The fire crackled against the rain, fat droplets hissing as they struck the flames. The man's voice carried softly over the storm's song, steady and low. The girl sat across from him, the same way she always did, the tattered book clutched to her chest. She didn't speak — she never did. But her wide, uncertain eyes met his now, a flicker of apprehension in them.
Her small hand made a motion. A quiver of her fingers, like tracing a circle in the air. A question. Another reset? The man nodded once.
"Yes… it began again."
The girl's expression tightened. A single drop of water slid down her cheek, but whether it was rain or something else, the man said nothing.
—
Frisk's eyes snapped open.
Golden flowers. The same patch. The same aching sensation of being yanked from nothing into something. But this time… something was wrong.
A chill lingered in the air. Not in the room — in his soul. Like invisible fingers brushing against his mind, a voice he couldn't quite hear, but could feel. It clung to the corners of his awareness, watching.
The Ruins looked unchanged. Stone walls, the purple hue of the bricks, the faint hum of magic in the air. Footsteps echoed as he walked, but it felt quieter this time. Too quiet.
He found the first monster — a Froggit. It croaked, leaping toward him. His hands trembled, but he knew what to do. Show Mercy. He did.
And in that instant, a voice like the scrape of a blade across stone whispered at the edge of his hearing.
"You let them go last time… remember how that ended?"
He flinched. The Froggit left, and the world felt just a little heavier.
Toriel appeared soon after, her face warm, kind, motherly. She took his hand, just like before. Taught him about the Ruins. About puzzles. About Mercy.
Frisk followed her through, nodding at her words, feeling the gnawing presence inside him — the faint remains of her. Of Chara. She wasn't fully there, not like before, but every monster spared made the air grow colder.
"That one," the voice whispered again, "was the first to fall last time. How fast you forget."
Frisk gritted his teeth and moved on.
Toriel made butterscotch-cinnamon pie. She smiled, spoke of hope, of a new life down here. Frisk tried to listen, to focus, but the ghosts of his own hands dripping with blood wouldn't leave him. Every smile from a monster carried the weight of the memory of them begging for their lives.
The most agonizing part wasn't the monsters.
It was her.
Chara's voice, disembodied and fragmented, lingered in the corners. A laugh when he hesitated. A quiet scoff when he let someone go.
The path to the Ruins' exit arrived too soon.
Toriel's face turned solemn. She spoke of leaving, of the danger outside. He remembered this conversation well. Mercy. Mercy, she taught him.
And yet…
"You killed her once," the voice murmured, "and you will again."
Frisk's hands clenched into fists. He spared her again, this time with more desperation than hope.
The Ruins stretched behind him. The world ahead felt suffocating. The journey had restarted, but the blood-soaked memories remained.
—
Atop Mt. Ebott, the girl's small hands trembled. She hugged her book tighter, shaking her head. Her fingers made a motion — Why?
The man's hood dipped as he gazed into the fire. "Because even when you start over… you can't always leave the past behind."
The girl's face twisted, a storm of emotions in her wide, glassy eyes. Fear. Pity. Maybe… guilt.
The man let the silence stretch, the rain hissing around them.
"The world moved forward, but the scars lingered. And though Frisk tried to forget…" he gestured toward the dark beyond the firelight, "…there are things that will never truly stay buried."
The girl wiped her eye with her sleeve, and with a faint motion of her hand, gestured for him to go on.