, it stayed stuck in her throat. 

The noise of guns and wild yelling returned, much closer than before. All soldiers raised their guard in panic.

“Rosalind,” Marcus called.

“Go,” Rosalind said urgently. “Get out of here, now!” 

Before they could move, Rosalind got hit by a bullet to her arm. 

"She's over here! We found her! We fou—!"

Rita pulled out two guns to bring down the masked men that had climbed over the debris. Gabor summoned his remaining strength and blasted an opening in the wall to escape, covering them in dust clouds. 

Despite everything, Frisk gasped, broke off Sans' hold and ran to her. “ Momm— !” 

Holding her wound, Rosalind pushed her back with her bloodied arm. “Run…” 

Frisk clutched her hand. “No, please, Mom—!” 

With one move, Rosalind pulled her close. Next, Frisk felt her mother’s tender kiss on her forehead. 

Just like the one she gave all those years ago. 

“I’m sorry for everything, my love,” she whispered.

With no more than a gasp from Frisk, Rosalind used all her power to push her away.

Frisk stumbled to the ground. The last thing she saw was her mother following the rest of her team, disappearing into the smoke. 

“No! ” 

She got up to chase them, but she was grabbed by Sans. 

“kid, we gotta go!” 

“Mom—! No, wait , don't go—!” 

She struggled wildly against his hold, thwarting his every attempt to teleport them.

“No, don’t leave!” she screamed, “Don’t leave, please! MOMMY!”

Sans yanked her out of the way of an explosive thrown at them. He used his magic to throw it back and blew away the group of masked men charging at them, creating a path for their escape. Sans took Frisk by the arm, but she still struggled. 

“No! No, let me go—!”

“frisk, listen to me—”

Alarm snapped him to attention as he deflected a flurry of throwing knives with a shield of bones, then blocked a barrage of bullets with the head of his gaster blaster. 

This was impossible. At this rate they would both be killed. He needed to finish this here. 

Summoning gaster blasters to surround them like an armada, he took one second to charge, then fired them all at full throttle. 

The blasts scorched the vicinity and every person caught in it. Their screams were overpowered by the sound. He let it fire until he saw no more moving shadows or silhouettes.

Gasping for breath, he waited for the smoke to clear. To be sure it really did the trick.

When it did, he came face to face with a living nightmare.

Swarmed by faceless enemies—from high on cliffs and running from the lower grounds, coming near and going farther down—it dawned on him. This was a force here to kill all of them. The bare-faced truth in Lillie Kovac’s words, in plain sight. 

“We act against it now, or see further destruction upon us.”

Frisk gasped as her SOUL turned blue. With all his strength, Sans flung her as far away into the forest as he could. 

He put up high walls of bones that kept anyone from pursuing her. Some impaled others, but he didn’t care anymore. 

The blue fire in his left eye raged. No more hesitating. He would take every single one of them on—even if it meant killing all of them.

Frisk flew through the thick forest, leaves and branches pricking her skin as she rolled down the mountain slope and stopped only when her back collided with a tree. The impact felt like her lungs were pushed out of her. She gasped for air, but it hurt. Everything did. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Everything was far too much. 

‘...et up, Frisk! Get up! Frisk, get up!

“Get up! Get up! ” Chara shook her shoulders in the mindspace. 

But he still could not get through to her. Her eyes showed where her mind was and it was overrun by fear. 

So he looked at the only thing he had—the red heart-shaped entity floating between them. 

“Forgive me for this.”

Frisk shrieked at the harsh grip around her SOUL—forced out of her daze in time as a gunman that spotted her chased her with bullets. 

And she was here again. On a mountain roaring with destruction, running for her life. 

She ran from every moving sight. Ran from every noise. Ran down steep hills, through thorny bushes, over rocks, logs, fissures, and creeks trying to escape anything and everything that chased her.  

But everywhere she ran, she could not escape someone's eyes. They were there everywhere she went. Shooting. Throwing their weapons. Chasing her. 

She could not evade in time when a large, bulky figure sprung from the bushes and tackled her. Forced her on her back, pinned to the ground, a haunting white mask void of anything hovered over her. The glint of metal stung her eyes when he raised a knife. 

Her hands caught his wrist before he could bring it down. The man looked down to see red eyes glaring at him, struggling to keep the knife away from her face. He was kicked with a force he didn’t expect and slammed against a tree. He last saw her retreating form descending the mountain with superhuman speed. 

But it didn’t end there. To Chara’s left, a four-legged gray beast pursued him, along with another on his right mounted by a masked combatant.  

He grabbed Frisk’ remaining shoe and flung it to the one on the left, its heel digging right into its eye. It howled in extreme pain, toppling over its own feet and falling off one edge of the mountain. 

Chara leapt to grab the nearest tree branch; swung back, and drove a kick into the man chasing him. Thrown off his mount, a dagger flew out of his robes. Chara grabbed it as the other gray beast charged. He leapt out of the way of its biting jaws, then landed with both feet on its head, with a force enough to buckle its legs, and disorient it long enough to jab the dagger into its skull. It released a vicious cry and Chara got off as it flailed and crashed into the rock walls.  

Someone suddenly grabbed him by the back of the collar, along with the chain of Frisk’s necklace, choking him. The masked man brought out a knife and set it against her throat. 

A blinding red light flashed from Frisk’s red brooch. The man yelled, stumbling back; the chain snapping from her neck.

Filled with raving anger, Chara got on his enemy's shoulders, put his head in a thigh lock and with one sharp move, twisted his neck with a loud  SNAP.

The man dropped limp on the floor. Chara staggered when he landed on his feet, ignoring the nausea shooting up him momentarily to keep on running. 

When he got as far down the mountain as he could, he held himself up against a tree, breathing heavily. He suffered an excruciating headache that had his vision blurring, limbs shaking, and feeling tremendously cold. Everything around him was too much for his senses to take anymore. 

He could not fight it. His vision darkened and he was gone. 

Frisk jerked back into her body. 

“Chara?” She held her chest. “Chara? Chara?!" 

Nothing. She could barely feel him. He wasn't coming awake. 

She was all alone. 

“No…" she cried out. “No, no, no…!" 

The moment it hit her, her surroundings had become all too clear. The tree she held onto had blood on it, dripping all the way down where a hand peeked out by its roots. 

Frisk stepped back, hands flying to her mouth. A body lay there with wide, lifeless eyes, bleeding from a hole in his head. 

It was Farren Zor. 

She stumbled on her own feet, trying to muster what little power she had anymore to stand. She turned to run, but stopped when she laid eyes on the body of Mina Ginto sprawled on the grassy path, her silk garments soiled by her blood. 

Frisk had to keep from screaming when she looked around, finding more Human bodies scattered like rags along the mountain path. Even every breath she heaved could make her choke. Dust covered the leaves and bushes all around her, with the silhouettes of these Monsters’ last moments still etched on the tree barks. 

She ran with whatever she had left just for her feet to fail her as soon as she crawled into the hollow of a tree. Frisk struggled to steady her breaths, vice grip on the damp wood, the smell of freshwater making her head spin. 

She knew she had to keep running. Every fiber in her body wanted to, but her legs were numb. She wanted to throw up. She could not keep the horrific pictures of the past down. Cold in both her body and SOUL, every blink found her back in a forest on fire in the darkest night she’d ever had. Every thought showed the face of her mother—and the moment she’d given up on her. 

Nothing and no one left. All over again. 

Nearly consumed by despair, she was only forced out of it by the voices of two men approaching.

Frisk went completely still, covered her mouth, and dared not breathe. 

“What are you doing? Just kill him already.”

The sound of a young man wheezing in pain made her go against her better judgment and look. 

Two masked men stood over the body of Ragnar Myrrhil—bleeding from his lips and nose, looking like several parts of him were broken. One of the men dragged him by his hair before shoving him next to the river’s edge.  

She overheard them talk about how he thwarted their first attack and got a lot of people to slip out the building. Then his father had to make an even bigger mess of things with that do or die move that shook the whole mountain several of them, including all their wraiths. They had him taken care of, but his son—this one they would use to make him and all the damn Myrrhils pay. 

Frisk paled. What could she do? 

There was that question that plagued all her life. What could she do? 

She wished she didn't ask it anymore. Part of her wanted to be afraid. Stay afraid. Consequences be damned she didn't know why she still asked herself this now. After everything that happened, she barely had the power to do anything for herself. And now, she despised the part of her that just won’t face her own powerlessness. Because she had been in this exact scene; she had seen people in the face of their doom, and despite all her efforts, failed to do anything for them. 

But she also saw the first person she ever tried saving again today. She remembered how Rita touched her cheek. Even if it was while telling her a painful truth, she was warm. She was alive. 

Frisk clenched her fists. Perhaps she could yield to her weaknesses someday, but she refused to make it this one. Pitiful, hopeless, and wretched as she was, with or without anyone, she can save someone. 

“Ow!” 

One of the men jerked at a stone thrown at his head. Before the other one knew it, the same was done to him. 

As they turned to its source, under the cover of the bushes Frisk took her coat—stuffed with sticks, leaves, and stones—and flung it. 

The men shot in the direction of the movement.

Ragnar saw his chance. He rolled into the river. 

“Ah, shit —!” 

Blue hues of magic bubbled below the surface and exploded in a huge splash as he shot away. The men screamed from being showered in boiling water. 

Amid their plight, Frisk sprung from hiding, sprinting without stopping. 

She could see her way out through a narrow pathway between the trees. Through this forest should be the ferry station. She’ll go her own way from there. 

B A N G !  B A N G! 

The sounds blasted her ears first, then she felt her knees buckle. Her body raked across the dirt when she fell. 

What happened registered only when she could no longer move from the searing, blighting pain in her legs from the holes blown in each one. 

“While you two were bickering about how to gut the pig, you missed the little rat that helped it escape.” 

A third masked man emerged from the forest. He held a shotgun in his hands. 

Trembling hands over her mouth, no scream or cry of pain or panic could escape her; it hurt so much she couldn’t even breathe. The rest of her body turned cold watching her blood spill from her wounds with only one thing in mind— this can’t be happening. 

“Now, who the hell is this supposed t—“ 

He cut himself off. In fear, she looked up to another empty white mask standing over her. He seemed to have frozen in shock as soon as their eyes met. 

Over what, she had no clue. She didn’t have time to think with how fast he pulled a cloth from under his garments and blindfolded her.

The other two men recovered enough to approach them. Before they could exact their vengeance on her, the third—in the most morbidly nonchalant way—told them they should take her with them.

Confused, one said, “Our orders are to kill anyone we see.”

“No, your orders were to kill as many as you want, but take some for the road,” he said. “Trust me. The Madman will be thrilled with this one.” 

All her struggles futile and weak, they tied Frisk up and carried her away, leaving a trail of her blood in their wake.

Chapter Text

I Love You

With his teleportation machine set up in front, finally revealed to his audience for its long-awaited test run, Gaster had less than nice thoughts when his phone rang right in the middle of his speech. He ignored it the first few rings, but patience only lasted as long as one had it. And he didn’t.

Heading over to give whoever called a piece of his mind, he stopped short when he heard the voice at the other end.  

“Sans, you better have a good explanation for interrupting me at this important time.”

After a second, Gaster dropped his phone.

In a daze, he stepped inside his own machine, dialed something, and was gone in a flash of light.

His audience applauded.

“Your majesties!”

Gaster’s thunderous entrance in their living room made Asgore rip what he was knitting and Toriel spill their dinner in the kitchen.

As soon as he caught his breath, Gaster, for a skeleton, went deathly pale. “We have an emergency.”

Dinner plates in hand, Asriel came in just in time to hear what he meant by that. 

All of them shattered on the floor. 

Chara…

Chara, wake up, please…

Just once more is enough…

Please…

“Chara…” 

 When Chara regained consciousness, what hit him first was the darkness. 

It was followed by rancid odors of sweat and rotting skin. The quiet, empty moving carriage. The slow, shallow breath of the one person sitting at its corner—whose appalling state made him snap awake. 

Under the moonlight, through the single barred window that left everything in shadows but her, Frisk had nothing on but her white dress, stained all over with her blood. 

She struggled to breathe. She barely had color on her skin except for the bruises on her wrists, the gashes on her arms, the abrasions on her cheek like someone knocked it against a stone wallーeven her legs were full of scratches but they were far less alarming than the poorly dressed gunshot wounds still bleeding on her calves. 

What the hell happened?

How long was he out? How long had she been here, bleeding? 

And where are they taking her now?  

Weakly, she cried, “This is my fault. I’m s—”

‘Shut up,’ he snapped. ‘That won’t help right now.’

He wanted to demand her to tell him what happened. He wanted squeeze out every piece of information on where she is and who the hell did this to her, if there was anything he could do to help now. But he couldn't. 

Her body trembled. Her eyes were hardly alight. 

More than that, she was weak. Weaker than he’d ever seen her.

Something was very wrong.

 “ Asriel…?”

That feeling from long ago returned to him. 

And here he was. Again. 

‘Hey, you aren’t…You’re not seriously…’ 

Frisk took deep breaths, just enough to lift her head and rest it against the wall. Her face under the moonlight showed, even now, her forced optimism. 

“I…It’s okay,” she said, softly, “I have a plan…of escape.” 

He wasn’t convinced. She couldn’t walk. At her state, she won’t get far. How was she supposed to do that? 

“But for it to work…I need you to hold this.” 

He hesitated.

“Please…we don’t have…time…” she rasped. “This is…my last hope…”

Her desperation, trembling, and begging him to trust her, against his better judgment, made him do as told. He reached for the SOUL she held out to him.

