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Chapter Text

Munch... munch... munch...~

The little grey-skinned girl rested her head against her open palm, her mouth filled with a cinnamon-butterscotch flavored candies she had manifested out of nowhere some minutes ago. Her empty eye sockets, emanated a soft green light, mixed up with both Zeros and ones, binary code; there was nothing. Nothing surrounding her except from the pitch black darkness, as her short, white hair waved slightly.

"Hehe..."

Her gaze was fixated on a sort of green-colored screen standing in front of her, numerous worlds and their timelines, alongside the AU's they belonged to were listed, one by one. A sigh escaped from her lips, one of relief and satisfaction, before one by one more and more screens started to pop around surrounding her, she didn't need to look around to ensure everything was working accordingly.

She felt it, and it was a true relief.

Despite everything working accordingly, her playful, malicious and slightly evil yet always joking nature, made her act. She wanted to explore and evaluate the integrity of the AU's herself. The girl let out a sigh as she spun around again, this time floating accordingly; before extending her open palm in front of her, out of the same, as if she was some sort of Deity, a slight bit of Ceroes and Ones started to emerge.

Like cockroaches, like hungry pests, they extended themselves, surrounding her, and devouring her shortly after.

"First, lets visit Underswap..."

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BOOOOOOOM

Right after the laser collided with the ground, it caused an explosion. Papyrus, who had an annoyed expression, pointed his extended hand towards the place where he had just shot his attack, part of his skeletal shape already coated in sweat, the Judgment Hall being partly destroyed due to all the fight they had been going through so far. Two hours.

They had been fighting for two hours, and he was getting tired already.

"Freaking kid..."

Sans' older brother grumbled, his sleeve going to his face in a poor attempt to wipe off the sweat coating his face. Right as the cloud of dust started to vanish, the bloody figure of an eleven years old boy made itself known, wearing a blue sweater with only one pink strip on it. Part of the fabric was slightly torn, revealing underneath a blood-soaked black shirt, that stuck to his bruised and wounded body, yet he was still alive. The First Fallen of Mount Ebott, the adoptive child of Queen Toriel and King Asgore, and Prince's Asriel's so called "Older Brother"...

Frisk Dreemurr, who slowly stood up; the determined genocidal's face was coated in shadows; he wasn't panting. Despite all the blood he had lost, he kept advancing, he kept fighting, like a damn robot unable to feel pain. Papyrus, on the other hand, took a long drag to the cigar between his teeth, in a poor attempt to try and relax himself.

He had broken his right arm, and disintegrated the flesh on his left leg, but not even that was enough to stop him... not yet at least.

What the monster wasn't expecting... was for the human to pick up that scythe of his, despite his small frame and the massive size of that weapon, Frisk moved as fast as lightning, and hit with the strength of a damn truck, moving and waving it as if it was a part of it, and as if it was as light as a feather. Dreemurr pointed his own weapon to his shoulder, his sight still concentrated on the Judge, and then he did it. Papyrus opened up his eye sockets in shock as he felt a shiver running down each and every single one of his bones, as he saw, horrified, how the boy decided to cut down his own broken arm, when he realized he had no more leftover healing items.

SLASH~

The blood started to pour from the recently open wound, like a fountain, spraying itself across the beautiful hall and staining red the golden-colored ceramic. Determination's purple eyes focused themselves on his opponent, red light coming out of them, his emotionless face, his cold-hearted expression, told Papyrus all he needed to know. He only saw him as another obstacle in his way, the last one. His head went from side to side, what kind of monster did that Chara brat woke up? if things had been any different, he would've rather killed the girl and completely discard the promise he made to that old King back at the Ruins, a long time ago.

But this wasn't the time to mourn about what could've been, and never would be. The world needed him right now.

His hands extended to the sides; bones started to come out of the floor, destroying everything, with the intention to impale him. Frisk squeezed his scythe, the heart-shaped necklace in his neck shinning with a golden light, boosting up his defense, as the blade of his weapon overcharged itself with his own power, he waved it, squeezing the handle as hard as he could, an energy crecent moon emerged from its tip, the battle was observed quietly by the grey-skinned girl, who had a smile on her lips.

Everything was working just fine.

"Hmmm... Both genocide timelines, pacifist timelines and Neutral timelines lack any sort of anomaly as well..."

She muttered, focusing on her small screen, now completely ignoring the fight going on right in front of her. Her body was covered by the shadows of one of the multiple pillars, even if her hiding spot was destroyed, they wouldn't be able to see her. For them, she didn't exist, because that's what she wanted. She nodded slightly, before clapping, once again, her signature numbers came out of nowhere.

Zeros and Ones, swallowing her.

"How about Underfell... ?"

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"Dear friends... Humans and Monsters here tonight!"

A beautiful girl wearing a red suit spoke, standing on a podium, her arms extended themselves outwards. The little stalker manifested herself piece by piece on a nearby building. Her right eyebrow rose up with curiosity as she saw Ebott's town in this universe, the window she had next to her was showing her she arrived to a "True pacifist" timeline, apparently, Frisk in this world had been born a woman, and had accepted to be the Ambassador of Monsterkind as well after breaking the barrier and showing them the true meaning of Love, and kindness.

Tonight was the seventh anniversary since the Barrier broke, so now she was a nineteen years old woman, soon to reach her twenties.

The woman opened up her eyelids slightly, the excited, joy-filled screams from both monsters and their new neighbors came out almost instantly at the sight of her beautiful eyes. Some children rose their arms to the sky, others blew their party blowers, as one would expect, the little orchestra  acted as well. Tonight as a night exclusive for celebration, the eight fallen with red-colored soul had a beautiful crown made of golden flowers on her head, alongside a small blush on her cheeks, despite all these years, Frisk still couldn't get accustomed to being the center of attention.

But she was willing to do her best for those she loved.

"First and foremost, please let me wish you all a very good night and give you a warm welcome, I hope you're enjoying the party... in second place, I wanna remark how grateful I am, my soul beats with happiness and it burns with bliss seeing how after all this time, with each passing day, our relationship improves..."

One would think she was exaggerating or reading a speech she practiced previously, but it would be a lie. Frisk never, ever had used already written speeches. She always spoke with full sincerity, using her heart first, and maybe that's what managed to bring peace to both races. The white-haired girl sighed, her hand now resting between both her hands, her elbows resting against her thighs, her gaze scanning the entire street.

It was packed, some humans went as far as to open up the windows to look outside their deparments, work offices or homes. They all shut their mouths as Frisk started speaking, behind here were Flowey, Asgore, Toriel, Papyrus, Sans, Undyne, Mettaton and Alphys representing Monsterkind as a whole, since they were the closest to the brunette, each of them muttering or speaking as lowly as they could so they didn't interrupt the girl who had given them a taste of Freedom. Despite still having some resemblance to their terrifying appearances from back then...

They all seemed way happier and more friendly than when she was a child. Damn it, they all changed their horrible philosophy of "Kill or be killed", Toriel and Asgore went as far as to go back together, as impressive and impossible as it sounded. Her small arms crossed themselves as she observed the ambassador walking, speaking about all that had happened these last few years, and the progress they had gone through ever since both species started working together as one. She nodded to herself, having seen more than enough.

"Underfell's timelines are also going decently well... "

The Screens, all at the same time, were showing other timelines happening at that same instant, other worlds, not so fortunate and happy as that one. In one, a genocidal version of that same girl fought against Alpha Flowey, who was doing his very best to make her abandon that dark path she was walking. In another Pacifist timeline, Asgore's trident and cleaver clashed against the Flower's roots, who was trying, in vain, to convince the small brown-haired boy to attack and fight back, they had gone way too far and performed multiple miracles by this point.

They hadn't kill anyone up to that point, so maybe... maybe just this one time doing so would be good? but Frisk insisted in his negative, as terrified as he was, violence was never the answer, it hadn't been ever since they started their journey, it wouldn't be so now at the end. The screen alongside the scene vanished; the girl stood up, clapping her hands slightly; reality around her broke at that very instant.

She had returned to her homeworld.

"StarTale, Outertale, Storyshift..."

