The rain had grown softer now, falling like a whisper around the mountain peak. The fire between them still burned, though smaller, as if in mourning for the tale now being told. The girl, still holding the damp, worn book against her chest, had shifted her position. Her knees were drawn close, eyes distant as if trying to unsee what she had just heard.
The man's voice remained steady, yet something in it felt heavier now—as though the weight of memory clung to each word.
—
Frisk moved forward, step by step, through the hollowed-out silence of the Ruins. The echo of their footsteps no longer sounded curious or innocent. They rang with certainty—and something darker.
Chara's presence lingered close, but her tone had changed. Where once she had teased and offered sly encouragement, now her voice trembled.
"You don't have to do this," she whispered, unseen but undeniably present. "You can turn back. You can still stop."
But Frisk didn't respond. Not with words, not with their hands. They pressed on.
Monster after monster fell—muffled pleas, frightened cries, all extinguished in moments. Froggits, Whimsuns, even the harmless Loox. Their EXP grew, and with it, something inside Frisk began to dull.
Chara, on the other hand, seemed to fray.
"Please," she begged after each encounter. "Please, that's enough."
Her voice cracked when Napstablook faded with a sad sigh, refusing to fight back. Frisk had shown no hesitation. Not even a glance.
They passed the now empty corridors. The puzzles stood untriggered, and the leaves underfoot no longer rustled—they were stained. Everything felt colder. More hollow.
Toriel's home felt like a relic now. The warmth was there, but it didn't touch Frisk. They moved through it like a ghost.
Chara stood silently in the corner of the bedroom as Frisk saved. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, watching—pleading with her eyes, though she knew he wouldn't see.
When Frisk approached the door leading out of the Ruins, Toriel appeared, just as she always did.
"Do you wish to leave so soon?" she asked gently, as if unaware of the trail of silence behind him.
Frisk looked up, expression unreadable. He nodded.
—
Back atop Mt. Ebott, the man paused. The fire crackled gently.
The girl's fingers trembled as they clutched the book tighter. She hadn't looked up since he began this new tale. Her head was low, shadows dancing across her face.
The man watched her carefully. "It's not an easy thing to hear," he said. "Especially when a story begins to rot from the inside."
She raised her hands slowly, forming a hesitant shape. A question.
He nodded once. "Yes. This was still Frisk. But the road was different now. Twisted. Changed."
The girl's eyes narrowed, uncertainty in them. Her knuckles whitened around the book's spine.
The man leaned back again, his face still hidden deep within the folds of his hood.
"And yet, the story wasn't done unravelling."