Once it was in both their hands, in a way that never happened before, the planes of reality they shared had mixed. There was a divide in the mindspace, where they suddenly found themselves surrounded by its white space and the dark of Frisk's surroundings. It was as if they stood in the in-between of these realms of reality. The Frisk of the mindspace was no longer separate from the corporeal one. 

“Good…you knew which parts were yours after all…”

He was too confused—too lost in what was happening to speak—before Frisk continued, “Now, I need you to do me a huge favor…”

She smiled. “Tell Sans I’m sorry.” 

Crack

Chara froze. It had been long since this happened, but he knew the feeling of her SOUL breaking from his. 

"What are you doing?" he said, more in trepidation than in outrage.

This was bad. Very, very bad. 

His fears were confirmed when she pulled out a little black box hidden under her dress—already opened to reveal something he hadn’t seen since the Underground. 

A SOUL vessel.  

Frisk's smile faded, and it was then he saw how her facade broke, as her bright-colored eyes turned into two bottomless voids.

"The only thing left for me to do." 

Crack crack crack

Several crushing forces came down on him. The SOUL vessel floated high above them—filling with shards of red, coming directly from Frisk's SOUL between them.

“I thought I could arrive at a better answer…but this is the way it goes.” 

He could not move or fight against every piece Frisk parted from her own to have it transferred into that vessel. But what alarmed him most was when he felt some parts of her own going along with his. 

“The nature of determination is that it binds things together. Even things that, scientifically, should be impossible to connect,” she said. “And I had a good run with mine...It's all yours now.” 

He wanted to scream. She was out of her mind. She can’t do this. 

“I’ve dragged you along my whims long enough…” 

Crack crack crack crack crack crack

Unable to move, suddenly he felt too well Frisk’s hand coming up to his cheek—unfathomably, terrifyingly gentle. 

She smiled again—this time, real. This time, without hope. “I just wish I could’ve had a bit longer.”

A black button appeared between them. Reading, in glowing letters: 

S A V E

With the last of his will, Chara managed to choke out,  “Frisk, STO—!”

“Guess our coexistence ends here, though, partner. It was really fun,” she said, and pressed the button. 

Attacked by a sharp pain cut like an arrow through his head, blurs of images zipped through his mind. Words spoken in myriads of voices overlapped one another. 

Chara you are the future of Humans and Monsters!  

Happy birthday, Chara! What did you wish for?  

Don’t ever do that again, okay?  

You’re both grounded 

Watch over him, okay? 

Please, take care of yourself

I’m so sorry, Chara  

Chara, please hold on

Could I have done nothing to save you?  

It all drowned out in shouts and cries of fear by a mad crowd, coupled with flings of weapons and the snarls of Humans.

Then came Asriel’s voice, wracked with grief. Chara, NO!

And his own, the loudest it had ever been. NO!

As this took over his senses, piece by piece, something in him formed. 

Until finally, a soothing voice. 

Frisk’s. 

“Goodbye, Chara. And…” 

Tears in her eyes, her next words made Chara’s ears ring like he took a bullet straight to the head.

His vision turned white as he felt—in a way more real than anything he had in the past hundred years—her lips sealed over his.

S H A T T E R

The SOUL vessel was pushed out the carriage window before the hand that released it went limp. 

It dropped as the vehicle moved along, but did not hit the ground. Though its remaining cracks were filled with white streaks, it floated with an all-powerful, red glow. 

In a single burst of light, a boy materialized within the shadows of the trees, sound asleep under one of the darkest nights of the earth.

Chapter Text

Blood And Bone

 “So you’re saying Sans and Frisk went to what turned out to be a massive setup for a violent attack, got separated in the crossfire, and are now in terrible danger all the way in the Central Continent?! So we’re going to use your barely finished teleportation machine to save them and get back the same way?! Is this really happening right now?!”

Toriel nearly pulled her ears off as they stormed inside Gaster's lab. Everyone had been kicked out in view of their emergency by a furious, confused, and terrified Royal Family. They had no idea who to even call for help at this hour—not when they ran on a ticking timebomb. 

Gaster set up his machine in the front of the lab. Already geared up in his armor and trident, Asgore wordlessly volunteered to be the one to retrieve them. 

“I’m going with you, Dad.” 

Asgore whipped around to Asriel, standing at his side with a bag of healing items strapped over his shoulder.

“No, son. It’s too—” 

“You’ll need help and I’m the best you have right now.” 

Determination set his son’s eyes ablaze. Asgore knew nothing would deter him from going to save his friends, even if he tried to stop him. 

With a grunt, he conceded, “Fine. But we will stay close to each other. And if things go wrong—”  

“Send us a signal and we will get you back,” Gaster interjected. 

He handed the King and Prince special wristwatches and explained how they worked. The screen would show the locations they would go to and back from. The red button below it would send a signal once they needed to escape. He showed them a separate monitor they would use to track where they were, and once their lights flickered he would send them and anyone they're in contact with back. 

“But be careful. At this stage, I can only send you once, and get you back once.”

Apprehensive, Toriel said, “I’m coming too—”

“No.” 

Asgore’s commanding voice took her aback. 

He softened. Asgore took her hands, placing Gaster’s monitor in them. 

“You hold onto this,” he said. “If for some reason we are unable to send a signal, I trust you will know the best time to have us return.” 

“It’s ready,” Gaster said.

The King and Prince entered the teleportation pod and Gaster dialed the coordinates Sans sent. The lab lights flickered as it powered up. Sparks of black energy enveloped the machine, growing wild and turbulent with each passing second.

Before her overwhelming worry could get the best of her, Toriel met her family's gazes with the same determined conviction.

“Come back safe,” she said, “all of you.” 

A beam of black light struck the ground a split second before Asgore and Asriel's feet touched it. 

They were met with thick canopies of trees, cloaking the forest in shadow. Foul, metallic scents permeated the dusty air. It invaded his senses so harshly Asriel had to cover his snout with both hands. Asgore, meanwhile, was haunted by its familiarity.

This ghostly emptiness, the pregnant silence, the lingering echoes of the screams that were once here sent chills all the way to their SOULs. They understood the true gravity of the situation in seconds.  

A tiny, red gleam from the shadows underneath the shrubs caught Asriel’s attention. He summoned a meek ember in his hand as he made his way to it.

First he picked up a golden chain that looked oddly familiar, until all of Asriel's fur stood when he saw the red brooch hanging from it.

Before fear of the worst took over him, the brooch lit up suddenly—in a way he had never seen before. Its shine pulsated like a beating heart, warping in shape until its glow took the form of an arrow, pointing forward. 

Trusting his gut, he called his father and they hurried down the mountain.

Several feet below, hidden between high rock walls, was an old silver mine—spanning the stretch of land where the mountain stood, with labyrinthian paths leading to several parts of the island. Its shafts were old; rusting from abandonment, inhabited for years only by cobwebs.

Tonight, however, it was lit up.  

Two people rolled wagons into its entrance. They had discarded their masks and robes, revealing themselves to be Monsters. One was a Cat Monster, looking in awe at the haul of family heirlooms he nabbed from the Kovac estate. Jewels, paintings, antique watches, silverware and clothing of the finest quality—everything to set a man up for life.

He flinched when the Ant Monster following behind shoved him forward, barking at him to move along. To which, the Cat Monster grunted. His own wagon only had a couple of old, rusted weapons from ancient eras—it’s no wonder he’s jealous. 

The Cat Monster trudged on, but stopped at the sound of a strike, a grunt, then the wagon behind him toppling over. 

When he turned, dust fell on the weapons now spilled by his feet.  

Grabbed by his face, the last thing the Cat Monster was the swing of a blade and glowing red eyes.

Alerted by a scream, several men rushed outside. 

One yelled, “Who's there—”

An axe struck him in the chest, then the two other men at his sides came down when twin daggers had flung into their backs. Crying in panic, the rest had no idea where it came from until a shadow of the figure was cast by the light of the entrance behind them.

His smallish stature and childish striped sweater did nothing to lower their guard. The look on his face alone could kill.

Chara moved before they could draw their weapons. Too fast for his next victims to scream before two of them were gutted with his blade, falling at the same time as their blood sprayed.

One of the last men standing readied his rifle. “Why you—! ”

Chara evaded the first two shots, darting closer to him each time, then smacked the gun the other way. It shot wildly at everybody else.

Bullets from afar made Asgore and Asriel startle. They had just found their own way in through a hole in the ground obscured by dense leafage. Asgore had already snuck inside only to be forced back to hiding when groups of Humans and Monsters frantically ran past. 

A couple people stopped, eyeing their corner. Asgore and Asriel drew back into the shadows, holding their breath, until they moved along. 

Asriel whispered, “Dad—”

“Stay hidden,” Asgore replied. 

“Wha—no Dad that's not what we—”

Asgore put on his helmet, gestured Asriel to stay put, and moved along before he could protest. 

Biting back a curse, Asriel decided to find another way in. 

Fighting his shaking knees, he followed the sounds and vibrations under his feet. Curses and pained shouts rang all throughout, growing louder as he followed their trail. 

All became silent as soon as he spotted the main entrance to the mine. Asriel swallowed, readying his Chaos sabers. Heart pounding, hands trembling, he had no idea what could hit him. But his determination remained strong, so he mustered enough courage to inch close, peek inside, and—

Froze.

Inside all he found were weapons either chucked in Human bodies or surrounded by dust piles. No one was alive.

More confused now than afraid, slowly, Asriel stepped further in. A man’s choked cry got his attention—but it was the last sound from him. Asriel's eyes lingered at the blood covering his chest, and the knife dug into it.

“My lady.” 

Gaster’s worried tone made Toriel’s finger hover over the button. Fear crippled her. The two lights on the monitor were too far apart for her liking. Everything that could’ve gone wrong racked her mind.

But she heeded to her heart. “Not yet.”

Without any more weapons in his arsenal, Chara took down the rest of his enemies with his bare hands, but it didn’t matter. They will all end up the same way. 

His eyes wandered up and down the walls. The paths. The crates on the rails. With various exit points and a maze of paths to get lost in, this was the only place they could use to escape without being traced. 

She had to be here— somewhere here. 

At his next turn, he ducked at the swing of a club. He got behind his assailant fast enough to grab his wrist, take his own weapon from his hands, and swing it over his head, the sound of his breaking skull following. 

Chara used the club to slam the next ones that came at him to the surrounding rocks, creating cracks and splatting blood on the walls, before hurling it to the head of a man ready to shoot him at the end of the hall. 

Alarm surged through him when he sensed a huge figure looming behind him, and jumped out of the way as a halberd smashed the floor. 

A Rhino Monster had appeared; a maniacal grin on his face, and standing at a whopping four times his size.

“What do we have here? A lost dog that strayed too far from home?" His eyes narrowed at him. "Or one more filthy pest that needs exterminating?” 

As soon as the Rhino Monster readied his fist to come down, Chara felt a chill shoot up his spine. 

That thing packed immense power. 

He stepped back to avoid it, but underestimated its reach. The Rhino Monster grabbed him by the shirt and threw him across the shaft.  

Chara crashed hard against the wall, and that’s when he first felt it— pain. 

Real, raw, throbbing, bone-snapping, back-breaking, head-splitting pain. 

And it wasn’t over yet.

Several crashes on the wall and a jeering, booming voice at the next tunnel made Asriel falter in his steps. It wracked his nerves, but the arrow on Frisk’s necklace persistently pointed in this direction. And as soon as he was there, it snapped to the next path, burning even brighter. 

“What’s the matter? Was all that earlier just for show?” A Rhino Monster cackled.

And Asriel had to double—triple take at what he saw. 

There, he saw a figure laying against broken rocksーbattered and bleeding yet with eyes prepared to give the Monster standing over him hell. 

He couldn't mistake it. That’s him. 

But then... 

Where's...

The Rhino Monster lifted Chara by his hair, ready to strike him down with another punch. 

Asriel would have to think later. He sent one of his chaos sabers flying and cut him free. 

Chara cried out, falling gracelessly on the mine's floor. 

Shock made Asriel draw back—he had never heard Chara in pain before.

While the Rhino Monster was taken aback, one of Asriel's stars popped up from beneath Chara and brought him over.

Holding his head, hairstrands falling from his hands, a familiar pair of feet briefly snapped Chara out of his pain.

They froze at each other’s sight.  

Asriel wasn’t dreaming. His best friend was, in every unbelievable sense, alive. Body and SOUL. 

But...why was his SOUL the shape of a Monster’s?

Chara forced him out of his thoughts, tackling him out of the way of a halberd’s swing.

Asgore hid in shadows cast by the torches on the wall, his trident ready. Peeking through the next opening, he caught three men hoisting up a crate from a lower level of the mine.

They hardly set it on the ground when bones burst from the crate and caught everyone in their attack. Blood spilled from bodies and dust fell to the floor. 

And Sans sprung off from the lid. 

Pinpricks in agitated search, he lurched when someone grabbed the back of his jacket. He readied to blast whatever bastard did, until he saw his face. 

“Sans,” Asgore said. 

Sans blinked. “what—”

His face cleared seeing the watch on Asgore’s wrist. 

“Sans, where is Frisk?” 

Eyesockets dark, Sans shoved him off. “ i’m working on it.” 

Asgore felt his hand go empty. Next thing he knew Sans was further ahead, teleporting frantically through the shaft. He couldn’t call on him to stop. Nor could he say anything before bones impaled anyone who caught him or got in his way.  

Shouts from behind as people spotted him forced Asgore to move. He pulled his helmet on and swatted them all away using his trident—with a force that sent them flying, but only knocked them out.

He blocked every other path with rings of fire and chased after Sans.  