The names came one by one, with her voice, without performing any action, the Alternative Universes started to pop up in different screens, alongside their nomenclatures that mixed up multiple numbers and letters, in order to differentiate their timelines from one another. Her eyesockest shone in green with more strength than before, she was absorbing information at overwhelming speed, it made no sense, but she had no issue in the slightest.

The she rose her left hand's index finger; triggering a list, led by a beautiful pink-eyed girl with brown hair and pink highlights.

"Alongside the security systems; they're implemented and waiting to activate the anti-viruses in case ay sort of anomaly in the timelines occurs... perfect. Everything is... "

She kept going, extending her right hand's fingers as if trying to hold something; the code condensed and piled up in a small vortex, eventually, casting a small table, alongside a chair, and a White tea set. From the small cup, some warm vapor emerged due to how hot the tea was. She took it to her mouth sooner rather than later, not before adding in some sugar.

"Perfect..."

Thus she completed her phrase, before enjoying how the exquisite liquid fell from her throat, having manifested some of the chamomile tea Underswap's Muffet liked to prepare for her clients, although next time she would add even more sugar, things like diabetes or illnesses didn't worry someone like her. Changing her posture into a more relaxed one, her work and daily check up having been done already.

While everyone did remember the X-Event, she couldn't care less. Their memories, traumas, whatever, she didn't gave a damn. As long as the Alternative Universes remained stabilized, and new timelines continued being born, things would go smoothly for the rest of eternity, as they had gone over the last one-hundred thousand years, and how they would keep going for the next billion years as well.

She sighed, before throwing the tea cup away, disintegrating it. What could she do to entertain herself? hmm... now that she had seen with her own eyes that everything was fine, perhaps checking up on Revenger, Error, Ink, Core, Fresh and the Omega Timeline wouldn't be so bad after all, she would never get bored as long as the Multiverse was ok, so many stories, so many worlds, so many timelines; so much to see...

So much to do... and so little time...

Just joking. Time... heh. She had always thought of that word to be slightly funny, just as the mortal's emotions. Despite her still remembering how she had been a very long time ago, she wasn't the same person. She wasn't a human anymore, she hadn't been one in a very, very long time, but it was ok. She wouldn't change her current state and life for nothing in the whole world, she wasn't that person anymore. After all... she was eternal. Eternal, invincible, unmovable, and as such, to observe and entertain herself with the lives of others was her right, her whim, her wish, and what made her happy.

It made her feel... alive...

"..."

Her eyelids opened up slightly. Something wasn't right... or more like; she wasn't alone anymore. Her posture however, didn't change not one bit, no. No, its not that she was scared or afraid anymore, what she felt was... genuine curiosity. The little both omniscient and omnipotent girl turn around, just as she had suspected, one of the only two people who had the right to get in her world, had accepted her small invitation.

As always, his broken skull greeted her, always smiling, empty eye sockets staring back at her. Hunched over as one would imagine, he waved his head slightly as a small greeting, a small bow that she replied back, although, just by waving her hand that is.

"Doctor W.D Gaster... Timeline 0.55-D, classic universe."

She revealed with no hesitation, the former Royal scientist rose slightly, or at the very least, he tried. Of course... he couldn't hide anything from her. Not him, nor any of his infinite counterparts. So similar, yet so different at the same time. Her small legs started to take her, walking around her current visit with a vibe of superiority, but with no hostility at all. Gaster wasn't following her with his gaze in the slightest, he just stood there, in complete and utter silence.

This was... intriguing.

What was he doing here? from what she remembered, his timeline had been erased by his Chara after the Genocide Route, Frisk didn't accept the deal of giving her his soul, thus, condemning it all to remain in perpetual darkness, with nothing but the Eight Fallen, the princess of monsterkind and of course... the Father of the Skeleton brothers, here present.

"..."

"Oh?~ what did you say?"

Was he... being serious?, even with all her power, the only thing she didn't do was spy inside the people's thoughts. Because that way they remained unpredictable, she only took that choice on "desperate" situations, situations that, oh look at that! never happened. Just as a green aura was coming out of her, from the creator of the Core, a purple aura emerged, both being quite intense.

His eye sockets had two small purple dots; his magic.

Her expression changed into one of intrigue; her small body rose into the heavens, binary code erupting from her hands, the numbers extending themselves from her skin, deploying another big screen, above all there was the same nomenclature. 0.55-D, the timeline where that poor bastard came from, she could've seen all its history, all the timelines that Frisk did until he had more than enough, and decided to go genocide...

But what interested her was something entirely different.

"Ah... so it was true... there's something quite strange in here..."

She noted, not giving a damn about the fact that his head was right behind her shoulder, as an inhabitant of the Void, he wasn't shackled to something as worthless and irrelevant as gravity, or the laws of nature. Both of them looked at each other briefly, she had just been looking for something to do, something to watch... and she had found it. Soon enough, she started to realize what he wanted, what he was looking for, and the motive of his unexpected yet welcome visit.

"..."

"Really?~ not even you?... well, understandable. You don't have enough power to force neither Frisk nor Chara to restore your timeline... much less change the past, present or future themselves"

Turning her back on him, she rose her shoulders and her hands, trying to show a lack of interest. Yet Gaster didn't say a thing, he just observed her. The power emanating from her, the numbers, all creation rested on the palm of her hand. That's why he took the chance of abandoning his mother land, and look for that brat's help. But the Risk had been worth it, no matter what happened... because he had no other choice.

Yes, he told the truth. He had no other choice but to look for her... and even if, truly, Frisk gave his soul to Chara and she resetted the timeline, there was no guarantee what he had seen... what he felt, became a reality. No. What he required was a trigger, something that rebuilt not just the entire world, but the universe itself, from its very foundation.

Something that altered the logic of the timeline, far beyond the "Preestablished laws" from all Alternative Universese and Timelines in the Underverse.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!"

It was inevitable for her to start cackling. The bliss she felt, the excitement, oh heavens! Gaster saw his potential partner with attentive eyes, the black sweater she had, her grey shorts, her white hair, it all waved as if a storm was happening around them. Oh, oh, oh~ She hadn't felt this happy in a very long time! when? when? when was the last time she felt so much... adrenaline?

This... tickling...

How could she not be happy? once again, everything had gone well for her. Her body, overflowing with power, reality distorted itself, it broke in two as she let herself go, and then turned around, facing him one last time. Face to face, the dirty cheater, the traitor, the error yet ruler at the same time of all the Multiverse... and then there was him, him, the Royal scientist, father of the Skeleton Brothers, the man who speaks in hands, the Void's prisoner, the one forgotten by everyone, irrelevant, absent yet not fully.

"I accept your proposal, Doctor..."

She replied, snapping her fingers. With it, more screens started to appear. Gaster observed, attentively, how all past events of his home timeline started to vanish, one by one, they had never occurred. In the void, both Frisk and Chara; the humans, Alpha and Omega, vanished as well, as if they had never existed. His eye sockets closed themselves slightly, he wasn't resigned nor sad.

No.

He felt happy.

For the first ever in a very, very long time, Gaster was truly happy. He extended his right hand to her, in return she offered him her left hand, as a sign of acceptance for their new alliance. Both, the girl and the scientist, had a handshake, a tight one, as the entire world started to change, not for them, but for those who lived in Gaster's timeline.

Who could've thought something like this would happen?

"Humans, Monsters..."

She spoke, observing attentively the result of her actions; timeline 0.55-D changed, from its very foundation, the laws of its universe, she broke them herself, she was still breaking them, and reforming them, altering the past, changing the present, and of course, so would change the future. She had to admit it, this experiment seemed very...

Very... interesting...

"Servants!~ Mages! Types! Grands! Beasts!~ What kind of anomaly is this?! its wonderful, truly, truly wonderful!~"

The scream was even louder, ecstatic at the idea. Gaster made no sound at all, at least he couldn't talk, but just because he had no voice, didn't meant she couldn't understand him. He sat right next to her, neither him nor her willing to mess up with the timeline anymore. His dream, his mission, was completed; she had accepted his proposal, just as he had told her, they would watch something very, very interesting.

If only she had a soul... he was sure it would be filled with determination right now.

Now... all she had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

"Let Frisk Dreemurr’s Grand Order... begin~"

Chapter Text

Undertale.

Fate/Grand Order.

"Fate/Scarlet Order"

Chapter 1.

