The golden hallway stretched on, its high arches holding back the oppressive silence of the castle. Every step Frisk took echoed faintly, swallowed by a thick, heavy stillness. The torches flickered against the stone walls, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to lean closer with every passing moment.
At the end of the hall, the door stood open.
And beyond it, Sans.
He waited, slouched in his usual pose, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. His skull bowed slightly, one glowing blue eye dimmed, as though struggling to stay lit. When Frisk entered, Sans didn't look up right away.
The silence between them was a living thing.
Finally, he spoke.
"… so. you made it."
Frisk said nothing.
Chara, however, was a constant, cold breath against Frisk's ear.
"He remembers, you know. Not everything. But enough to be afraid."
Sans shifted, taking a slow step forward.
"guess i gotta do the ol' judgment routine, huh?" A humorless chuckle escaped him. "funny… feels like i've done this before."
Frisk's fingers twitched.
He had. Hundreds of times. In blood-soaked timelines long buried.
And somewhere deep in the marrow of Sans' bones, something remembered.
He stared hard at Frisk, his sockets empty yet heavy.
"lemme tell ya somethin', kid." "in this world… it's kill or be killed. or so they say."
A pause.
His gaze softened, as though it physically hurt to look at Frisk.
"but… sometimes… even when you try to do the right thing… the wrong thing clings to ya."
The torchlight wavered. The air pressed in.
"some folks… they never forget. even if they don't know why."
Frisk swallowed the lump in his throat.
Chara giggled. "He's afraid of you, Frisk. Even now." "And you're pretending you deserve a second chance. Pathetic."
Sans let out a tired sigh, rubbing the back of his skull.
"you've got a weird look in your eye. like you've seen this before. like maybe… you're hoping it'll end different this time."
He took another step closer. No blue eye. No bone attacks. Just words.
"look… whatever you did, whatever you were… there's always somethin' left. and maybe… just maybe… you'll find a way to fix it."
The words hung there, aching and fragile.
And then, that little, tired smile.
"but kid… i wouldn't bet my life on it."
Another beat.
"good luck out there."
And he turned. No fight. No judgment. Just a quiet acceptance of whatever was coming.
Frisk remained motionless, heart pounding against his ribs.
Chara sneered. "He's pathetic. You should've killed him. You still can."
Frisk shook his head.
Not this time.
The golden doors to the throne room loomed ahead, and the path was clear.
And far above, by the fire atop Mt. Ebott, the girl stared into the flames. Her hands trembled against her book, eyes wide. The man's voice, low and steady, cut through the storm.
"This was when hope was at its most fragile. And the world… held its breath."