Arriving at a large cavity, with tunnels leading out several different ways, Sans knew he hit the jackpot. Carts and crates of gold, jewels, magical items, antiques, and other stolen items lay around—abandoned in a quick escape.  

But he’ll make no mistake. Patches of blood stained the walls and floors. They had people here too.

Movement could still be heard in all these tunnels. A last-minute tactic to try and confuse anyone who pursued them. It did nothing but feed his burning rage. For indeed, if they had taken him for an idiot, they had another thing coming. Among the twisting tracks they left in their path, he found the only ones he was looking for—the ones he saw where that trail of blood ended. 

Sans rushed into the center tunnel;  soon he caught up to a carriage, wildly pulled along by a Bull Monster.

Wrapping it in magic, he lifted it up. 

The Bull Monster shrieked, his body dragged across the rocks, before he was crushed by his cargo.

Sans zoomed towards it and practically pulled the carriage door off its hinges. He did that prepared for anything. To be shot at, mauled, or faced with his worst imaginable fear. 

Not for what he found. 

Piles of clothing filled this carriage. All of them filthy, tattered, and foul-smelling—the conditions of the people in them seemed horrid.  

But no one was here. Except, he knew he hadn't chased the wrong tracks. For when he reached underneath one of those piles, he pulled out a single white dress he recognized. It was covered in blood. 

Sans held it in his fist, still as a stone. Perhaps even if the whole mountain crumbled above him, it would have been far less cruel than how this destroyed him inside.

He had no bearing of sense when the carriage rumbled, nor moved when it toppled over with him inside. 

He was yanked him out of there before it did. Asgore shielded them with his magic, for the Bull Monster had managed to survive and flipped the carriage over them. He belted a roar that thundered through the tunnel—standing low, nostrils flared, and eyes wild as his hoof kicked at the dirt. 

Asgore grabbed Sans and ran as it charged at full force.

Gaster paced around his lab. “My lady, they’re taking too—”

Toriel stood firm. “ Not yet.” 

“For all we know they could be—”

“Not. Yet!”

Sabers to his chest, Asriel struggled to catch his breath where he hid behind the entrance of another tunnel. At the other side was Chara—who didn’t fare any better. 

The Monster who called himself Bartok the Barbarian had a ball making them scramble like mice to evade his every blow. This freakishly huge, freakishly strong Monster overwhelmed them with ceaseless rains of ivory spikes, the colossal power of his fists, and the far reach of his halberd swings. Asriel had already run out of healing items just from getting hit by the debris. And the pounding footsteps coming told them he was far from done.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” 

Shaking from fear, Asriel signaled Chara it was time for them to escape. 

To which, Chara only gave him a look that said: No.  

Asriel nearly yelled when he shot off from hiding. 

That seemed to catch Bartok off-guard too. Chara used the time he stood still to grab dirt from the walls and throw it in the Monster’s eyes. 

Bartok yelled, eyes shut as he swung his halberd aimlessly and called down more spikes. Chara ducked, skidding past him to attack from behind, only to stop short of doing so. 

He looked down at his pant leg stuck on one of the spikes. 

Bartok turned, eyes fine the whole time, and grinned. “Got you.” 

Chara only had a split-second before the Monster brought his weapon down.

S M A S H!

Asriel gaped at broken red pieces of magic flying off. 

Bartok recoiledーhis weapon deflected from impact on the shield of magic that had formed.

It disappeared over Chara—equally as shocked—as Asriel witnessed his eyes transform back from being pools of black with red irises.

Taking them all out of their shock, an explosive roar down the other side of the tunnel shook the very ground under their feet.  

Chara took advantage of the distraction, grabbed the spike, and dug it at the foot of the Monster. Bartok howled in pain and Chara leapt to grab the halberd from his loosened hold. Regardless of its weight and the throbbing of his whole body, Chara hammered him down on the head with it. 

Bartok hit the ground on his back—only for Chara to bring it down again on his chest. The force of it was enough to make a crater underneath. 

Asriel might have called his name, but he could hear nothing beyond his enemy’s bellows of pain as he struck him again and again. He cared only to see this Monster become dust under his feet, and finally make him shut the hell up.

Before he could deliver the finishing blow, the signal of Asriel’s incoming attack made him falter. 

Lightning struck between him and his target. Chara fell, a stinging sensation rattling his whole body. He couldn't move. 

Another roar echoed throughout the tunnel; breaking rocks, blasts of fire, and rapidly pounding feet with it. 

The Rhino Monster, broken up and shaking from exertion and pain, slowly came to, sheer fury wiping the grin off his face.

“You…what are you?”  

As he tried to pick up his fallen weapon, helpless to evade his next move, Chara felt two hands grab him.

Asriel then yelled, “DAD!”  

Asgore had appeared at the end of the tunnel with Sans in tow and a Bull Monster hot on their tail.

Cornered on both sides by two raging Monsters about to attack, together, they pushed a button on their watches. 

The Monsters crashed into each other as they disappeared.

Toriel gasped as the two lights on the monitor flickered rapidly. “Now!" 

Gaster hurried to pull down a lever on his machine. 

He yelled for Toriel to take cover, in time as two beams of black light crashed in from the roof. 

The teleportation machine shook violently—wild, dark electric sparks flowing from it unrestrained until it could no longer contain them. 

BOOM!

All the Kingdom's lights went out, and the machine went up in smoke.

Sans clambered towards it, desperately pulling its levers and slamming the buttons.

Gaster struggled to pull him back. “Sans, stop! It’s dead! There’s no use—”

But he couldn’t listen. Couldn’t stop the intelligible things spilling from his lips because this can’t be it. It can't be.

“Where’s…?” Toriel couldn’t finish her sentence. 

The shock had everyone barely able to get their senses together. 

And when Toriel gasped, it doubled.

Asriel’s knees gave out as he finally took it in. 

Frozen where he sat, Chara’s eyes remained wide with disbelief.  

The rest turned and gaped in the dark, looking at a ghost that just came back to life.  

Chapter Text

The Gaping Hole of Loss

After two more snips, Toriel put the hair trimmer back in the dresser. She combed through his short strands, patted the remains off his shoulders, and tilted his head to the mirror. 

“There…better?” 

He didn’t look. 

Toriel sighed, told him she would see him downstairs, and left the room quietly. 

The ticking clock, early morning cold, the stuffy air in the dressing room—everything appalled him. Everything. 

What sickened Chara most of all, however, was in front of him. Seeing his image reflected in the glass, hair now cut short, as if to drive the point that this was all, indeed, real.

He slammed his fist on the dressing table.

It hurt.

“BREAKING: MASSACRE AT THE SORCERER CONVOCATION”

The news stayed on in the background as they gathered at the Dreemurr residence dining room. 

Having heard every shocking detail from Sans, they had agreed on one thing foremost: as long as they haven’t found Frisk herself, they won’t give up on her. 

And Asgore ordered that, until further notice, the matter of doing so would strictly be left to him and Gaster.  

Sans stood from his seat. “you’re joking." 

Gaster chided, “Sans, don’t—”

“what do you think this is, a missing dog case? boohoo, call us if you find her please?” he snapped, turning to leave. “no. i don’t plan on sittin’ here while some god-forsaken psychos out there do whatever the hell they want.” 

“Sans, wait,” Toriel pleaded.

“wait? every second we spend here is another where Frisk is—”

“We understand but—”

“but what?!”

“Sans.” 

Asgore’s firm voice silenced them all. 

He gave Sans a grave look that kept him where he stood. “You killed many, many people. You will not have a hand in this until I say so.”

Although irritated more than anything, guilt passed his features momentarily, and Sans begrudgingly returned to his seat. 

"We are in dire, and I mean dire need of acting on sound judgment," Asgore said, addressing them all. "I understand how many of us feel at this moment, but I need all of you to keep yourselves under control. We are already in enough of a plight."

Asgore reiterated they will not have a repeat of what happened. He and Gaster would employ all the resources they could to find Frisk in the meantime. They were all forbidden from taking part in this until stated otherwise, so they better behave themselves. 

Toriel asked, “What will you tell Alistair?”

“I will let him know, but I don’t want to bring them into this,” Asgore replied. “He has the Cypresses to worry about already.”

Heavy-hearted, Toriel nodded. Marissa Cypress and her husband were among the missing, too. 

“I do not know what to do yet with the revelation that her mother is alive, but we best keep it a secret. We are far from understanding it and cannot afford to be involved in what she is doing,” Asgore continued. “The only thing that matters to us is Freya Everest was under our care. We must take responsibility for it.”

Silence followed. Though this earth-shattering grief could consume them, if the Monsters could do anything for Frisk now, it was to not lose hope—as she wouldn't have. 

Asgore said, “Now, let us, uh, proceed with this next matter…” 

They looked to the Human boy seated at the farthest end of the table—who had not lifted his head from it since they began.

“Right…” Asriel stood, facing everyone. “To provide an explanation for this phenomenon I call upon Doctor Gaster.”

From the counter where he had just stood to fill his glass, Gaster spit his water out. 

Their expectant stares kept him on the spot. 

Gaster cleared his throat. “W-well, er…” 

He gave a quick explanation of the existence of Chara in Frisk’s SOUL to the King and Queen—with a few white lies trickled in to cover up some facts that weren't necessary for them to know, for good measure. That didn’t stop Toriel from cutting off his rambling by rising from her seat.

“Never mind that this makes even less sense than when you explained how you and Asriel ended up alive after all this time, but SOUL-sharing?”  Toriel yelled. “You're telling me all this time, she knew him? How come she never—” 

“I’m sure you can think of some reasons on your own, your majesty. Frankly, I wouldn’t have known how to explain it to you either,” Gaster replied. “But I am here to state the facts, not why they came about. Now, as for how he was brought back to life...I must mention—it was Frisk’s idea.” 

“Tell us something we don’t know.” 

All of them turned their heads to the end of the table—for Chara, at last, had spoken. 

Gaster raised his browbone, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose the most I can say is: it took the work of a Monster SOUL vessel. A rather special one I have had since the day we left the Underground.” 

Sans’ eyesockets widened. 

“And I supposed with it, enough SOUL essence, and the right amount of determination, it would be enough for a body—even a Human one—to materialize, given our nature as Monsters whose body and SOUL are one.” 

Gaster cracked his knuckles. “However, I have to do an initial examination to know how effective it truly was.” 

Multiple of his floating hands appeared, and everyone watched the way Chara tensed in his seat like a cat as Gaster approached him with them.

“Get those sick, ugly, sweaty little hands away from—!”   

The hands grabbed Chara and shoved him into the next room, Gaster following after.

Chara stepped out of there a pale, shaking mess. He tried in vain to mask it with anger as Gaster appeared right after him. 

“So…” Asgore said awkwardly. “Anything amiss?” 

“Oh, he has everything. And I mean everything.” Gaster gave Chara a once-over, particularly at the lower regions. Chara glared at him, but did nothing but hold himself close. 

“It’s amazing, really. I never thought Determination could go that far,” Gaster continued. “I may have to do a more thorough analysis as it is truly quite the phenomenon. But what I know now is—though his body is undeniably new, the differences with his past one are little to none. His memories dictated most of what it is capable of doing. 

“However, while his appearance took his Human form, the Monster part of his SOUL affected its composition, with it more attuned to his SOUL than most Humans. On top of it all, he could now use some form of magic. Its nature is still unclear, but because he has the fundamental qualities of both Humans and Monsters, he is—essentially—just like Prince Asriel.”

That became the only time that day Chara met eyes with Asriel. 

“A strange yet perfect amalgamation of a Monster and Human SOUL.”

“how the hell did that happen?” 

Sans confronted Gaster—who had moved to his lab to proceed with his task, and the rest of his investigations. 

Without fail, Sans remembered what he made that SOUL vessel out of—but it had been meant at the time for Flowey. From the remnants of the Prince’s old SOUL he found back in the True Lab. 

“how did it work for that kid?”

“The fragments you found in our old Lab were not Prince Asriel’s, Sans,” Gaster said, pinpricks roaming the papers on his clipboard. “With the level of compatibility, it seems while there are shared elements with the Prince’s, most of it belongs to him.”   

Sans' browbones furrowed. His mind flashed back to when he first discovered the fragments, and how when he touched it he got a glimpse of its memories—the pain-filled, heartwrenching memories of a child that were enough to tear a SOUL to shreds. 

Those? His?

Unthinking, he muttered, “that doesn’t make any sense…”   

“My friend," Gaster said. "We are talking about the remains of a Monster that took this Human SOUL. It is not far-fetched.” 

Sans got a sour taste in his mouth. “okay, but where did the determination come from?” 

Gaster slowly lowered his clipboard. 

Sans dropped his glare. “no…”

With a sigh, Gaster replied, “This was not something she planned on the spot, Sans.” 

He pulled out something from his coat and passed Sans a journal he had found in Frisk’s room. Under mundane entries and Toriel’s modules were pages of notes in Gaster’s handwriting. All of them had to do with how to transfer an incomplete SOUL into another vessel. 

Highlighted were the words: The nature of determination is it binds things together. Even things that, scientifically, should be impossible to connect.

“She approached me one night asking for help on the matter. That was when I gave her the SOUL vessel. However, during my investigation I came upon only one, plausible way for this to work—she had to give up all of her determination. It had to be hers , for it was the agent that bound them in the first place, as far as I know.

"But could a Human SOUL live without determination? Such has never happened before. Given the shattered state of her SOUL, there were major—potentially fatal—consequences. So, I gave her my research and left her to figure it out herself. Hoping, in vain, she would give up…” 

Through clenched teeth, Sans said, “why didn’t you tell me anything?”  