"My name is Frisk Dreemurr"

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[Entry number 18]

Rules have Changed...

I'm unsure if I've made the right choice.

Neither how far this new partnership with my collaborator will go.

Have I made a mistake... ? no.

Even with all her power, and after the catastrophic consequences the X-Event had on the entire multiverse as a whole... from a certain point of view, she is predictable.

As long as she is entertained, I can safely say that neither the integrity of my new world, nor mine are in danger.

But I can't say the same about everything I've seen; now that the "Anomaly" has taken over the fundamental laws of this timeline.

They say that life is all about choices; I remember my father, Semi, used to compare them with "Doors" and "Paths"; every day we close doors, windows, and walk a road, whether we decide to act or not.

So its worth asking...

Will this child make the correct choices to save this new world... ?

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-[Prologue: They lived happily ever after]-

"Hmn... how hot..."

Muttered Ritsuka Fujimaru, taking one hand to his forehead in a poor attempt to clean up the leftover sweat, obviously, in vain. After all, with that horrible and overwhelming heat, it would be impossible for him to get some sort of freshness, peace and quietness to deal with this odyssey. If there was something that the youngest child of the Emiya/Tohsaka Marriage hated with his entire heart, was summer; not because he actually disliked the beach, pools or anything of the sort, he just... it was all about the heat.

That damned, stifling heat.

To his side, his older sister, a beautiful girl with orange/reddish colored hair, similar to his father, waved in one of her hands a red fan, Rurika looked at the water bottle hanging from her School bag, denying with her head, her expression changing into one of defeat, at that very moment, as she realized, not even a single drop of water left. Her and her brother drank it all walking to the school... and they hadn't even arrived yet. The small "Grr" she let out like a dog, made him give her a dicreet look.

Both the Fujimaru twins shared the same feeling, sadly.

"Don't you have any leftover money, Ru-nee? we could buy ourselves an ice cream..."

He asked, shrugging while carrying his own, the daughter of Emiya Shirou caressed her chin, deep in thought for a brief moment, before stopping. Rurika took her hand to her jacket's right pocket, searching for her wallet; trying to avoid her little brother's prying gaze, god damn it, fourteen years old and he still behave like a brat... but she wouldn't complain. Rikka searched desperately for some bills or coins in it...

And Ritsuka looked at her with those shiny, puppy-like eyes all the time, all he needed was to start moaning or move his nose to complete the "stray animal" set. Sadly, the only thing he got would be the saddened look from the golden-eyed girl. It felt like a needle, or a blade, perforated his heart at that very moment.

"Sorry, Ri-nii... I'm broke..."

The volleyball player said to the basketball player, Fujimaru brought his hands to his chest in an exaggerated grimace of feigned pain, as if rather than being a member of the baking club, he belonged to the Theater company. All he needed was make a stupid death sound "UGHHH!" and throw himself to the ground, a drop of sweat descended through the girl's cheek at the view... well, at least he didn't make a fool of himself in the middle of the street, it would've been very embarrassing... for both of them.

DAMN IT

Rikka thought at that very moment, no matter how much she wanted to quench that overwhelming thirst she had, they had no other alternative. Both were dying of heat; it wouldn't be an exaggeration if she said her tongue became a damn desert, quite the contrary; she was being sincere. Her own uniform, her jacket, her shirt, her sweater, it all added up to melt her in unison, how did Mom and Dad managed to survive this season in their youth? for all she knew, and had seen in old photos, Mother used to wear a red jacket above her uniform quite often.

That was a question that even nowadays still tormented Fujimaru, for her and her younger brother literally came out walking out of their home, and ended up reaching Homurahara, not walking; but crawling, turned into two human soups.

That's when she saw it.

"Oh? Ri-nii, look at this!"

Her voice took Ritsuka out of his own head, that and the fact that she ended up dragging him by his ear. "A-Aaaagh!" the blue-eyed young man complained due to the strength of her finngers, he almost fell on his back at that very moment, but he didn't do it by miracle. Now what was on that maniac girl's head?, Ritsuka turned around, taking a hand to the ear she pulled, caressing it in an attempt to ease up the pain; he saw it as well.

Hanging on one of the nearby posts, was something as simple as a pamphlet.

"A blood exam?"

"With free ice cream!"

She shouted, pointing to the small letter in the contract. yes, a simple paper offering a box of juice and ice cream in exchange of a blood sample. Who could say no to that? all they had to do was go to the place, but that was the key detail. Ritsuka looked at the hour on his phone; they had to make a choice. Either arrive early that day, or lose thirty to forty minutes searching for the place, and then run towards Homurahara, praying to all the gods past and present they managed to reach the school in time to avoid getting in trouble.

Rikka on the other hand, already had figured it out her priorities. Her beautiful golden eyes turned around to look at her younger brother, clenching her fists as hard as she could as she looked at him as if she was the younger sibling; as if she had seen a toy she wanted, about to go to grab her Mother, Rin's hand, and beg for her to buy it, playing with it until it broke like everything that went through her devious little hands.

"Ru-nee... I don't think its a good idea... I mean, look at that Emblem. Is that a C surrounded by an Olive Wreath? doesn't that look sketchy?"

He pointed out, his finger and attention solely focused on the strange emblem at the bottom of it all. It was some sort of "C" surrounded by an Olive Wreath, like the one the greeks used. The older one of the couple growled slightly, tilting her body slightly to the left, her arms hanging from her shoulders, oh come on, did he have to be so distrustful and doubt everything? not like something bad would happen to him...

After all, she was there to protect him.

"Come on! I'm burning alive wearing this uniform! You're not hot as well? it'll be just five minutes! look, if we do end up late for class, why don't you let me talk to the teacher instead? I can make an excuse and take the blame, what do you think? Hmmm?~"

She asked, with a knowing grimace, Ritsuka rose an eyebrow, part of his will crumbling at that very moment. His sister was a damn troublemaker, which wasn't the same as a bully or something of the sort; out of the two, Rurika had always been the one with the most "open" personality, way more emotive and expressive; not only she had more energy, she had this charm, easy to talk to, and to talk with, but that didn't make her dumb in the slightest, neither stupid, she was very, very smart. No, no, it wasn't the same. But that was the key; Rurika, generally, took advantage of her sibling's introverted personality to drag him anywhere she wanted.

To make him part of all her crazy schemes... but not this time.

No... fate played a trick on both of them that day.

RIIING~

"Ugh, now what?"

The little girl grumbled, crossing her arms, just as she saw her younger brother about to give in to her request, his cell phone vibrated. Ritsuka asked his sister for a moment, and the stupid face he after focusing his eyes on the screen was all she needed to know what the hell had happened. There was only one girl in all of Homurahara, in all of Fuyuki, and in the whole damn world who could make him act like a complete idiot, as if he had nothing inside of that big head of his; he thought not with his brains, but with his heart.

"Oruta-chan..."

"Of course..."

Ritsuka turned around, walking away from his sibling in order to get a tiny bit of privacy. Rurika's annoyed gaze watched as her younger brother walked some five steps away from her, turnign his back on her and all, what could it be so important? way more important than getting some free juice and ice cream? more important than her, his twin sister, his own blood? simple... his freaking childhood friend and the love of his life. Inside his chest; Ritsuka's heart was pounding with the strength and speed of a machine.

Bump, bump, bump it sounded, and the rest of the world stopped existing for him entirely. By his body language, in Rikka's eyes, something very good must've happened to Ritsu. Seriously? would she invite him to hang out again or something? each time Oruta was free, she told him, and nor her, nor auntie Sakura, not even their parents, saw Fujimaru again until seven o'clock, where he ended up arriving with the face of a complete imbecile, smiling like a brain-dead idiot, and wakling as if he was drunk.

If being in love to the core would be considered to be drunk, then yes. Ritsuka Fujimaru Emiya Tohsaka, would be an alcoholic; a LOVE alcoholic, completely fixated and drowned in romance and joy, because of Oruta Shiakaze.

That... was a divergent point in time.

Something that shouldn't happen, yet it did so anyway. Something as simple as one call broke hundreds of thousands of paths that would never be rebuilt again, but not because of destiny itself... rather, because of an omnipotent and omnipresent white-haired girl who did something so simple, so small, so... so harmless, like making sure that earlier in the morning...

"Ru-nee, good news!"

