The golden corridor narrowed as Frisk walked forward, each step cushioned by the soft echo of their boots on marble. They had passed judgment. They had chosen mercy. But the throne room loomed ahead, shrouded in a stillness that felt ancient—timeless.
Behind them, the judgment hall faded into silence.
Ahead, the great doors opened slowly, revealing the throne room beyond. Petals from golden flowers blanketed the floor. The light here was gentle, filtered through a glass dome high above. It felt like sunlight, but dimmer—quieter.
At the far end, standing with his back turned, was King Asgore Dreemurr.
He turned when he heard Frisk enter. He was large, his presence imposing, but his eyes—gentle, tired.
"Ah," Asgore said softly. "So you've finally arrived."
Chara stood beside Frisk, though only Frisk could see them. Their arms were crossed, expression unreadable.
Asgore continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "I've been waiting. Not for this moment… but dreading it."
Frisk didn't move.
"I know why you're here," Asgore said, walking slowly toward the center of the room. "You want to go home. But to do that, I must take your soul."
He looked away.
"I don't want to fight you. But this is the law of the Underground. Six souls… and yours will make seven. With them, we can shatter the barrier."
Chara's voice echoed in Frisk's mind. "He doesn't want this. You can feel it, can't you?"
Frisk took a step forward.
"But before we begin…" Asgore raised his hand and gently knocked his trident to the floor. "I want to tell you something. This war—what happened between humans and monsters… I wish things had been different."
He turned away. "I remember each child who fell before you. Each soul we lost. I keep them in the garden… the golden flowers."
Chara's eyes narrowed. "He buried them. He gave them peace. But still... he takes part in this cycle."
Asgore's shoulders slumped. "It hurts, every time. I see the hope in their eyes. And I know what I must do. But you… you are different. I can see it."
Frisk shook their head slowly. They didn't want to fight.
"I'm sorry," Asgore said, gripping his trident. "It's time to end this."
And the battle began.
But Frisk didn't strike. Blow after blow, they dodged and endured. Fire and magic rained down, yet Frisk held firm. When given the chance to attack, they hesitated—then chose to talk, to show mercy.
And as the fight dragged on, Asgore slowed. His attacks became hesitant, his strength waning not from fatigue—but sorrow.
Chara stood to the side, quiet.
Then it happened.
Frisk lowered their hands. Their soul, exposed, pulsed gently. They refused to fight.
Asgore stopped.
His trident fell to the floor.
"You would show me mercy?" he whispered.
Frisk nodded.
Tears welled in Asgore's eyes. "After everything… after what I've done…"
Suddenly, a root burst from the ground. Vines of golden flowers twisted up, wrapping around Asgore's legs.
And there he was.
Flowey.
"Howdy!"
His face twisted in glee. "You idiot. You really thought you could be friends with this guy? That's not how it works down here!"
With a flash, Flowey's vines grabbed Asgore and—
The king was gone.
Deleted.
Frisk stumbled back.
Chara reached out instinctively, touching Frisk's shoulder.
"Stay determined," Chara whispered. "Don't let him win."
Flowey laughed, petals flaring like a crown of chaos. "This is my world now!"
* * * * *
The rain over Mount Ebott intensified slightly, pattering like whispers against leaves. The fire crackled, shadows dancing over the girl's face.
She was still. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.
The man did not look at her, but he felt her silence deepen.
"She saw him choose mercy," he said softly. "Even when the world tried to tear it away. Frisk's heart… was stronger than fate."
The girl tilted her head, eyes narrowing. Her fingers moved—drawing a circle, a break, then a line through it.
"You wonder," the man said, "if mercy is weakness."
He exhaled, long and low.
"No," he added. "It's the hardest thing to choose. Especially when everything tells you not to."
The girl didn't move. But she leaned slightly closer to the fire, her gaze lost in the flickering light.
And the man, his face still hidden beneath the deep hood of his robe, said:
"And yet… the story was far from over."