“We are indebted to Frisk for our peace and daily life on the Surface. I gave her my word not to tell a SOUL. Besides, I saw an opportunity to discover, and so took it.”

Sans didn’t know what he felt more betrayed by—that Gaster ever entertained this, or Frisk could do such a thing behind his back.  

Noticing his building rage, Gaster said, “Death always loomed over her, Sans. We have known this since the beginning. Perhaps she knew it best, thus prepared a way to release that boy should anything happen to her. You know she is compassionate like that.”

He said it matter-of-factly. Making no room for argument. Despite that being his usual tone, it irritated Sans further. 

“i don’t wanna hear what you think her reasons were,” he snapped. “just tell me, what’re the chances she survived this?” 

Gaster only gave him a long, hard stare. 

“fine, then. don’t.” 

On his way out, Gaster said, “I do not wish to give you false hope, Sans.” 

“if we’re talkin’ hope, g, i’ll have it with or without your numbers.”

Sans stepped outside of his office, shutting the door carefully, but firmly enough to send a message. 

Just as he was ready to mutter angrily all the way out, he met another face on the waiting chairs at the hallway.

And apparently, his mood could get even worse.

He didn’t hide his scorn upon seeing him. Nor did he regard him with any pleasant word or manner. Though Sans had a mountain of things he could say to this kid, he wanted to drop the anvil that hung between them just to get it over with. 

“alright freakshow, i pride myself in holding my tongue around frisk and junior. but for you, i’ll make an exception.”

Sans’ eyesockets went pitch black, the widening of his smile giving more acid to his words. “in a phrase, i hate your fucking guts. i wouldn’t think twice about throwing you in a ditch to die.”

Chara said nothing, but his eyes conveyed all his unbridled hate for the skeleton.

“anyway, you better not try any of your shit around here." He glowered even more harshly. "'cuz i’m ready to end your life the second you do.”

Before Sans stepped out of the lab, he heard him say, “I’m sorry.”

Half-shocked and half-confused, he faced him again.

He only found Chara glaring daggers back. “But in case it isn’t obvious, that’s not from me.”

Sans took one moment more in that room, then slammed the door on him. 

Toriel sat on the couch in Asgore’s bedroom, watching him walk to and fro, throwing his things into bags. 

In response to this worldwide tragedy, a meeting with every Kingdom's Leaders had been called. It was confidential when and where it would happen; Asgore had just been told to leave as soon as possible, unable to divulge anything to her. So instead, he talked about which shirts he should or shouldn’t pack. If he should use a new toothbrush. Or trim his beard. He wondered aloud if they had run out of shaving cream. All the while, Toriel haphazardly nodded to his every question. 

Except for, “Are you okay?” 

To which, she struggled to respond to, and only held herself tighter.

Asgore looked at her for moments. Then he set his things down, walked towards her, and sat by her side. Quiet. Waiting. 

Her lips wobbled, but Toriel managed to say, “I wanted to be happy…when I saw him again..."

Her jaw clenched. "I truly…wish I could be.” 

Asgore nodded. It was a miracle worth celebrating—as it had been for Asriel. 

A shudder wracked her body; no longer able to keep it inside, Toriel’s voice cracked. “But what on earth is this?” 

Asgore sat very still next to her as she hunched over her knees and buried her face in her hands. She tried to steady her breath, but it came almost in gasps. She could hardly get her words out.

“What are we going to do?” 

“Everything it takes,” Asgore answered.

“What if it isn’t enough? What if getting them both back means we have to lose her?!” 

“Toriel, don’t let such thoughts get the best of you. We must hope, still.”

“Hope? Asgore, you and I know the kind of people who would do such a thing. Whatever hope we have is almost meaningless.” 

“But we will not give it up,” Asgore said. “We have no choice but that.” 

Toriel looked at him. Asgore’s expression was stern. Looking at him now, she remembered what he had told her in the hospital years back, but underneath that exterior she saw a deep vulnerability reflecting her own.  

“We cannot lose to our fears this early." His voice softened. "We are far from seeing the last of this.” 

Tears flowed from Toriel’s eyes. Her hands returned to her face, but she could no longer contain the agony she had fought hard to keep down, bursting from her now from the deepest scars in her heart. 

And as she wept, Asgore pulled her close to give her a shoulder to do so.

Toriel cried, “Was there anything we could’ve done?" 

Asgore closed his eyes. “Not this time." 

Muffling her voice in Asgore’s shirt, Toriel keened. 

With his back against his father's door, Asriel had buried his face in his knees, trying his hardest to keep himself quiet as he listened to his mother wail in the background. 

He couldn't do it. All day he tried not to crumble like this. But of the many things he had to bear in his life, Asriel could find no strength for this one at all. This loss felt like a scar that just healed in their family had been torn to inflict an even deeper one. And nothing compared to the tremendous pain in his SOUL, weighing like lead on his chest and suffocating him, for it mourned for the person that gave it to him in the first place. 

Someone had come up the steps and stopped at his sight. Asriel lifted his head to see Chara at the stairway, eyes going to the scene in Asgore’s room. 

Without so much as a second glance, Chara continued to the guest room. Asriel tried to call his attention, but he shut the door the same time.

The following day, the news reached the whole Kingdom.

Sans found out this way.

Since Gaster left home the previous night to begin his investigation for Frisk, Sans hadn't slept—could not. With the Teleportation Machine still wrecked, the power out, and no way to obtain leads on his own yet, he was forced to obey Asgore’s orders. He spent his hours, instead, rummaging through the lab, his basement, and library archives for anything on determination, and if a Human SOUL could survive without it.

The more pages he flipped with no answer to be found, the more restless he became—constantly waiting for some call or message or sign of her that never came.

By the time Sans went home in the late morning, he was shocked to find his ever early-rising brother had not gotten out of bed. Papyrus made an excuse it was because of his bone injuries from the water slide ride. Sans didn’t buy it, because he noticed his COOL DUDE shirt was gone from where it hung on the wall, replaced by a picture of him and Frisk eating his spaghetti. 

“I JUST…DON’T FEEL LIKE THE ‘GREAT’ PAPYRUS TODAY…” 

Sans felt his chest tighten. Still, he attempted, “hey, c’mon bro. we can’t both be lazybones around here…”

Papyrus curled into his blankets, and didn’t respond. 

As it happened, Sans ended up in Grillby’s afterwards—a whole ketchup bottle consumed, and it wasn’t even noon. 

All the while, he could not stop glancing at the empty seat beside him.

The place was full, but quieter than it ever was. Glass clinks and scratches on plates replaced all conversation. Most of the royal dog guards were not at their usual table either. They went with Asgore, under the command of Undyne—with the exception of Greater Dog, who sat hunched in his seat, whimpering at the stick on his table he would’ve played fetch with any other day. 

Sans passed his glass to Grillby, tapping it twice. Grillby gave him a look, and told him he would give all the previous ones free of charge, if he didn’t get another. 

Clouds overhead dimmed the streets of Surface Home, but even on a sunny day the place would've looked gloomy. No colorful MTT billboards lit up the buildings. No announcements from Alphys could be heard from the control tower. He could ascribe that to the fact the power was still out, but even the shopkeepers went about their day without hollers or cheers. Though many of them, like the Nice Cream man, closed up for the day. He had left a placard on his stand saying, “Not feeling nice.” 

Hotland shopping district, Waterfall Park, Snowdin town—everywhere he went, the gaping hole of loss was there. 

When he returned home, Sans dialed the number to the Iliana household to inform Cap of everything. It rang a few times. By the third, he put it down. He felt nauseous thinking of what to say. And right now, he couldn't bear being involved with that side of his job. 

The side that brought this upon them in the first place. 

Sans took out a photo from his drawer. A shot of him and Frisk, and her bursting in laughter having fooled him into sitting on a whoopie cushion on his couch. 

And he recalled what she told him later that day, after it was ruined by an incident that would make her stop going to school. 

“Sans, please. You have to think about how you want to live on your own. Not how you want to live for me,” she had told him in a tiny, brittle voice. “Because as long as you’re bound to my side you can’t live in peace.” 

“you need to work on your bad jokes, kid. this one’s no good at all.” 

Head against the photo, Sans felt himself crumbling. “i’ll never have peace if you’re not here.”

Chapter Text

Two Minds Meet

Midnight struck with the crack of thunder, flickering the single lamp illuminating the cell of the frail old man who once went by many names. Brick walls his only company for so long, he thought he finally cracked when, by the second flicker, the familiar sight of the tall man cloaked in shadows appeared beyond the bars of his enclosure. But even if he were hallucinating, he was not insane enough yet to ignore him.

“What stirs in the outside world,” he said, “to have brought the likes of you before me yet again, Doctor Gaster?” 

Without a hair on his head, hunched stature making him smaller, and heavily-bagged, cloudy eyes devoid of any purpose—Gaster hardly recognized him. But the name on his identification read “Vincent Aiglon” so he’d come to the right place. 

Gaster said, “I hate to disturb a man during his well-deserved sentence. But I have a task of extreme importance at hand. I seek information and nothing more.” 

“What do I have that you cannot obtain anywhere else?”

“Knowledge no one in these past hundred years possesses as well as you do. Of the Anti-decree forces that exist to this day.” 

A pause.

Vincent chuckled. “What of that peace you fought so hard for, gone already?” 

Several hands grabbed Vincent’s body and slammed him against the bars. 

“Not yet. ” Gaster stared him down. “And you are going to help me make sure of that once more. Now—tell me about the people that helped you in your experimentation with the dead. Who are they, what are their goals, and where do I find them?” 

Vincent winced, saying nothing.

Gaster narrowed his eyes. But heeding Asgore's orders, he remained calm. Controlled. "You will be wise not to trick me. I know perfectly well what can occur in the dark parts of the world. And what the people living in them are capable of. But compared to me, they are the least of your concerns." 

Though aggrieved, Vincent looked like he agreed. He said, “What are you prepared to do with this information?”  

“As I have told you before—what must be done." 

“And what would I have in exchange?” 

Gaster slapped a piece of paper against the bars, startling him. 

“The King of Monsters has written an appeal to the Western Union to modify its ruling for you.”

Scanning the document, the word that stood out to Vincent was: Exile.

“An alternative to forty more years here. Although we know you haven’t got many of those to live, you may find them better spent outside this damp cell. If I were you, I would consider myself lucky. Tell me what you know, and you will be far from whoever will come after you afterwards.” 

The wrinkles on Vincent’s face doubled as he pondered on it. Although Gaster may have still had a grudge against this man, there was surely nothing else. He had no more concern for his affairs than Vincent did for the rest of the world. 

Which is why, as sure as the pages of history turned, Vincent glanced at the doors and holes between bricks—perhaps in search of tiny eight-legged creatures—and asked, “Is no one else listening?” 

Gaster nodded once. 

Vincent patted one of the hands holding him. Annoyed, Gaster made them all dissolve and he fell to the cold floor. 

“You will have to be more specific,” he said, struggling to sit up. “That world is a cesspool of individuals with their own lawless enterprises.” 

“To what end, then, did they kill and abduct people from the Sorcerer families?” 

Vincent stiffened from head to toe.  “So they’ve done it…” 

CLANG! 

“ What?” Gaster had grabbed the bars, raising his voice. “What exactly did they do ?”

“The first thing you need to know is they hate the Sorcerers. Monster or Human, all of them do,” Vincent said. “And by showcasing that hate to the rest of the world, you are about to witness all its corners cry out to do away with them, if it is going to save their own skin.”

“Preposterous,” Gaster snapped. “The Sorcerers are the reason Monster and Human societies flourished after the war. They safeguard our peace. It has been their only role since. Without them, we would have remained in that barbaric state of existence to this day. There should be no reason for the world to turn against them now.” 

Vincent gave him a long look. “All due respect, Doctor, but you have not been around long enough to know there are perfectly sensible reasons why.”

It alarmed Gaster to hear that, but he had to set it aside. This was not what he came here for. 

“Then tell me what they would do with who they kidnapped from the Families.” 

“If they aren’t killed? They would be trafficked to anyone who might want them. They likely chose who to keep alive based on their own interests.” 

Although hidden, Gaster grew nervous. “Then who would be interested in a broken SOUL?” 

The question confused Vincent; nonetheless he answered, “Depends on whose.”

Gaster felt his chances grow as slim as a hanging thread. 

“But a SOUL like that, I reckon, only has one place to go—the illegal SOUL trade,” Vincent said. “At the helm of which is a man called Copernicus. He's rather elusive; a man who strictly operates within his business to an obsessive degree. Not much is known about him other than he is but a cruel, distorted madman.” 

Gaster only gave him an unimpressed stare. 

“But perhaps that will not deter you,” he continued, “To get to him, however…you must go through The Lady. ” 

“And who is that?” 

“An alias known across the underworld. Powerful woman. More powerful than anyone you might hear of in that world. They say if you want something done, no matter how impossible it seems, The Lady can achieve it for you. I have never seen her myself, but I hear Copernicus is one of her closest clients. As loyal to her as a lover or dog. If you want to find out Copernicus' whereabouts, she would be the first to know.”

Vincent's brows furrowed with unease. “But I fear to come before her, as many do. Anyone that does must be ready to meet her own notoriously cruel demands.” 

“Do you mean I might have to pay her with my life?” Gaster asked dryly.

“Doctor,” he said, “Life, to her, is cheap.”

Gaster's lip curled. He didn't respond. 

“So again, what are you prepared to do? You can fight your way through as the Alistairs have done for decades. But I tell you, a far quicker option—with a real chance of success—is to deal with the devils themselves. And if you’re to deal with The Lady, you either follow her terms, or have something of such incredible value you can have your way without them. Only with her can you expect to find, or more importantly, take whatever you want from Copernicus.” 