Ritsuka shouted with all his might after ending the call. Rurika rose one of her eyebrows, noticing how the aura surrounding her younger brother had changed entirely. Not only his eyes were shinning with excitement, his cheeks were reddened as well. The fourteen years old squeezed his phone, before shoving it inside his pocket, pointing towards the Academy, they could see the building already, even if it was still a little far away, it wouldn't take them more than fifteen minutes, way less time than going to that clinic and donate some blood like she wanted.

Not only would they arrive at school early, but also...

"Enlighten me Clyde, what did Bonnie say to you that made you so ecstatic?"

"Oruta-chan packed up some extra water bottles! She said it was so hot earlier in the morning, and her mother gave her her allowance yesterday! She said we could eat an ice cream, all of us! together! her treat!"

A civilian packed up extra water bottles, and didn't forget bringing her wallet as she should have...

Rurika Fujimaru's eyes lighted up at that moment. Eh? Oruta would go as far as to buy ice cream for them both? damn, alright; maybe four. Knowing Matthew, she would get jealous and would want to be her who invited Ritsuka and Rurika something fresh, yes; go running towards the school to ease up that horrible heat would be a thousand times better than just staying here, or search up that place in god-knows-where, to donate a blood sample, in exchange of just some ice cream and a juice box.

Yes, yes yes yes, she already made her choice.

"Alright, you convinced me! Come on, let's go!"

The girl screamed, and thus go they did. The Fujimaru twins, born from who a long time ago was Archer: EMIYA Shirou's Master, and the boy who commanded Saber: Artoria Pendragon, broke with their own hands the paths they should've walked by. Just to make sure, as an extra precaution, the white-haired girl snapped her fingers, disintegrating the pamphlet that in so many timelines, had started an unforgettable adventure. Ceroes and Ones devoured the small paper sheet, erasing it from existence, right in front of so many people, men and women who went to work, children who went to school...

Not a single soul questioned it; no one saw that paper sheet vanish... because there had never been one in the first place, not anymore.

Just like that... a small and insignificant choice as simple as satiating the thirst of two teenagers, on a morning of June 2015, completely changed their fate, and the fate of every single person they could've met.

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-[Fragment 1: For the future]-

June 28

Riiiiing~

After hearing the sound of the clock ringing in his ears, Frisk opened up his eyes, closing his eyelids soon after. The boy, at the end of his fourteens, close to reaching fifteen years old, he stood up and stretched his arms, the sun's rays filtering through the curtains, what time would it be? Hmmm... Just as he had guessed, it was seven AM. The now not-so-little ambassador of monsterkind got out of his bed, walking to his closet; filled to the brim with light-blue and purple clothes, as one would assume.

They were his favorite colors after all; one of his signature characteristics.

"Good morning, you little brat"

"Ah..."

Turning around after extending his hand to reach out for a hanger where a purple shirt with blue strips rested, the brunette's eyes clashed with a golden flower looking at him with his classic mean looking face. Flowey the Flower... Asriel Dreemurr had woken up, just like him, the eyes and mouth of the flower had a completely different expression when compared to his happiness, even if he was "Doing his best" to try and recuperate his emotions, at the very least an echo of them; he knew it was useless.

He had no soul after all, but he had lost the war. The only motive as to why he decided to accompany Frisk, was precisely because it was Chara's wish, what she would've wanted. And talking about the Princess of Monsterkind... Flowey frowned slightly, looking at Asgore and Toriel's third child prepare his outfit perfectly, before picking up a shower and some sandals, first thing he would do was taking a shower, then go downstairs and eat something; in fact, Frisk could already hear the steaming kettle in the kitchen.

His small vacations began no more than 3 days ago, even if it was June, it was more than enough for him. A small break not just from school, but from his politic life, which, mind you, was a complete hell of course.

"Let me speak with her. I doubt she'd like to watch you take a shower... isn't that right?"

"Ehehehe~"

Frisk laughed slightly as he nodded; his hand going to his chest, pressing it slightly; a red heart, his soul, came out with a loud "Bing"; not long after, from it, the specter of a beautiful girl with no more than fifteen years, short brown hair, a green sweater with one yellow strip, and brown pants made herself known. Chara Dreemurr, eternally bound to the soul of her partner, crossed her arms. Frisk greeted her with another nod, before vanishing through the door, closing it to leave the brothers alone.

From among all his friends from the Underground, the only one who could see the first fallen, was her brother. It had been... awkward at first, but Frisky truly had a golden soul, after all, he allowed the princess to take over his body at the end of the "True Pacifist Route", after Asriel destroyed the barrier, knowing full well both of them had so much to speak of, and a lot to let out. They both cried their heart out, shouted, screamed, argued, for a long time... after all, both had died because of her.

Asriel openly had told her she would've preferred a friend like Frisk... and even then, not even a single time did Chara felt hate towards the goat boy she had condemned herself. Her, now a specter without a body, him; a soulless flower unable to feel emotions entirely. The result of her actions would haunt them for the rest of eternity, no doubt about that.

But at least... they had something decent to call "future", all thanks to the Eight Fallen.

[Azzy]

"Chara."

The golden flower greeted back, observing the brown-haired, red-eyed girl, who's hands were under her armpits, before his gaze lost itself looking at the rooftop; the first fallen of Mount Ebott floated around her partner's room, followed closely by the flower's gaze, and to think it had been around... five years since the barrier shattered. Frisk now was fourteen, this year not only he would be fifteen, but also the sixth anniversary since they all got their happy ending. Even with all that, the Master of the Timeline, the "World Master", just as he promised her...

Just as he promised them BOTH, and Sans of course... he hadn't touch the Reset Button not a single time. Only doing the occasional saving just in case, but so far, the integration of both races had gone smoothly, kind of. That was something she still couldn't quite believe. After the small fiasco that was their attempt at massacring her village the day Asriel absorbed her soul almost one-hundred years ago, she thought they'd never be forgiven, but her life passed by without pain nor glory, just as her sibling. And it frustrated her, with all her heart.

Flowey, of course, extended himself from his pot, growing closer to his sister's semi-transparent face.

"You look angry, Chara. What's bothering you?"

He asked in a poor attempt to sound worried about her wellbeing, both knew he was lying, but decided to ignore it. The adopted child of the Dreemurr marriage denied with her head, her beautiful, shiny red eyes fixated themselves on the photos hanging from the walls; in them, multiple moments that Frisk had lived with the others the last five years. A photo of everyone together on the beach, with Undyne hitting a Volleyball to Papyrus who had his bulging eyes expression; she hit him right in the skull.

Her Mother, her Father, and Frisk between both of them, holding Flowey's pot; the day the little brown-haired boy, back then just a ten years old, had been officially named as Monsterkind's representative in politic. Then there was that one time where he was playing a guitar, standing above the car of the younger Skeleton Brother; Papyrus and Undyne had painted their faces as if they were Rockstars, meanwhile Mettaton was holding a microphone, part of his head monopolized the camera that day.

Yes, she was angry... but it was due to other motives that, she wasn't that sure if Asriel would be able to understand.

[You wouldn't get it, Asriel. I'm angry... but it's not because Frisk and everyone is happy... ]

She growled, her gaze now focusing on the oldest picture of them all. Both her mother and father still had that old photo they took the day they adopted her; both of them were still children, she was afraid and shy; hiding her face behind that flower bouquet as if they were a shiled instead, they had just started to open up her heart to the Dreemurr Family, meanwhile, Asriel was smiling with his entire heart, happy about having a new best friend; a sister, and someone who would accompany him. Being the son of the King and Queen had given him a solitary life.

That, until she came to brighten the life of not just him; but his parents as well, and in reply, all three of them made Chara feel loved and wanted for the first time ever.

Flowey looked in the same direction, observing that remnant of a time long gone, before his eyebrows rose with sadness, just like her. She didn't need to finish that phrase, because he, despite her not knowing, DID in fact understand her. Its not that they were angry about Frisk doing the right thing, and bringing in a better future for them all, where peace was a reality; where magic and traits were being re-discovered around the entire globe, but... rather...

They were angry about the fact that neither of them could enjoy this eternally happy ending properly.