Gaster thought about everything he said. Then he slipped the letter of his ruling into the cell and left without another word.

Before he did, he heard him say, “A word of warning. The people you will face are far worse than any Human or Monster.”

Sparing him one last glance, Vincent, sitting with ticket out of the continent, looked at Gaster the same way one paid respects to the dead. 

“Good luck.”

Gaster left the premises of the prison troubled. 

What, indeed, was he prepared to do? 

If he were any less smart, he’d answer the way the rest of them would, but he was Dr. Gaster. Dr. Gaster who harnessed the power of the void. Dr. Gaster who learned to fear the consequences of all his actions as a result. Dr. Gaster—ever brilliant and ever rational. Dr. Gaster who lived through too much hell to open the gates to another one. 

Was that Dr. Gaster willing to plunge himself, his family, and his Kingdom there all because Frisk might still be alive? 

Time ticked like a desperate run for a plane that already left. In the dead of night, its sound irritated him as he heard it from his own wrist. Gaster pulled his watch out in a frustrated move to silence the damn thing, but paused. 

He looked at the two watch hands, designed as literal hands, pointing to the numbers with the same tacky design telling him the time was 2:58 in the morning. 

“I’m sure it'll come in hand-y," Frisk had said, the day she gave it to him.

Each succeeding tick passed like a resounding cry for help. 

It turned out, Dr. Gaster, at his core, was a scientist. And he would be a pathetic excuse of one, if he did not use all means necessary to achieve results. 

“you either follow her terms, or have something of such incredible value you can have your way without them.”

Gaster reached under his garments and, with one harsh crack , pulled a bone out from his ribs. Bigger, whiter, and sharper than any he owned, for it belonged not to him, but to a dark past. 

He held it up against the moonlight, shining like lustrous ivory. A mere bone to some, an ancient, formidable source of magical power for him, who was cursed knowing exactly what it was—a relic of who was once the Queen of Monsters in the Northern continent.

If this wasn't the worst atmosphere he ever had to endure. And for Asriel, that was saying something. 

On top of the Monster's collective grief over Frisk, dealing with the constant vile snarks, hateful glares, and murderous atmosphere around Sans and Chara whenever they encountered each other really started to wear him down. Although Asriel and Toriel often stood between, it won't be long before at least one of them ended up in the Surface Home hospital morgue. That was putting it lightly. 

And since Chara refused to go anywhere other than his room and the kitchen, Asriel had to start with the easier one to reach. 

Seated at Grillby’s (where he usually found Sans nowadays), Asriel had pulled him to an isolated table for a talk—specifically, to try giving him some “perspective”. 

“Think of it this way. This is pretty much our situation back in the Underground, remember? Only there’s a little role reversal,” Asriel said. “This time, I’m in Frisk’s place as the peacemaker, Chara is in Flowey’s as the unstable and depressed kid, and you’re in the exact same spot. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“interesting perspective," Sans replied, swirling his glass. “i see you are trying to tell me something, but i’d rather you get straight to the point of view .”

Asriel made a sound between sighing and grunting. “Look, this won’t get any easier unless you grow out of that bone-hard skull of yours and learn to see someone beyond your own judgment of them.”

“oh for crying out—” Sans slammed the table. “he was the one that killed all of us before. he was the reason i used to hate frisk. and it was him who threatened to erase our reality here in the surface years ago. he caused frisk unforgivable pain and did nothing but make you, me, and everyone around him suffer . Get real , Asriel. This isn’t a matter of my judgment. He is nothing but a demon . ”

Asriel’s frown deepened, in the exact way his mother and father did whenever they were displeased, challenging the rage in Sans’ dark eyesockets.

“Then why would Frisk sacrifice her SOUL for him?”

Goodbye, Chara. 

And…

“Chara…” 

 Toriel knocked on his door. 

“Dinner’s ready…it’s waiting for you, like always.” 

The gentle rapping on the door continued, but Chara stayed crouched in the dark corner of the room with his head in his hands. Ignoring her calls. Waiting for her to go away. She always would.

On the other side, Toriel sighed, rested her head on the door, and closed her eyes. 

 When she opened them, she had fire in her palms. 

Chara snapped to alarm as the sides of the door caught fire, and jumped out of the way of it flying straight into the wall. 

“Chara Dreemurr, it is time for you to come out!”  Toriel slapped the light switch on. “If you spend one more second in—“

She paused at the state of the room. The sheets were in chaos, one of her pillows had a tear cutting it open; curtains were ripped, there were holes on the walls like they’d been punched through, and everywhere she looked, there were knife slashes—on the bedpost, the chair, the desk, the floors, and even the door she had just destroyed. She found the culprit stuck on a beam high on the ceiling, out of reach. 

“What in— what in the world do you think you're doing?!” 

She stomped towards him, but he remained on the floor entangled in his own mess.  

“This has gone far enough! You do not speak, you barely eat, and in the mere seconds you step outside you act as if none of us exist! Well, I’m no longer tolerating it, mister!  You will acknowledge this is your life now, and will get it together whether you like it or not!” 

“Leave.” 

Taken aback, Toriel saw briefly the resentful young boy she met the first day he came to their lives. 

Yet in spite of it, she took one of her pillows and hit him with it. Chara made no reaction but it was more for her than him.

“Don’t you snap at me like that, young man,” Toriel shot back. “I tried being patient and gave you the time and space I thought you needed. But looking at you now, it has done nothing for you! Now, stand up, fix all this mess, and have dinner with your family! Because I am not letting you stay here to rot away in your own sorrows!” 

By the end of her rant, Toriel was in tears. 

“Please…my child,” she pleaded. “Must you always carry your burdens alone?” 

Chara sat still, eyes stony, not once looking up to face her. Still, she caught the slightest flash of regret on his face.

He lifted himself off the floor, pulling at one of the ripped curtains tangled around his leg as he did. 

“Let m—”

He avoided Toriel's touch and proceeded to remove it himself. He threw the thing to the corner of the room and before she knew it, he was out the door, on his way downstairs. 

“Chara!” Toriel chased him. “Chara Dreemurr, stop right there !” 

He already made it to the bottom of the steps when he did. 

Toriel spoke to him from the landing. “My child, we're all trying. This is not easy for any of us, either. So if there’s anything we don’t understand, tell us. We only want to help y—”

“I did not ask anything from you,” Chara hissed. “I did not ask for any of this.”

He took the remaining steps towards the door. Though he expected Toriel to say something once he reached for the knob, she didn’t. 

Through gritted teeth, he said, “That's the only thing I want you to understand.” 

Chara grabbed a green coat hanging from the rack and stepped out; the slam of the door nearly shaking the whole house. 

Asriel heard everything transpire from the Dining Room. Although he promised his mother he would not interfere, that was the last straw. 

He dropped his bowl on the table and stood. Toriel again watched him stride to the door, until he stopped to look at her. 

In surrender, she nodded, and Asriel stepped out.

Hands in his coatpockets, Chara was halfway past the garden path when he sensed an incoming attack and stepped aside quick enough to avoid a colorful blast of fire. 

“Keep walking, and I'll throw a bigger one,” Asriel said. 

Chara rolled his eyes, continuing on his way, only for Asriel to do what he had promised. The power it packed made him stumble off the path. 

He hissed, feeling the slight burn at his side. Turning around, he found Asriel standing there, all serious and underneath it—he knew—all smug. 

Chara went towards him so fast it took the glare off Asriel’s face. Without a chance to call another attack, Chara grabbed his shirt. The next thing Asriel knew his feet flew off the ground and the world spun before he was slammed back on it. 

Asriel wheezed from impact, faintly hearing Chara's nonchalant voice saying, “Don’t try fighting me, Asriel.”

“If— ha —if fighting gets through to you — I’ll do—it if I—ha-have to.” 

“Whatever.” Chara continued his way. 

“You—” Asriel sat up, catching his breath. “Think you can do this forever?”    

“Can and I will.”

“Give me a break.” Asriel staggered back up. “Face it, you’re miserable like the rest of us. But you know what? You look like you’ve got another thing going. If you're attitude's anything to get by, I think you're hiding something. Is it when Frisk saved you?” 

Chara stopped in his tracks.

Asriel narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Now I'm sure. What is it?"

Flatly, Chara said, “I told Gaster everything I know. Ask him if he ever gets back.”

“No," Asriel said, eyeing him closely. "If it's gotten to you this bad, I don't wanna hear it from anyone else." 

Chara bit back a curse, and continued walking. “You’re wasting your time.” 

Asriel followed him. “No! I know you, and I know Frisk. Something must have happened between you and it made you…way more difficult than you usually are. So, what happened? What's gotten into you? What did she do, huh?”

“Asriel you better drop this subject, now.”

“You just proved I’m right!”

“Do not force me to do something that will really hurt you, Asriel Dreemurr.”

“Why, cause you’ll regret it?”

“Damn it, Azzie, shut up!”

“Just go on and spit it out already!”

Chara growled, faced him and yelled, “She told me she loved me, okay?!”

‘ Goodbye, Chara. And…’

Asriel stared at him, at a loss for words. 

‘ I love you.’

Chara’s hand went over his lips, where the most haunting feeling of it all lingered. His recollection of what happened was so vivid it couldn’t leave his mind. 

“It’s the last thing she said before…well, before this fucking happened.” 

Asriel couldn’t respond. Chara turned away from him. 

“And if that's her reason for what she did, then I don't have a damn clue why.”

Her words and her memory were a plague on his existence. Like she stranded him at sea left with nothing but those, and it was agony like none he ever experienced. 

“So how am I supposed to deal with that, huh? Because I can't see how any of it makes sense. Or know what I’m going to do with it now. I’ve never…because if that is true then…”

Then what did she see in him that made him worth her love? Whatever it was, he had never known it himself. Unless that was clear to him, he couldn’t even wrap his head around why now he's here, and now she's gone. 

“Uhm…yyyyyou know,” Asriel started. “I don’t actually get how you two worked as individuals in the same body...but uh, little reality check here, only Frisk can answer all your questions.”

Like he got pinched awake, against all control, heat crept up to Chara's cheeks.

“I mean, I get you, really. I’d mope about it for a few days if it were me, too. But uh...since you can't do anything about it right now...until we find her, maybe you wanna, uh, stick around until you and her get the chance to...talk about it, yeah?”

When Chara looked at Asriel, it was like he held back shock, confusion, and laughter behind his smile. 

Chara was at once annoyed and—he will never admit it—embarrassed.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Asriel blinked. “Really?" 

“Yeah, whatever, you win,” Chara said. “But you gotta swear you will tell no one about this.” Especially Sans, but saying that would make Asriel suck more at keeping this secret. 

So he said, in words Asriel understood, “ Absolutely no one. Got it?”

“Say no more. I’ve got you covered.”

Chara raised his brow at his forced grin and thumbs-up, but was appeased.

As they walked back, Asriel reminded Chara to make it up to Toriel as soon as they were inside.

And unable to help it, he asked, “Just clarifying, we’re talking that kind of love, right?”

Chara punched him.

“OOOOW!” Asriel rubbed his numbing arm. “Alright, confirmed…”

Chapter Text

Next Chapter Preview

“you see,” Sans continued even as Chara walked away. “everybody’s makin’ a big ol’ fuss about our living legend over here, with grandeur speculations that he's the godsent hero who’ll help bring frisk back.” 

His eyesockets went dark. “boy, imagine when they find out you’re the reason we got lower chances of doing that.” 

Asriel shot Sans a look of reprimand, which went ignored for he continued. “but what do you care? after all, she was just someone you used as a means to an end.” 

Chara stopped walking, but kept his back turned.

Sans’ left eye flickered to light. “and what an end you had in mind, didn’t cha? ” 

“Sans, quit it—”

“no, no, junior. i think we should take a look at his track record for a sec before putting our hopes on him. heck, we can go all the way to the start of the whole shebang.

“you didn’t die the first time ‘cause you got sick, did ya? ‘cause a full helpin’ of buttercups into your system seems awfully intentional. ain’t it sad how everyone saw that as a tragedy, while for you it was all part of a plot. ‘course, we know what catastrophe that led to, with asriel here bearing the brunt of it. good thing frisk managed to turn it all around in the end. but then you had to show up trying to ruin our lives up here, too.”

Although Chara didn't move or speak, a deep-seated wrath started to build inside him, ready to flare up and catch everything around him on fire.

Regardless if he noticed it, Sans went on full of spite. “so forgive me for being doubtful when we got to spend three perfectly happy years here while you were gone, and right when it suddenly goes to hell, you show up again.”

Asriel snapped, “Sans, I swear, you're being—!”

“You know what, I did do all of that.” 

Asriel and Sans looked at Chara, who, out of nowhere, started to snicker. 

“Nice little record you have there, but that’s not even the half of it,” he said, scornfully. “In fact, allow me to enlighten you with what else I did. I’m sure you’ll love hearing this. ”

He turned to Sans with a big smile that held nothing but malice. 

“Back when Frisk was new in the Underground, I tricked her into giving me her SOUL. Ha, did I have a blast when she did that. The timelines were under my control for a thousand and a half runs. A significant fraction of those used simply to make Frisk’s every waking moment miserable. You ought to know how much I enjoyed forcing her to get killed every time she begged me to RESET a timeline. Or how much she was willing to slave away just for me to do what she asked. But the best way she entertained me? It was how frightened she’d get everytime I threatened to toy with her SOUL just because I could.

“Oh, and all those timelines we killed everyone? She suffered for each one, but I always had the time of my life—especially whenever I won against you. ” 

Chara let out a snarky, villainous laughter. “Does it make you happy knowing I’m exactly the demon you think I am? Because guess what, I won’t apologize to you for it.”

Sans’ smile twitched, showing how much he wanted to tear Chara apart. “oh my god, go to hell . ” 

“Already been there and back, fellow murderer,” Chara snarled.

Chapter Text

Interlude :

Chara Dreemurr

Once, he only saw red.

Red on people’s clothes. Red splashing out of skin. Red staining the grass, the trees, the walls, and the knife in his hands. 

Red from the burning hot fires scattered across the battlefield, lighting up the eyes of his enemies as they ran towards him. Always, in vain. 

“Die, brat.” 

“I’ll kill you, you little son of a bitch.”

“Get away! I’m warning you, I’ll shoot!”

“Somebody kill him! Kill him! ”

They cursed and charged, but it didn’t matter. They all ended up as the same red raining down on his face or pooling under his feet. It would take mere strokes, one blow at the right spot, to leave piles and piles of them in his wake. 

And through it all, he’d smile. 

He’d do it while looking for the next victim for the count. He’d do it even if they ran from him. He’d do it even if they begged him on their knees,

“Please, have mercy!”

The one time he didn’t, the enemy told him this:

“You are as monstrous a creature as I am.”

Flashes of gold magic blinded him—drowning out the gunfire, explosions, and the hysterical screams of men. It scorched every vision in merciless, roaring flames, sweeping everything into destruction. 

When he opened his eyes, he went dizzy with all sorts of colors suddenly flooding into view. He found his body broken, lying on a stretcher. Standing by the side of it was the man whose name he would never call despite knowing it, Colonel Joshua Patrone—looking at him with a word he would later learn from him (along with everything else): Pity.  

“From hereon, you will be making your own story.” 

But…

“That thing isn’t even Human.”

Stop looking at me like that.

“R-requesting backup! One of those demon children just wiped out the base!” 

Stop it!

“I apologize…for everything I’ve done to you.”

Just stop it, please!

Then, he was standing at the edge of a hole, holding a gun to his head. All he could see now, at the end of the hopes and dreams he’d colored for himself, was a black night that consumed every last one.

Cursing and mourning his existence, his strength betrayed him and he fell to his knees. When he cried, the words that escaped him were what his heart had screamed for many, many years. 

“Somebody help…” he sobbed, tears falling into the void. “Help me please… ”

.

.

.

“Here, get up…”

.

.

.

“Gorey, look...” 

Asgore approached the bedside of the Human boy. He’d been unconscious since Asriel found him in The Ruins, even as they carried him all the way home. Toriel just started attending to his injuries—which, as it turned out, were not only on his head. 

“He’s covered in them…”

As soon as they undressed him, his sight appalled the King and Queen. The child’s body was a scrapbook of bruises, scars, stitches, and wounds. Many older marks showed them a past of bullets under his skin, burns from scalding flames, and the brutal hand of someone who used magic—the last one seen in a terrible scar encircling his thin torso. They could not begin to imagine the kind of life this boy lived. 

They exchanged a look of woeful understanding. Toriel wrapped him in her healing magic, covering the rest of his wounds with bandages. Meanwhile, Asgore instructed Asriel to look after him while they attended to the Kingdom, but to call as soon as he woke up.  

Since his parents left, Asriel curiously hovered over the Human boy. It was the first time he’d seen one, after all. Though, even with the little he knew about their physical bodies, he could not comprehend how this one was still alive. He saw the injuries, too.

His mother hid them again in one of Asriel's oversized pajamas. The boy’s own clothes were thrown out because they were covered in blood, muck, ash, and, overall, looked and smelled like he lived as a gutter rat rather than a Human being. 

Even while resting, the boy seemed tense. The tight expression on his pallor made him look haunted instead of peaceful. His body lay stiff enough to look artificial. Out of juvenile worry, Asriel reached his hand toward his chest, just to make sure his SOUL would still appear. 

A harsh grip took his wrist, followed by a kick to his side. Without even seeing any of it happen Asriel ended up on the floor.  

“OW! ” Asriel yelled, and had to resist his tears because that was really painful. 

He looked up and there was the Human boy, fully awake—and sitting up like a cat ready to pounce. 

His eyes were like a snake’s; pupils the shape of slits in orbs of deep red. Locked in such a stare, anyone who lived long enough would know they were a misstep away from death.  

But ever naive, and not knowing any better, Asriel took in all of this thinking he must’ve frightened him. 

So gently, he said, “T-that hurt, Chara.” 

The Human blinked once. Twice. 

The third time, he asked, “What?”

“Oh, sorry.” Asriel got up from the floor and held out his hand. “I'm Asriel.” 

“What did you call me?” 

Asriel faltered. If he could describe it, the Human looked like a predator, but felt like he was the one being hunted. Asriel grew wary, but forced it down. His parent’s instruction was to treat him with utmost compassion. 

“C-Chara.” He forced a smile. “That's your name, right?” 

He pulled out the drawing from his pocket—the one drawn in red paint with a smiling face and the word ‘Chara’ written at the bottom. He figured the boy spilled his ink on the page while making this. Asriel could understand; he could be careless with his drawings, too. 

But the Human went silent, staring at the page. 

Asriel tilted his head. “Right?” 

Another silence. Asriel’s feet shifted.  

“Tell me,” the boy finally spoke. Asriel took note that his voice, though still a child’s, was very deep. “Do you know what I am?” 

At the absurd question, Asriel couldn’t hide his surprise. Without hesitation, he answered, “A Human.” 

Like lightning, a surge of disgust burst from within the boy. It spread throughout his system, stiffening him from head to toe, the word still ringing in his ears. 

Yet, it clashed the feeling of an onerous weight lifting off him, washing it out in the most baffling ripples of relief. 

A Human. 

Once, he lived a life as ‘Character’, whose ultimate purpose was to get the very recognition he just received. All the more staggering, to hear it from this strange creature he still could not understand, who said it as if it were the most obvious thing.  

“…I suppose.” The boy let his weight fall back on his hands. Though his posture relaxed, his expression remained guarded. “However…I implore you to never call me that.” 

Asriel became even more perplexed. “But wh—”

“Ever. ” 

“Chara, right? That’s what Asriel said your name was.” 

A goat lady who looked much like Asriel, save her dark brown eyes, arrived. She stood at the foot of his bed and carried herself with a dignified air he'd never seen anyone on the surface have. 

“I…suppose,” came his half-hearted response. 

“Well, then.” The goat woman bowed. “Greetings, Chara. I am Toriel.” 

It was subtle, but Toriel took note of the way he gawked at her gesture. Something as simple as that affected him? 

“I am the Queen of Monsters,” she continued. “Though I prefer you know me, simply, as Asriel’s mother.”

He nodded slowly, albeit half-consciously. On his part, he had just begun to take in the bewildering situation he found himself in; could not quite grasp there was a world underground, where there were strange creatures called Monsters, and among them he was a Human, called by a name. The last two, impossible just the night before, suddenly on his lap like breakfast in bed. 

All this he may have had something to say about if he didn’t feel so sick. The bandages wrapped around his head felt too tight. Though he could not feel pain, the turn of events coupled with the blood loss started to take effect. 

Noticing, Toriel folded her sleeves up. “I returned to check if your injuries have healed, though it seems my work remains unfinished.” 

As she approached, instinct took over. He grew hostile, moving away from her. Baring teeth, he growled—flashing memories of the last person who tended to his wounds agitating him further.

But Toriel was unfazed. “Hold still. Let me fix it.”

His back hit the headboard, and if not for his weak, nauseous state he would have done something that could permanently stop her from touching him. 

But then she put her hand over his head—in a way that only made him feel how soft and tender her touch was. He stopped moving. 

“Shh…” Toriel whispered. “Nobody will hurt you here.”

A soothing warmth poured over him, taking away his dizziness the same way water soaked into your hair, pouring gently on the rest of his body as slowly his remaining wounds closed and bruises healed. 

“There.” Toriel smiled. “All better.”

She shuffled her hand into a paper bag she brought in, pulling out a pair of black slacks along with a green sweater with a single yellow stripe. 

“Can’t hide the rest, so put these on.”

Asriel beamed, showing his own light green and yellow striped sweater to him. “Look, we match!”

Later that day, he would meet Asgore, Asriel’s father and the King of Monsters. To him, he would be introduced once more (and forevermore) as ‘Chara’. 

The developments were rapid afterwards. Without a home and a family, they gave him theirs. He became Chara Dreemurr, and Toriel made it official by telling him what that meant.

“Starting today, you’re Asriel’s older brother,” she said, bending to his level. “Which means when Dad and I are not around, we’re counting on you to watch over him. Okay?”

“Hey, I’m the one who adopted him!” Asriel whined from his seat at the dining table—the one now designated beside Chara’s. “How come I’m not the older brother?!”  

Toriel chuckled. “Well, Chara is older than you.”

“That’s not fair! I’m a Monster, so I’ll get way older than him eventually!” 

Ignoring him, Toriel faced Chara again. “Can you do that?”

For moments, he just looked between her and Asriel. 

By then, he had adjusted to his circumstances, and understood he got just what he wished for—a full reset. Another chance to become something. 

But Toriel’s proposition didn’t appeal. After all, the first thing Chara thought about Asriel was that he was weak. He took one look at him and felt he could trip on a rock and already break an arm. 

Too soft and sensitive for a boy, too. So evidently pampered Chara felt nothing for him but contempt. He really didn’t want to have the responsibility over him. 

“You can look and act the part of a child now, but I know what you really are.”

The words of the Major General Moore returned to him; the ones from when his soldiers stuffed him in a chest to be sent out to slaughter. 

“You are still nothing but a demon that takes lives at our call. This is what you were made for. You have no other purpose.” 

So Chara—while wishing they would all go to hell—told Toriel yes.

Two months flew by fast. It was enough for Chara to learn everything he needed about the world they called the Underground. Enough to know every Monster who lived in it, and know he and them had one thing in common: the Humans wronged them.  

(Ironically, he, in turn, became known to them as “the Future of Humans and Monsters”—whatever that meant. He couldn’t understand why they so badly wanted to live up there with them.) 

Two months was also enough to know the Monthly Address of the King and Queen was the most anticipated event of the Kingdom. The Monsters would gather as one, listening to the messages of hope from their leaders—keeping it alive with their deep sense of camaraderie and united dreams for the future. A most uplifting ceremony for every Monster citizen, who on most days, had little to keep them going but a prophecy on their walls. 

And such was an event Chara and Asriel ditched as soon as it began. 

Twice now, Chara had endured the unabashed display of Toriel and Asgore nuzzling noses, flirting, and even kissing in front of the crowd. He would do anything to keep it to just that number. So starting his third Monthly Address, Chara devised any plan just to skip it; and Asriel begged to be dragged along with him. 

For that first escapade, they told their parents that they would write books at the Library to fill the shelves with more than what they hauled from before they were trapped—as their contribution to the Kingdom’s monthly achievements. They were praised for being “such dutiful Princes!” and “signs of a bright future for our Kingdom!” and sent on their way. 

The two were alone in the Library as they did this. Piles of sheets and stacks of blank books surrounded them, but Asriel could hardly fill a page. He had so far written a few lines about Monster funerals (a very basic elementary topic) but in typical eight-year-old fashion gave up thinking once he wrote what he knew, lazily adding, “Uhhh, am I at the page minimum yet? I'm kinda sick of writing this.”  

He decided to peek at Chara’s work for ideas, and caught the last paragraph he wrote:

Love, hope, compassion...
This is what people say Monster SOULs are made of.
But the absolute nature of “SOUL” is unknown.
After all, humans have proven their SOULs don’t need these things to exist.

Asriel looked at the page and then Chara. “The way you talk about Humans…makes them sound like pure evil...” 

“I don’t tell lies,” Chara replied, not even lifting his head. 

Asriel shifted awkwardly in his seat. He didn’t expect this was what having a brother was like.

Though they did everything together, Chara was aloof towards him. At best, indifferent. On occasion, cold and callous—especially when he found him in one of his moods. It betrayed all his initial excitement at finally having someone to hang out with; Asriel felt like an obligation Chara just had to fulfill each day. 

He complained once, but his parents reminded him Chara had a hard life on the surface. Things that may be too painful for him to communicate, so he acted that way. It would take a lot of patience and compassion on their part first, but he’ll come around. At least, they said he would. 

So Asriel kept trying—genuinely, because he still wanted to be his friend.

“Are all Humans like that, though?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Then how about y—” 

Asriel put both hands over his mouth as soon as Chara shot him a glare. 

“I mean…” he started again, twiddling his thumbs. “Mom and Dad tell me even if Humans were the ones that did this to us, they still want peace with them. They don’t believe all Humans are bad.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you, Asriel? All of them are. I lived with them. I’ve seen the things they do. I could tell you more, but your childish brain can’t begin to picture the evils they’re capable of.”   

Asriel may have been young, but he was more perceptive than most. The way Chara said that did not give any impression of truth. Just pure, blind hatred. 

In a rare moment of defiance, Asriel pressed on. “Couldn’t there have been…at least one?” 

“What kind of Human do you want to be?”

Two faces of the same man came to Chara’s mind. The first when he asked him that. 

The second when he handed him a rifle to exterminate hundreds. 

Chara closed the dark green book he wrote on. “If there ever was one, Asriel…”

Asriel kept watchful of how when Chara shoved the book into the shelf, his eyes held a burning resentment—simultaneously dampened by an untold sadness. 

“They couldn’t last.”