"There's nothing we can do about it. I know it... and you do so as well"

And that's why she felt guilty. They had died because of her. Her father murdered six innocent children because of her; her family broke in two because of her. The only thing she managed was to destroy the hopes and dreams from everyone beyond repair, and just now, after one-hundred years of suffering, fake promises and of course, innocent blood, things were starting to improve. But there was so much more to do, they passed on the torch to Frisk, and there was nothing they could do to change the past.

At the very least they were together again... despite them being mere echoes, shadows, of what they had been in life.

[That doesn't make it any easier, Asriel... ]

"I know"

He replied, going back to the pot; the door opened up, Frisk came in dressed, his hair still wet. He took his clothes with him into the bathroom so he could dress up right after taking a shower, that smile he had on his face after seeing the duo looking back at him made them both feel a pang of pain, Flowey sighed as he felt the boy's fingers grabbing him, he closed the door just after Chara got out of it, a beautiful gesture, she had to admit, despite the fact that she could now go through walls, Frisk always let her get through the door as if she still had a physical body.

He was too kind for his own good, that was something she would keep repeating him.

The third Dreemurr took the stairs down, the first thing he saw being his Mother's back. Toriel, once the monarch of monsterkind, now nothing but a humble teacher, cooked some pancakes for both her and her only child while humming a sweet melody, the delicious smell by this point already having filled the entire house, after sensing him coming down the stairs so loudly, she couldn't help but smile as her face turned to look at him, the boy's cheeks reddened in joy, his stomach growled as well after seeing the small mountain, crowned by a piece of butter.

"Mom..."

"Good morning, my child."

The greeted each other mutually, Flowey let out a small "HMPH" at the interaction Chara on her end bowed her head slightly to her mother, of course, to Toriel, she was still dead, but despite being a little more than nothing, her royal manners alongside her "good daughter" attitude would always remain as long as she was still herself. Flowey's vines extended themselves from his pot, using them as "arms"; he opened up the cupboards, searching for some cereal and some milk, despite not having a stomach or anything of the sort...

But he had been trying to recuperate his liking for food for at least two years now, so far? not so much luck, but at the very least he had made it an habit. Frisk let his pot in one of the chairs, so he could get closer to his mother and hug her affectively, such showcase of love between a mother and her child triggered mixed expressions in the Dreemurr brothers; Chara averted her eyes from the scene, deciding to "sit", floating on the chair next to Flowey, meanwhile he simply took his tongue out; one of his vines surrounding and squeezing the cereal box, emptying a small portion in a bowl, the other vine, adding up some milk.

After the small hug, Toriel and Frisk each started to help with the table; he brought two vases and a jar with orange juice, meanwhile the goat lady on her end, left her and her son's plate with the mountains of pancakes for both her and Frisk, alongside some honey, the butter melted, extending across the food, giving them an even tastier look than the one they already had. His soul beat with Determination after witnessing the exquisite breakfast; he sank his knife in it, then the fork, preparing himself to eat.

That's when Chara, who had her eyes closed until that moment, opened them.

Ding... dong~

She had a sixt sense for this kind of stuff, and she had been right. Flowey didn't rose his gaze, more interested in enjoying the mixture of cereal and milk he was eating, unlike Frisk and his mother, who interrupted themselves to look at the door, this early in the morning? who could it be? she had taken care of the trash right after waking up, and they had no guests... as far as she knew, that is.

"MAIL!"

Oh, so that's what it was.

The Queen of monsterkind rose from her seat instantly, not before going to the rack and picking up a jacket, maybe it would be just a brief moment, but the cold was almost unbearable this time of the year, all of New Ebott was hit by a heatwave, the Monsters that a long time ago lived in Hotland were the ones who enjoyed themselves the most, meanwhile the former inhabitants of Snowdin even if their lives weren't in any danger, they were obviously struggling, trying to find solace in any shadow and cold place they could find.

When she opened up the door, as one would expect, she found the pink whale in charge of flying and delivering mail across all the town; Wally, despite technology existing and the "Undernet" monsterkind invented becoming quite popular, there were still a lot of people that preferred traditional mail, Toriel being among said people, after all, she had been alive ever since before the war between Humans and Monsters, she was thousands of years old just like her exhusband, Asgore Dreemurr. Technology, for her, was too complicated.

"Good morning your majesty! There's a bunch of letters for you"

Greeted the small creature, his wings moving slightly, the red-eyed monarch tilted her head. Letters? would it be related to her school? or the embassy? whatever the answer was, Toriel had a bad feeling. Flowey stopped eating after seeing the ghost with rosy-cheeks squinting her eyes, completely focused on her mother's back who, educated as she was, thanked the small monster before it flew away, he still had a lot of mail to deliver for both humans and monsters across the entire town.

Toriel was holding quite a bunch of letters, Frisk, who continued eating, rose an eyebrow intrigued as Flowey shoved the spoon inside his mouth. The "homely" vibe vanished instantly, because... somehow, that morning, The princess, the former queen, the ambassador and the flower felt inside their gut that something wasn't right.

One by one, Toriel started to look at the letters, electricity bill, water bill... some ads... and then, eventually, she found the "Holy grail" of sorts.

"Hm? My Child... this letter's for you"

She spoke, quite shocked, because it didn't look like anything one would expect; normally, Frisk received love letters from some admirers, or his fans, both humans and monsters appreciated him for what he represented and what he had done, something he grew accustomed to as time went on, fame went hand in hand with being a hero who saved an entire civilization, and the ultimate proof that pacific coexistence between both races could happen... However...

This wasn't any letter from a girl in love, from an admirer, nor anything related to the school or New Ebott's committee.

Toriel walked to the table, handling over the letter to her young child before sitting once again, trying to eat while she kept looking at the bills, but still paying attention to whatever her son was doing. Frisk opened up his eyelids a little bit, showing his beautiful golden-colored irises, his gaze, distant but by no means less warmth nor caring, this time, was filled with curiosity.

"Chaldea?... What's this about... ?"

He muttered, Chara floated from her chair, her and Flowey both dragged in by the sheer weirdness of it all, ending right behind the ambassador. It was a letter, quite the elegant document, written in print, probably with a typewriter or something like that? Frisk's eyes, Chara's and Flowey's started to read the lines one by one as quickly as they could, each of them changing their expression into something different; Chara's face was filled with hostility, Flowey was confused and annoyed, and lastly, Frisk just closed out his eyes in stoicism.

.

.

Esteemed Frisk Dreemurr, Ambassador of Monsterkind from New Ebott:

In view of your achievements, as well as your position as a cornerstone in the current relationship between monsterkind and humankind, you have been given special consideration in the examination you have recently taken.

After a series of deliberations in view of your extensive and distinguished record, the staff of Finis Chaldea and myself have considered giving you a position as the forty-eighth Master chosen for the next phase of testing that our organization will carry out.

I strongly ask that you see this as an opportunity, not only for yourself, but for us as well. Among our short-term objectives, we seek not only to have a close relationship with you, but also to ensure a prosperous future for the Earth. Therefore, we ask that you please strongly consider our proposal and, if you accept it, contact us as soon as possible.

All expenses (including housing, transportation and food) will not be a problem for any of your family members, as you will be provided with everything you need during the period of your stay at our facilities.

We reiterate our desire for you to be part of our team, so we will be eagerly awaiting your cooperation. If you accept, you only have to come to the address attached in the other document that is included in this letter. Otherwise, ignore what has been explained.

Without anything else to add, I wish the best for you and your loved ones.

Second Director of Finis Chaldea, Olga Marie Asmleit Animusphere

.

.

Toriel observed attentively the notarial letter her child just gave her, rereading the lines over and over again. All her motherly instincts triggered at the same time, alongside her royal instincts and politician instincts from her era, what did she just received? what the hell did she just read... ? Finis Chaldea? Olga Marie... Animusphere?

A drop of sweat descended from her body, losing itself in the fur of the former ruler of monsterkind; completely ignoring that just like her, her daughter caressed her chin with a serious face, Flowey at the same time, while finishing his cereal, just like her... had an even more annoyed face than before. As the former owner of the power to control the fate of this world, he had experienced all kind of situations.

Damn it; he had fought Sans on multiple occasions, stupid smiley trash bag, even nowadays he started at him with a heavy aura, probably, deep inside of him, he still had a sense of Deja vu, so subconsciously he felt that Flowey's presence couldn't mean nothing good. Sans was too smart for his own good, but that wasn't important right now... the main topic right here, right now, was Frisk.