During Chara’s waking hours, he gave little to nothing for them to piece together his past. 

It was the dead of night when such things came. 

Asriel had learned most of the time, Chara’s sleep was dreamless. When it wasn’t, he had nightmares. A few times now, Asriel heard Chara gasping or screaming something in the middle of the night; but he would return to sleep after, although no longer moving. 

On this night, however, he shot awake to Chara clawing at the sheets, thrashing at the air as if fighting an invisible enemy. He cursed and screamed with such rage and fear his small body couldn’t contain it.

“Chara!” Asriel rushed to his side, shaking him. “It’s a bad dream! It’s just a bad dream! Wake up, Chara! Wake up! Chara! ” 

The moment Chara roused, he took a fistful of Asriel’s shirt. Asriel would remember that as the first time he truly felt afraid, coming face to face with the gaze of the most feral hatred, piercing into his SOUL. 

“What are you doing?” Chara snarled. 

“I-I’m just trying to—” 

“Get away from me!”  

He nearly threw Asriel off the edge of the bed. The latter cried out from the ruthlessness of his hand. 

Asriel trembled. Chara looked like he’d gone mad. He could hardly recognize the same boy when his eyes were so wild they seemed to see at something else entirely, and his voice held so much fury it made him want to cover his ears.   

“I know what you’re doing. You’re only good to me now because you plan to use me too!”

“‘Use you’? Chara, I don’t under—”

“Don’t take me for a fool! I know why you took me in! You looked at me like a dying animal and thought to make me your little rescue operation to look good in front of your people! You’re trying to make everyone believe in peace with Humans, but I know—you’ll want them dead too. And you’ll use me to do it!”

Asriel listened to all of this, and felt the fear taking his whole body being replaced by something colder than ice. 

It wasn’t the weeks of condescending remarks, the way he was treated, nor his pent-up frustration over showing one-sided kindness, that finally made him snap. It was hearing that, remembering the day he heard this Human cry for help, and the terrible thought that he never should’ve answered. 

“Take that back…” 

A part of Chara snapped out of it in surprise. Asriel sounded like he was about to cry, but his tears betrayed the anger spiking in his eyes. 

“I said take it back you lousy, rotten, ingrate of a brother! Take it back !”

Little balls of fire hit the surrounding wallpaper and furniture as Asriel tackled Chara and threw his fists at him. 

In those mere seconds he mindlessly attacked, yelling the same things over and over, he did not know that for Chara, the world became very slow. His mind went blank, and his vision turned red. 

He was too late to realize what he was doing, when the same moment he regained his senses, he hurled a punch at Asriel’s face. 

His small body flew to the other side of the room, and if not for all the stuffed toys and pillows breaking his impact there, Chara was certain he would’ve died. 

Every sight and sound suddenly drowned out of his head. His arms and legs felt separate from him. Chara could not stop looking at Asriel sprawled on his bed like a carcass. Moans and sobs of pain soon filled his ears, but he stayed where he was. Not even Toriel bursting through the door made him move. 

“What has gotten into you two?!” she yelled, hitting the lights. 

She heard Asriel cry her name and after a moment’s shock, ran towards him. Chara picked up the muffled sounds of Toriel soothing him with hushes and assurances, until they came to an abrupt stop.

“Chara…did you do this?”  

Though the world continued to spin, he somehow managed to turn his eyes to her. 

Monsters did not bleed but they had enough physical matter to be injured in similar ways. Clear under the light, despite him seeing in doubles, he saw the swelling side of Asriel’s jaw. 

And his silence told her everything.  

Toriel took in a deep breath, as if to calm herself, then said, “Apologize.” 

He just stared back. 

“Chara. Apologize,” she repeated. 

 She did not raise her voice. No anger laced it either. It was simply a command—and that’s what he hated about it.

“That’s an order from your mother, Chara.”

Like static after a bomb, a familiar shrill noise assaulted his head.

That’s it. He’s had enough. 

He jumped off the bed and strode towards the door.

“Chara?!” Alarmed, Toriel stood to go after him. “Chara, wait—!”

“I do not take anyone’s orders,” he snapped, refusing to look back, so he did not see the way Toriel flinched. 

“And I do not have a mother.” 

He heard her gasp as he spat the last word out like it belonged to a language he despised, and ran.

“Who does she think she is? I don’t take orders. Not from Humans. Not from Monsters. Not from anyone. Nobody can make me do what they want. I will never allow it again.”

He continued to mutter angrily even when he’d made it as far as Waterfall. The more distance he covered, the louder it got. The darker his thoughts took a turn. The harder it was to ignore the ache in his chest. The greater and greater his fears grew. 

Soon, they’ll find out what he is. They’ll know what he’s done. Then they’ll all start to look at him like that, and there would be no point to any of this. 

Maybe he should just end it all here, too. Kill all of them before that could happen. He could do that. It wouldn’t be hard at all. They were so weak he only needed to hit once to turn them into dust.  

In fact, it would take less than a day for him to eradicate every single one of them.  

Nothing but a demon 

Nothing but a demon 

Nothing but a demon

Chara ground his teeth and bellowed in indignation, slamming his fist on the cave wall so hard it shook.

SPLASH!

Water poured down all over his body—at the same time, smothered whatever flame rose within him into damp nothingness. 

For several moments, he just stood there. Thoughts blank. Echoes of the dripping water from his clothes all he could hear throughout the empty cave. 

He took his fist off the wall to look at the blood on his knuckles—bright red, wounded deep, but no pain to speak of. It was all in his chest, and he felt like he could die from it. 

Chara clutched his bleeding hand close, lowered to a seat, and tucked his knees in to bury his head in them. He stayed that way, for a long time, in the company of nothing but the quiet water.

Until he sensed someone sneak up behind him. 

He remained calm. Without moving, he paid close attention to the approaching presence. 

Slow. Large. Intentionally quiet. They held a long weapon. He could tell from how they carried their steps they knew how to fight, and fight well. 

He got ready to do that, too. 

So he waited until he felt them come right behind him.  

“Hey, you—”

Chara swung his leg back and snapped a spear in half. The sharp tip flew all the way to the other side and stuck to the wall. 

What he did not expect was to come face to face with one senile, seemingly harmless Turtle Monster—and exchange the same blinking wide eyes with him. 

The Turtle Monster stared at Chara, the broken wood of what was his weapon, and the useful half of it way out of reach.

“Well.” The Turtle Monster discarded the stick. “I told Fluffybuns he should get someone else to wield a spear. Whatever, I’m stickin’ with the hammer.” 

Chara took a step back. “Who are you?” 

“Captain of the Royal Guard, Gerson, your highness.” 

“Don’t call me that. What do you want?” 

“Whoa, easy now,” Gerson replied. “I was just on patrol when I caught a kid with a familiar striped sweater moping about here way past his bedtime. Didn’t expect it to be you, though.” 

Chara scowled, turning away. “I am not ‘moping.’” 

“Sure you aren’t. You wanna talk about it, son?”

“Why do you bother with me? Why does everyone bother with me?”

Gerson hummed. “I see. Had a fight back home, did you?”

Chara clenched his teeth and couldn’t hold it in anymore. “That is not my home!

“I am not his brother! I am not their child! I am not part of their family! I don’t belong to anyone!”

He faced Gerson then—and it showed the latter the true, bitter frustration in his eyes. 

“But let me tell you something—I did not want to be like this!” He pointed above their heads. “It was them ! They made me the way I am! Even when I wanted to be something else, they didn’t let me!” 

Forcing down the lump in his throat, he yelled the loudest, “So it’s not MY FAULT!”  

As Chara heaved his breaths, Gerson remained silent—observing him with a close eye as the gears in his old mind worked out everything he said. 

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time.”

That was a lie. It was only since he started skipping the Monthly Address. Nonetheless,

“You’re a tough one, down to your core. A guy who’s all bite and no bark. Not to mention gloomy as hell,” Gerson continued. “The type who thinks he’s got the whole world figured out better than anyone else. You're exactly the kind of kid that can’t be left alone.”

Gerson took a good look at Chara then—his ever-present frown, rigid bearing, and penetrating gaze sharp as a blade yet deeply empty.

“Funnily enough, for different reasons, I said the same thing about Prince Asriel.” He shrugged to himself. “Now, I don’t know where you’ve been, but I know where the young Prince had; he never had anyone to call a friend. And yes, most of it is because of things he can’t control.” 

All of this was news to Chara, but he had, in fact, observed how Asriel always clung to him. How other kids avoided him. He never gave it a thought; he just filled his ‘older brother role’ by accompanying him, but hardly engaged him in any other way. It was always Asriel trying to get him to do something with him, or begging to be part of whatever he would do that day. 

“But like I tell him, there comes a point you’ll have to take responsibility over yourself and the things you let control you . If there’s a place you want to get to, you need to move in the direction of it. Some of us just never take that first step because we look at the heavy load in the way and expect someone else to carry it.” 

He focused his one eye on the Human boy. “Everyone’s got to meet the demands of the life they want. I saw him start to do that after he met you.” 

Chara recalled the many ways Asriel helped him feel welcome in his home, at his table, and by his side—only to repay him by nearly killing him. 

“He’s doing his best for you. You could try to do your best for him, too. After all, while I don’t know what situation you fell out of, he's the reason you have what you have now. Right?” 

“Chara, that’s your name, right?”

“...I can’t go back.” His voice was weak. “I—”

Chara felt someone else arrive. Gerson looked at someone behind him just as he did. 

Turning around, Chara came face to face with Asgore's towering form. He had put on his usual robes and armor despite him coming from bed. The look on the King’s face was calm, but clearly displeased. 

Bracing himself, Chara glowered. “Are you here to you throw me into a dungeon?” 

“No,” Asgore replied quickly, caught off-guard by the question. “But I needed to get away from your mother so I could do this.”

He pulled his helmet down and pulled out his giant red trident. 

Chara gasped. It was his body that moved for him when Asgore swung it, sending blazing fireballs flying forth in the process—nothing at all like Asriel’s tennis balls of flame; these were raging, volcanic suns and he felt like Icarus in their direct face. 

In his panic, Chara moved in every way possible to avoid the wide swings of his trident, but Asgore relentlessly sent rings of those same fireballs, trapping him until the wall was all he could latch onto. Chara had never seen such tremendous power from him. The waterfalls and damp air could do nothing against his fiery assault. Soon, he was enclosed in high walls of flames with Asgore ready to pounce at him with his weapon. 

Chara growled, and despite being barehanded, prepared to meet him at his next attack. 

Next to him the flames parted, and it struck him with a greater shock to see Gerson wielding a massive battle hammer aimed straight for him. 

Chara couldn’t help his yell of fear. Cornered by two powerful Monsters, this was entirely different battle ground from what he was used to. He only witnessed a similar kind of power few times before, and they were coming at him from both sides. 

Gerson’s surprise attack forced him to leap off the wall as his hammer collided with it, but there was nowhere to go but flat on the ground. 

Asgore was upon him, trident held high for the final blow, leaving Chara stunned by this display of fearful, awesome might. 

Then Asgore hit the flat edge of his trident on his head, light enough that it just made him jerk. 

“You’re grounded,” Asgore said. 

Several seconds passed with Chara frozen from the whiplash of events, watching the inferno Asgore started shrink into nothing but puffed up air.

“Sorry about that.” Asgore pulled his helmet off, putting away his trident. “But I thought it was the best way to set you straight.” 

Asgore nodded to the other Monster. “Thank you for your assistance, Gerson,”

The Captain of the Royal Guard nodded. 

“Now, here is a proposition, Chara.”

Asgore knelt to his level, but Chara still had to look up to meet his eyes—soft, patient, and ever kind. 

“If you want to make it up to your brother and mother, come with me. If not, you can stay here, and I’ll come back tomorrow to see if you changed your mind. And the next day after that if you haven’t. I will do that every day, until I find you back home eating around our table.”

Chara lay there, baffled by the Monster in front of him. Everyone liked to treat this King like a joke—for being a softie, just like that. And yet he had all that in his arsenal.  

He blurted out, “Why don’t you show that to everyone often?” 

“What do you mean?”

“What you can really do. Why don’t you ever show anyone?”  

“Oh, I hope not.” Asgore smiled, mortified. “The last thing I want is for them to be scared of their King.” 

Asgore used his giant but gentle paws to help Chara up. “Forgive me for having done that to you, however. I only thought it would help get through to you that our wish for your good is true and pure. We have no intention of harming you, let alone putting you in harm’s way.”

The message was clear: if they did, they had no reason not to do that already. 

“Now, when you’re ready to come home, follow me.” 

When Asgore stood, Chara took in how this formidable creature unveiled the monstrous power he was capable of—and the incredible ability he must have to control it, by doing so only out of mercy and compassion. 

A figure of authority like none he’d ever seen—but greater than all the ones he ever had. 

A feeling overcame him that tied itself to Asgore like a string—a tiny epiphany he would only understand in the very far future that this was what true strength looked like—and Chara allowed himself to be pulled along by it.

“When we get there,” Asgore said, smiling at Chara by his side. “There’s one more favor I’d like to ask, if that’s okay.” 

Chara nodded to him, without questions. 

Gerson watched them go, and only spoke out what was on his mind once they were out of sight. 

“Darn. I thought we were going to kill him for real…” 

Asgore may not have noticed, but he had gone all out. The swing of the Hammer of Justice never missed its target. How well that 10-year old kid held out—against two Boss Monsters attacking him, too—was impressive, if not alarming. 

He looked at the tip of his spear still deeply embedded in the wall. They sure that’s a Human?

As soon as the thought came, he laughed and made his way back to his post. 