The little ambassador, on his end, observed the other document that came inside the envelop, it was just a simple address... but the problem was that, him at least, couldn't remember the place, which was weird, because he knew his own town. The letter spoke about housing, transport and food... that could only mean that, wherever he had to go, would be far away.

Far, very far away.

"Mom?"

The brunette called out, but Toriel didn't answer him. The Queen had turned her back on the boy, deciding to walk towards the small table where the phone was. As fast as she could, she started dialing a number, but not the one that came with the invitation to participate in Chaldea's experiment, no, of course not. Right now, faced with such a serious matter, what she needed was the presence and views of her colleagues, after all, anything concerning Frisk's future...

Especially in the political or professional sphere... it concerned all of them.

"H-hello?"

Alphys' voice sounded from the other side, trembling as always. The second Royal Scientist adjusted her glasses, in her own home, her girlfriend, Undyne, looked at her from the table, drinking some hot tea, both of them completely ignorant of the serious situation worrying their former queen, and her son. Toriel sighed, it was prudent for her to contact Alphys first, and then would contact the others, while the Goat lady spoke to her former Husband. The dark red eyes of the former guardian of monsterkind were filled with worry and anxiety.

"Alphys, dear... I need you to contact Sans, Papyrus and Mettaton. I'll talk with Asgore. We have... something to talk about"

The teacher replied to the question, instantly the yellow reptile changed her attitude to one of nervousness, how? how, how, how? usually whenever they gathered they received some heavy, important news related to some reunion or choice the council took about Monster Rights, and all that, but nowadays, Frisk should technically be free; it was holiday season. The red-haired captain already knew that look her girlfriend had, understanding that, whatever she was hearing, wasn't anything good.

"Un-Understood, M-my Queen... we'll gather at your home."

Said and done, the two hung up almost at the same time, neither of the two deceased children of the Dreemurr marriage paid attention to Frisk, nor to their mother. Because both the ghost and the flower had their heads occupied with the same matter, wondering exactly the same thing that had disturbed their Mother so much. Finis Chaldea? Olga Marie Animusphere... ? How far would that place have to be to require lodging and food? That only meant that it would be a relatively long time.

The idea, for some reason, inspired enormous discomfort in the rosy-cheeked young woman, who occasionally exchanged discreet glances with the flower that her brother and best friend had become.

[God damn it, Partner... what the hell did you got into?]

.

.

When Asgore Dreemurr, the King of Monsterkind ever since the Great war one thousand tree-hundred years ago, received a call from his ex-wife, his soul jumped in excitement inside his chest at the idea of strengthening and tightening their bond even more. It was obvious, but after so many years, he still couldn't forget nor be able to completely discard his feelings for his former lover. Maybe he was being a little selfish because he thought that he still had any chance of being with her? she was still angry at him, furious because of his actions back then.

But all he did, he did so for his people... and to cope with the death of his two children. He still had nightmares with Asriel's bloodied body from time to time; bathed in Chara's blood, arrows, landing on his knees in their garden before turning into dust, unable to say "Mom" and "Dad" properly, tortured by overwhelming pain, before vanishing completely. One hundred and three years... Asriel and Chara had died one hundred and three years ago, and it still hurt as much as it did the first day.

He wanted to be there for her; learn to be better. Not just be a better husband... but also a better father, because he truly saw in that small boy; in Frisk, the same star of hope that his daughter was at one point. These six years had proved him right, he truly was a pure soul with no equal, he had been helping him in all he could in politics, not because of interest... but because it was the right thing to do.

They were still his subjects; and now they had to colaborate together, for the sake of peace, because that's what Chara and Asriel would've wanted, no doubt.

That's why... when Toriel called him telling him a letter from an organization from god-knows-where arrived to her home, wanting to recruit their son, he had a chill running down his spine. There he was, sat; Toriel to his left, Frisk to his right: on the table's left side were the Skeleton Brothers, on the right side, Alphys, Undyne, Mettaton and his cousin Napstablook, the ghost had come because the black-haired robot invited him.

The situation was so serious that not even Sans had said one of his jokes, now when they needed him the most to ease up the overall mood.

"... Animusphere... That surname... "

Spoke the goat man, frowning gently in annoyance but not because of anger; rather, because he could've sworn he had heard that name a long time ago. But they had been trapped in the Underground for so long, so, so very long. Mettaton, who had been searching in his database for around three minutes, plus having connected himself to the internet, denied with his head, before Asgore even had the chance to ask him about it.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty. I haven't found anything searching up "Finis Chaldea" nor "Olga Marie Animusphere" nowhere around the Net."

"Its normal you didn't, dear"

Toriel replied, her hand going to the inside of her jacket, becoming the center of attention. In her hand, one of the multiple books about History that used to be in that section, at the Underground's library. She had already put a small ruler in one of the pages, it was then that Asgore's brain clicked, after his ex-wife opened up the book in one of the multiple sections dedicated to the magic families that, during the war, were fighting against them in favor of Humanity, as one would expect.

The drawing, presumably, was from one of the ancestors of that family from back then.

"The mages of the modern day don't like being remembered, nor known. They prefer anonymity. The Animusphere Family from our time was headed by this man: Aetherius Animusphere. His main interest was the study of astronomy and celestial bodies, that's why his magic was so... peculiar, him and his children were able to mix up the mage of their trait; Perseverance, with their natural talent for Astromancy and predicted the future... although their prophecies weren't one-hundred percent exact"

The Queen explained, well, that solved part of the mystery. Chara, who was floating in the middle of the room, was completely focused on reading about the passages former historians of her people had written regarding the achievements Aetherius and his two children got in their efforts to annihilate monsterkind, losing any semblance of a good mood she had. The war and History weren't her favorite topics whenever she was learning during her first life.

Humanity would be better going extinct.

Sans, now, was the one who added a small grain of sand, no pun intended, winking his right eye socket, keeping his classic smile.

"Well, now we know that a family from mages with over a thousand years of history wants the kid. The real question is... for what?"

"Why couldn't it be a simple Astronomy project, Sans?"

Papyrus spoke, innocent and naive as always. For the love of god, of course not, they were speaking about mages god damn it. Mages smart enough as to not leave any trace of their existence, at least not in normal history books that spoke about the Great War, god knows how did Aetherius and his two children to convince the seven leaders from back then to not mention them, it was weird... but many of the magic families Toriel and Asgore remembered from their youth, before being imprisoned inside Mount Ebott...

Had vanished. One of the two; either they hid themselves, or went extinct. Despite basic magic and the way to use Integrity, Kindness, Perseverance, Patience, Bravery and Justice was common knowledge, all the knowledge that went "even further beyond" had been hid from a vast majority of the population. Undyne denied with her head, her face mixing up fury, rage and frustration.

They had more than enough dealing with those beasts sitting at the highest of the politic sphere in the city, seeing them as less than nothing, and now they wanted to take the kid away from them?

"That's freaking stupid Papyrus! THINK! What else would they want Frisk for if not to corner us?! without him here to speak for us, Asgore has no hope of drawing any sympathy from those snakes!"

"I-I-I d-don't think they could be... cruel enough as to try and make Frisk disappear, U-Undyne..."

Alphys said, attempting to try and ease up her girlfriend's rage, and also try to make her see reason. Well, she had a point; if this was some sort of trap, and Frisk "vanished" from the face of the earth, things would indeed go to hell... for both species, mind you. After all, these last six years, he had been a victim of many kidnaps and/or assassination attempts, from which, miraculously, he always came out unscathed... that's what they believed at least.

Actually, all he did was go back in time using his ability to control the timeline, and save not just his own life, but avoid as many casualties as he could. Determination was quite the strong trait, and very usefil when it came to avoid a damn bomb exploding into your face, killing you and everyone you loved..

"Ohh... w-well... the queen says that... it was a real family... wouldn't that be another reason to trust them?"

Napstablook interjected, slightly in favor of the Letter, in an attempt to ease up the heavy mood with his own opinion. If these "Animusphere" really had been a Family of Magicians back during the Human/Monster War, and now this woman named Olga Marie had contacted them, specifically Frisk, maybe, just maybe, it was because she was being honest.

Asgore asked his ex-wife for the letter, reading it once again, in silence. What intrigued him the most out of all of this, was this so called "exam", but what kind of exam exactly? the King with golden hair looked down; Frisk clearly nervous, his eyes slightly opened, obviously the overall situation making him feel uncomfortable.

"Young one... It says you did an exam. Do you remember having gone through anything recently?"

His voice tone was affectionate and understanding, because he tried to make Frisk feel less guilty and to ease him up, but seeing himself being stared at by everyone in the room, made him tremble. Yes, he might've be fourteen years old so far, and be part of hundreds of events where he had been observed by thousands of people across the entire globe, but not even his Determination could help him get out of this mess. Because it was the first time where "External forces" outside of New Ebott were searching for him, usually, all he had to deal with were... politicians. Human politicians that, sometimes, wanted to take advantage of his age and saw him as a fool.

All so they could take away a little bit of the monster's rights and limit their freedom.

Other times, he had to deal with the stupid yellow press dirtying his or his friends images, making scandals out of small things... but... Mages? get out of town, alone? that was new for him, because generally, Toriel and Asgore came with him, after all, they were still the King and Queen of Monsterkind.

He couldn't think clearly... maybe not him, but Chara could.

[Partner. Didn't you take a Blood Exam three weeks ago?... I recall they were offering some hot chocolate, and cookies to fight off the cold]

Flowey rose an eyebrow form his pot after hearing his sister speak, before turning his gaze towards the little brat. Frisk seemed to "enlighten" himself in realization; she had refreshed his memory. Asgore worried, misinterpreting his expression, mistaking it with fear or something of the sort, he would talk, trying to calm him down, but he was unable to.

Because he got the answer he was looking for.

"Well... around three weeks ago... I recall I had read a pamphlet on the street; they were offering hot chocolate and cookies to anyone who came take a blood exam, do you remember now, Mom? that day I arrived a little late... it was because of that."

He explained, and Toriel's memory clicked as well; she had sent Frisk buy bread that morning, it was meant to be a simple task, a simple trip, but seemingly, it wasn't. And, even now in this situation, she still couldn't believe something as simple as a blood exam would end up causing this whole mess. The only thing Frisk thought of was spoiling Chara a little bit that afternoon, and warm up his own stomach so he could fight off that damn cold.

And now here they were... stuck not in a small problem; but a massive-sized mess.

And, based on that, a new discussion began, with him being the main topic again, but fueling a new problem: he did not measure the danger, sometimes being too innocent even though he wasn't a child anymore.

Asgore argued with Toriel, one of the few times they did so ("You sent him alone? Are you crazy?" "He went to the damn Bakery two streets from here, don't talk me about craziness"). Alphys tried to calm Undyne down, who was already preparing herself to go fetch those people looking for answers ("U-Undyne, please, w-we d-don't even know if they're still there!" "NGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!").

At least only those two pairs were arguing, the rest was simply trying to joke around ("SANS! do you think they would sent a letter to me as well if I donate some blood?" "We have no blood, Pap" "ah, my bad, Nyeh). And he greatly appreciated it.

Things got to a point where he couldn't stand the bad face Chara was giving him anymore.

What are you looking at?

[I told you the place was weird]

And you wanted the damn chocolate. No matter you look at it, you're the one at fault here.

The former user of Determination snorted as she crossed her arms, a small "Whatever" coming out of her lips as she tried to ignore the fact that, indeed, this was her fault. Yes, in situations like that, the best way to reply to Chara would be with a small touch of meanness. It only worked with him, of course, because she wasn't accustomed to him rising his voice, so each time it happened, it threw her off balance.

With one less problem to worry about, he simply took his hand to his temples. It was the first time he went blindly. To treat with people, Mother was helpful because of her kindness. To treat with politicians, Asgore helped with the over one-thousand years of experience he had, no matter the era; they were still the same scum they'd always been. To treat with scientists? Sans and Alphys were always by his side.

He hadn't faced the unknown ever since he fell into the Underground and, even then, he trusted Monsterkind because they weren't as bad as the stories used to tell. Now, Frisk had a feeling of uncertainty in his stomach, extending itself through his entire body, and throat.

Whatever it was, now he had to face it off alone. Face it; be a "man", make a choice, here and now.

But how can you make a choice when facing the unknown?

He thought with some apprehension, scratching his neck. His sweater began to itch, damn it, he would accept help from anyone right now...

...

There was a saying out there. "Be careful who you ask for help." You never know who might answer your call. Sometimes it might be an "angel," other times a "tender red-eyed devil," or an "innocent flower." But almost everytime, everytime, the one who answered your call was...

KNOCK KNOCK

The Devil.

They all shut their mouths at that moment, turning their heads robotically to the door, no more than fifteen steps away from the table.

Knock Knock

It sounded again. The monsters looked at each other, exchanging glances, who was missing? was it another guess? They were full... right? Asgore looked at Toriel and she looked back at her ex-husband.

"You called someone?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing"

Knock Knock

The boy with closed eyelids moved himself in his chair, uncomfortable. Flowey extended his stem, rising himself above the human's head, looking at the door.

Chara floated, trying to get closer to it, all she had to do was go through it and see what was behind it. She kept going for a good couple of meters, but stopping abruptly.

The ghost girl frowned, trying to advance, but finding herself unable to.

[I can't move myself]

Knock Knock

The younger skeleton looked at his older brother. Sans' smile reduced its size. A small drop of sweat fell through Papyrus' "forehead".

"Um, Sans. You're not hitting the table, right...?"

"Nope, not me..."

Knock Knock

"... Can someone open the door already? Its getting on my nerves..."

Toriel laughed nervously at Mettaton's comment, letting out a small "I'm sorry" after shouting "Coming!" while she stood up, trying to answer the call and open up the door. While her mother was doing that, Chara floated back to Frisk, her scarlet-colored gaze completely focused on the door.

Strange... really strange.

"Hmngh... alright!"

The one who was once the prince of monsters grumbled, seeing how his mother was walking too slowly, her legs trembled a little bit, Flowey turned his head around, after seeing Chara freezing herself, that reaction mixed up with everyone's faces AND how slowly his mother was walking, told him and Frisk all they needed to know.

But as one would expect... not even Frisk himself believed Chara would be able to help them in such situation.

"If you want something done right, just do it yourself!"

The golden flower shouted, no matter how much of a bad feeling this gave him, it didn't matter. Whatever it was, Frisk had already died and returned from all kind of situations by this point. Making a Save Point at least once an hour became an habit to him, one Flowey was truly proud of, it had proven quite useful in avoiding dying horribly over the last six years.

A vine extended itself from his pot, grabbing the door handle before Toriel finally reached it, twisting it almost instantly, not caring at all about the shocked or worried expressions his parents and everyone else had. Some tears escaped from Napstablook’s eyes due to nervousness, that fearful "Ohhh..." he let out gave the overall situation a more eerie vibe.

Cliiink~

Chara Dreemurr's kept her expression being the first one in crossing eyes with the man who had interrupted her family's reunion so abruptly. Was he able to see her... ? no, he couldn't have. But, somehow... someway...

The aura he had... something in him repelled her, taking no more than two steps, his expression of tranquility and frankness changed slightly, as the ruby-eyed girl backed away, returning to Frisk’s side a second time.

"... Can I come in?"

There was something in his voice, behind that sweet, almost seductive tone, that made them react instantly.

"O-Of course... c-come in..."

Said the queen of monsterkind, grabbing the handle just as Flowey's vine let it go, looking at him. The Flower snorted slightly, turning around to avoid his mother's gaze, if he had arms... more than likely, he would've crossed them in defiance.

.

.

-[Fragment 2: The world, and its mysteries]-

The man got inside the house, his neat, slicked-back crimson hair had a few small sweat drops trapped in it from waiting in such a sunny afternoon.. his eyes were behind a pair of black glasses, but even so, the depth of those purple-colored eyes was more than obvious.

[A Perseverance mage...?]

Muttered the former princess, floating carefully next to Frisk, almost hiding behind him. He looked at her with slight annoyance, really? using him as a shield? its not like he could touch her...

Even if the smile from that mysterious man made her think otherwise.

Can he see you?