“Eh. I’ve lived too long to be afraid of something like that.”

Asgore made a show of smacking Chara up the head with his trident in front of Toriel, forcing him to apologize to her. Appalled, Toriel was quick to chide Asgore and forgave Chara immediately. She didn’t know they agreed on the act before entering the castle—yet another charity from Asgore, just to redirect her vexations towards him.

It was all so Chara could focus on Asriel. 

He found him in the flower garden of the Throne Room. Daybreak came through the windows—little patches of sun reflecting on the flowers, imbuing the place with a warm golden light, like the lamp of a cottage deep in the woods. 

Asriel sat with his back towards him at the foot of the throne. Holding a cold compress against his jaw with one hand, tenderly stroking the flowers with the other. He did not notice Chara approach until he stopped a few steps behind him. 

Startled, Asriel shot up—regretting it when a sharp pain shot through his jaw. He hissed, holding his face. Chara watched him settle back down on a seat and tuck his knees in. 

Nobody spoke. 

Even now, Chara couldn’t think of what to say. He couldn’t even look Asriel in the eye. It ashamed him somewhat; this had never happened to him before. It made him feel…weak.

Like salt to that wound, it had to be Asriel to break the silence. “While you were gone…I told Mom I really should’ve been the older brother.” 

Chara raised his eyebrow. Asriel then gave him the angriest look he thought was possible for him to wear. 

“You need more taking care of than I do.” 

Getting up, Asriel climbed on Asgore’s huge throne, crossed his arms, and sat himself on it. Since he still wasn’t taller than Chara doing that, he stood on it instead—all so he could look down on him for what he said next. 

“Which is why, while she’s not looking, I’m assuming the role. And you can’t do anything about it.” 

Chara blinked. 

“Yeah. That’s right. I’m the one watching over you. So it’ll be up to me to make sure you don’t keep being a jerk.”  

A corner of Chara’s lips twitched. Maybe it was his high voice or the little space he took on the throne, but he almost laughed at how hard Asriel was trying with this tough act. 

An act he couldn’t put up, for his overall softness as a person softened his features too; he simply couldn’t be that way for long. 

“Mom also told me there are plenty of things we might not ever understand about you, except one thing…that you’re just a kid.”

Chara’s body reacted to the word in almost the same visceral way it did with ‘Human’ —only, at that time were like a condemnation. These words now, like a sweet lullaby he always wanted to hear, felt like salvation—from every single person who had called him anything else.

Asriel sat back down, careful not to put any impact on his bruise. His arms stayed crossed over his chest, but this time, they were all he looked at. 

“We’re both just kids…and because of that, we can get along.” 

As Asriel spoke, Chara felt a puncture straight into his chest—driving out all the pain that gathered there as if he were once possessed by something, and now, he was free. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry I said all that…” Asriel continued. “You aren’t lousy. And…you are kind of an ingrate, but you’re not rotten…”

Chara noticed Asriel shaking. He was crying again. 

“And I’m sorry…that I hit you.” He sniffled. “I really am…sorry, Chara.” 

As his sobbing got the better of him, Chara, at last, made a move to sit next to him on the throne. After a beat of hesitation, he put his hand on Asriel’s shoulder. Realizing he had never done this for anyone, he was embarrassed not knowing if this he was doing it right. He vowed to learn how to comfort others from then on. 

Perhaps, Chara saw Asriel as weak because he was the embodiment of his own weaknesses. A reflection of the more fragile parts of himself his circumstances couldn’t allow. It was Asriel's tears that often reminded him of the first ones he shed himself. Which, now, comforted him to know there was at least one kind of pain he could understand. 

A strong urge took hold of him to do better at his older brother role, despite Asriel’s earlier declarations. To really take care of him, because it was like he did it for the boy he couldn’t be.

“It’s okay,” Chara said. “All it really felt like was a ball of yarn hitting me…Besides, I yelled at you out of no fault of yours. You simply told me to take back what I said and I wouldn’t. The mistake is all mine…I…” 

He struggled with his apology. He just couldn’t say the words. That wound was still sore. 

“And…as for this.” He pointed at Asriel’s face. “I promise I won’t do it again. In fact…I’ll never hit you again. I swear on it.” 

To his surprise, Asriel looked more dejected. “Because you think I can’t take it?” 

Chara’s lips formed a thin line.

“You don’t say it, but you don’t need to for me to know,” Asriel said. “And I know…because it’s true.” 

He smoothed his jaw. It continued to sting with pain, but he said, “I don’t want you to make that promise, though. I don’t want to stay like this forever.” 

Asriel straightened, hands going to his hips. “I’ll just have to take more of your punches ‘til I no longer feel them.” He grinned. “Or until you can’t take my punches.”

 Chara couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, he burst out laughing. 

Asriel stared at him in awe—so Humans could laugh. On Chara, it looked natural, and surprisingly, full of childlike heart. He ended up laughing with him, too. 

When they both settled down, with a boyish flame in his eyes, Chara finally smiled—and it would be the smile Asriel would remember him for, even beyond death. 

“In your wildest dreams, Asriel.”

If Asriel were asked how many times he cried in his life, it would’ve embarrassed him to give a number—even if he lied about it. Which is why it came as a shock for him to find out Chara only cried once before, on the surface. An even bigger one, to be there to witness the second time he ever did, in the Underground. 

It happened during a nightmare—the worst he ever had. 

His raving, more violent than ever, made Asgore and Toriel storm into their bedroom. Asriel had retreated to the corner, distraught over his best friend yet too afraid to go near.  

Cloth ripped in Chara’s bare hands as he roared into the blankets. Most of it were curses, and much of it was incomprehensible. Toriel ran to his side, but nobody’s voices nor calls of his name got through to him. 

He could see nothing but that red again. 

In the dream, he was trapped in a place made of blood. Everyone in it tried to kill each other. A place where anyone you saw was your enemy. It was an endless massacre he could not run from. People went after him. Screamed they would kill him. Screamed for him to kill the others. Screamed, and screamed, and screamed the words: it’s kill or be killed. 

In violent hysteria, he kept screaming back. 

“If I was born just to become a dead body for you then I’ll kill all of you before I do! I’ll butcher you all! Every single one of you, I’ll kill you! ”

Then he shook awake. Toriel had taken hold of his shoulders in a grip so strong he couldn’t believe it was hers. 

“You listen to me, child.” Her voice was firm and hard, like the look she gave him. “Listen. ” 

His frightened eyes locked with hers, speaking to him in the language of gazes he had never shared with anyone. 

“No living thing is born only to suffer.”

Toriel moved her hands up to hold his face, brushing a stray teardrop away as it rolled down his cheek.  

“No living thing is born only to suffer,” she repeated, much slower. “Nor is anybody born simply to bring suffering to others.” 

With her soft hands, she held him in a way of tenderness he would never know from anyone but her. 

“We are all alive…so that we may live. ”

Every word fell upon his ears with the weight of every year of his life, falling into a comforting place. His tears burst forth from wherever he kept them away for so long, ruthless like a force of nature all on their own. 

Then, he cried like a little boy. Toriel took him in her warm embrace, and by some strange force, he held her back. She choked on her own air, unable to breathe from the strength of his grip, but she stayed, stroking his head with a certain affection that almost made him think she was, indeed, his mother.

Soon the rest of the Dreemurr family joined them. Asriel, tears in his own eyes, rubbed his hand in soothing motions over his brother’s back through his sobbing. Asgore went to them last, gathering his whole family together in his big arms.

They were all so soft, sentimental, and pure as the warm fur enveloping him. Everything Chara didn’t belong with. But perhaps, he dared to think, it’s with these people he might allow himself, even just a little, to feel Human .

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“How old will you be on your next birthday?” 

Chara thought she must have asked this because hers was coming up in a few days. It was the night before the Sorcerer Convocation, and as with most nights before big days, she had trouble sleeping. Chara was accustomed to her using him as a way to be lulled into it, engaging in idle conversation in the mindspace until it tired them both out.

“I told you not to call it that, either,” he replied. 

“The date suits you, though.” 

Frisk tapped the conjured calendar on the date: 31st of December. New Year’s Eve. 

“It adds to your dark and mysterious… character.”  

Years ago, he would’ve snapped at that remark. But that was something he’d outgrown. At least, with her.

So he just sighed. “About as much as your name serves you at a trafficking district, Cordelia.”

“H-hey! Don’t call me that.” Frisk flushed, the calendar puffing out of existence. “Also, you haven’t answered my question.” 

“I’m already a year older than you’ll be in a week, so just add one—plus a hundred, if you count the years I’ve been dead.” 

Frisk hummed in amazement. “Eighteen is a huge leap from when I met you at thirteen.”

He shrugged. “Not much has changed.” 

“...A lot has.” 

He peeked over his shoulder to face her, but with her back to him as well, he couldn’t see her expression well.

“You’re bigger. And even taller than me than before.” 

Frisk tapped her foot, as if to a song. 

“You’re more thoughtful now, too. You don’t make fun of me so much anymore. And stopped making yourself seem better than you actually think. Not to say you’re humble, which you still aren’t, but…you take things more seriously than I thought. And…you’re better now at showing you care. All of that to say…” 

Tilting her head, she looked over at him and smiled. “You’ve grown up pretty well yourself.” 

When she said that, she must have been unaware of the way her eyes flashed at him.

Out of what he claimed as a strictly male instinct, he looked away. “I suppose…”

On occasion, that ridiculous feeling would take hold of him.

When the Monsters had started to fawn over her transformation from little girl to young lady over the years, they liked to say as she grew older, she grew strikingly beautiful. 

And as much as he kept these thoughts hidden, he could see what they’re talking about. (Especially her eyes, but he won’t tell her that.)

Then there was how she acted around him lately. There were a lot less huffs and deadpan looks of annoyance. A lot more giggles and smiles of delight. Sometimes, she got too close for comfort. Other times, with a closeness that was comforting. In general…just closer than before.

He pretended not to notice—because he was getting drawn to that closeness himself and growing wary of the fact, for reasons he was more wary of looking into. 

Truly ridiculous. He couldn’t wait until he got over it. 

Putting that thought aside, he returned them to their initial subject. “Now that you mentioned it, is there anything you want?” 

“Hm?” 

“For your birthday.” 

“Oh.” 

Chara raised his eyebrows. Her cheeks got red, but maybe because the question caught her off-guard?

“Erm…” Her smile turned sheepish. “Well…”  

She rubbed her thumbs together, eyes flickering on and off him, as she came up with a response. In the process, the color on her face didn’t wane, and neither did her smile—he struggled to understand such an unusual expression. It was uncharacteristic of her to be so hesitant and unsure. Was there something about this birthday that made that harder to answer than the others? 

She took long thinking, so he ended up yawning. 

Like a knee-jerk reaction, she quit fidgeting. 

“I know now,” she said after a moment. “Tomorrow, during the whole convocation, could you try not to fall asleep?” 

Confused, he watched her get up in front of him, leaned down in that too close for comfort level again, so he only looked at her lips as she asked, “Could you stay with me, until the very end?” 

At the time, his reply was, “That’s all?” 

In time, he would look back at this moment realizing she asked him two separate questions. 

“I don’t want much anymore, you know.” She laughed with affection. “Just you.” 

She winked after. Chara scoffed—typical.

Still, for a person he knew as having the tallest orders in the world to satisfy, again, all she wanted from him was presence. The one thing anyone could give without losing it. 

Strange, but really, he was used to such things from her. 

Even stranger, as a child, he never thought he’d say this to anyone; but these days…he just didn’t mind. 

“Sure.” And he gave her a smile. “Whatever you want.”

With that, he finally met her gaze—a brilliant gold, but not like the magic he once fought brutally against. A warm kind of gold, like a locket he kept close, on which he wrote ‘Best Friends Forever.’ 

Conveying that same warmth through her voice, she said, “Thank you, Chara.” 

.

.

.

.

.

“Is it so bad that I want to find a way to get you your own life back? 

Is that really something you’re so scared of?!”

.

.

.

Chara slowly opened his eyes. A white ceiling filled his vision. Dust particles floated in the sun rays, entering the room over his eyes, making him squint. 

Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his neck, the rough feeling of his short hair a reminder of his reality.

He looked to the other side of the room at Asriel—who, on Toriel’s insistence, he shared it with again—snoring on his bed with all his limbs splayed out. He’d grown so much he hardly fit in it, though.  

In a mechanical manner, he got to his morning routine. Washed. Bathed. Brushed. Dressed. 

He reached for his striped sweater hanging on the wardrobe, but paused. 

It just didn’t feel right. 

Instead, Chara pulled out a dark green jacket from Asriel’s closet and wore it over his black undershirt. 

As he buttoned it up he looked at himself in the mirror. 

Nobody else reflected on it but him. 

The appearance of a Human and a SOUL that was neither Human nor Monster. 

A new life he was yet again forced into. 

The first hour of the morning hadn’t passed yet and he already felt drained. So Chara ended up lying back down, draping his arm over his eyes. 

What was it with all these people wanting him to live? Because he was really getting sick of this. 

What the hell for? 

What else do they think he’s still here for?

"We are all alive...so that we may..."

At some point, the sun had gone high enough to hit something on the dresser, making it gleam with red light. 

Chara peeked at it and knew what it was. He got up again, and took into his hand Frisk's red brooch. 

Despite his shadow blocking the sun, it still radiated with a faint, vivid light. He hadn’t quite solved the mystery of this thing. Yet not knowing why, he closed it in his palm, removed its gold chain, and pinned it to the collar of his jacket. 

Deep inside, he felt tired and empty. Anyone who looked at him, however, would see his eyes on fire with determination.