[I'm unsure... and that disturbs me]

Oblivious to the interaction between the two fallen, the mysterious man opened up his jacket, taking it off carefully before placing it in one of his arms. The black of his suit accentuated his snowy, almost sickening skin, and it gave him more notoriety among the present figures.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dreemurr, monsters of New Ebott, Mister Ambassador; its a pleasure to meet you. My name is Sarff Hynafol, agent of the Clock Tower, stationed in this city and I have come here to answer all your questions."

He introduced himself, adding a small head bow at the end, everyone had the same expression on their faces: confusion. I'm sorry? Alphys adjusted her glasses slightly, Undyne crossed her arms, in an attempt to contain her anger, a very poor attempt mind you. Papyrus looked at his older brother searching for answers, but Sans, who had lost his pupils, denied moving his head from side to side. Toriel and Asgore looked at each other for a brief moment, despite being divorced ever since the death of their children, they had been a couple for a vast majority of their lives...

So they still had the ability to communicate with their eyes, and knew instantly, that neither of the them had any idea of what the hell that man was talking about. Something he seemed to notice, because his lips curved into a slight smile, one that only Flowey, Sans and Chara seemed to notice. He was pleased with their ignorance.

THAT was good. Very... very good.

"Clock... tower?"

"I don't blame you for your confusion, Your Majesty. After all, after your people were caged inside the mountain, society changed a lot around the entire globe... especially in England"

Said Sarff, who's free hand extended itself towards the only available chair, pulling it outwards so he could sit, letting out a small "Excuse me", discreetly, Sans tried to read that man's face, attempting to decipher his character and what kind of person he was, as he used to do... but there it was, the key detail that he disliked and inspired so much distrust from the comedian...

He couldn't. It was as if this guy... wasn't human; as if he had lost the ability to feel or express emotions entirely. Bare minimum of what any mage that respected himself should dominate, after all. Sarff closed his eyelids for a brief moment, meditating about what should he say, and the topics he would like to discuss. He had been waiting for this moment ever since his superiors assigned him to keep an eye on this child and his family six years ago, this day was inevitable.

"First and foremost... I'll start from the beginning. As I presume it must be part of your history, back then, it took approximately three months to gather all the monsters from planet Earth and transport them to the Ebott Kingdom after we won the war, right?"

It was a rethorical question. By then they had suffered astronomical losses. Yes, two races ruled over earth... ALL earth. After all, the monsters that ended up living in Hotland, a long time ago, used to live in what they called Hawaii, because of its warm weather, alongside deserts. Yes, humanity had unified and put aside their differences... the fact that they had accomplished that in an era prior to technology, united solely because of their hate towards monsterkind and their ability to absorb humans souls to reach divinity...

Was a miracle on its own.

"Well, after the monsters were sealed, a small... part of history was removed from our books. The seven mages had a meeting with the most influential families from all continents from that time. A meeting of considerable proportions; and a consensus was reached: although it was impossible to make magic disappear from the public eye, since the mere fact of being human makes you born with the potential to be a magician... the knowledge of the common civilian could be limited."

"Why?"

Toriel questioned, truly interested in the small tale. The red-haired man, while not openly showing it, was happy. He was waiting for that question, after all, in the old era, there were no secrets for neither of the two races. Precisely because there was no limits on the knowledge humans and monsters were reaching in the magic world as a unified society back then... was why everything went to hell.

"Simple, your majesty. A vast majority of humanity is... lets say... mentally inefficient. After all, we'll never be able to forget the fact that, yes history it is written by winners, but its a well-known fact that even your species doesn't see with good eyes the ability to reach divinity. If it hadn't been for the insatiable curiosity of learning and breaking the limits of the common folk back then, we would've never discovered you were able to absorb souls and reach heaven... then, seven mages after creating the barrier asked themselves a very simple question..."

“How long will it take before another catastrophe occurs?”

He let out, and from a certain point of view, it made sense.

"..."

Sarff basked himself in their silence, before crossing his arms on his lap, his purple eyes shining slightly, scanning everyone, one by one, until his gaze landed on Frisk, who moved in his chair, uncomfortable due to the intensity.

"Tell me, little ambassador. Do you know how many times the Earth was on the brink of destruction?"

"Uh... No... I don't know"

"Calm down, I won't scold you for not knowing the answer. In fact, not even we know how many times the earth has been on the verge of being an inhospitable place... and do please consider; we almost caused it ourselves once or twice... "

The purple-eyed mage moved his hand in the air, as if diminishing the importance of his words, and their fears. It did nothing to calm down those who possessed a bigger knowledge than the rest.

The "boss monsters" adverted their gazes, acknowledging the man's words as truth. When they got out, they had a long and intense "study session" to know what the hell had happened over thirteen hundred years they were out.

The answer wasn't the best: wars, too many. However, they were surprised to learn that the damn electricity was functional for humans less than one hundred and fifty years ago.

From there, things went upwards. Maybe too much. Humans went as far as to reach the moon with their knowledge, but they did a lot of harm as well.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki would be the first thought you'd had, going to the Tsar's Bomb. Human's potential was different from monsters; theirs was innate, covering many places and areas... meanwhile, humans seemed to have evolved to specially to kill.

"... You feared us?"

"At first we did, but after casting the Barrier, they thought no one would be so..."

"Naïve?"

"Naïve is... way too light... I would say, more or less; they thought no one would be stupid enough as to try and course through the barrier that was put there in the first place to make sure nothing bad could happen."

[HEY!]

Frisk frowned in pain, Chara's scream ringing right in his ear for she was still behind him. That wasn't very nice, because that comment referred to him and the seven children who fell into the Underground before him, but that didn't mean his words weren't the truth:

Only someone too innocent or a complete imbecile would make that choice; especially considering that to get in you'd have to survive a fifteen-meter fall. The fact that Chara didn't die and only broke her leg due to the lack of a massive-sized flower bed was stroke of luck.

"I shall continue: After the sealing, they thought that with the monsters out of the picture, all humanity would have to worry about would be a crazy emperor wanting to conquer one half of the planet, for example. So they put their efforts into something else... the creation of a system to avoid world-ending calamities."

He finished, but instead of clarifying the situation, it made everything more confusing and intriguing. Alphys rose an eyebrow, a drop of sweat descending through her yellowish skin as Napstablook looked at his cousing, searching for answers, but obviously, not even Mettaton with his advanced processing system could give him one. Sans, despite his passive and imperturbable appearance, tried to make sense of what he just heard, sadly being unsucsessful. Flowey, noticing the silence that Sarff's revelation brought, snorted, clearly annoyed.

Both him and Undyne were in similar situations; patience wasn't one of their virtues, much less their trait.

"I don't know if you're expecting any of us having an idea of what the hell you're talking about. Let's recap: Monsters have just been sealed Underground, and now humanity fears another event that threatens the earth, like one of us reaching godhood. Explain yourself, piece of garbage!"

He shouted, hitting him with one of his vines, Sarff let the vine itself dirty his shirt slightly, not giving much of a care, he didn't even looked at the soulless creature. Toriel, obviously, reprimanded her son's "Familiar", demanding for him to apologize, while she herself apologized to Sarff because of his actions... but, from a certain point of view, he was right. The mage, without a care, took his gloved hand to the dirt-covered zone, patting it slightly to remove as much of it as he could.

Well, that confirmed him that this strange... creature the Ambassador had a contract with, didn't had the slightest idea of how to respect a superior, nor anyone for that matter.

"Very well. I will put it in the most simplified terms so that even a baby can understand, after all, your knowledge is thirteen hundred years behind..."

She growled, shoving his arm inside his jacket, and pulling out seven small chips from it. "Oh my!~" the blackhaired robot let out, the eyes of the king and queen of Monsterkind changed into a gaze of nostalgia; those seven chips had painted on them exact replicas of the seven leaders that participated in the creation of the barrier on 700 AD. Argus Sandoval(Determination), his wife; Rita Hilacy(Patience), Edward Halloway(Bravery), Raymond Otrium(Integrity), Irina Keypril(Kindness), Maybel Dorium(Justice) and Grace Talaz(Perseverance).

Sarff's index finger rested over the chip where the eternally serious face of Grace was, demanding the attention of everyone around him.

"Yes, as I've mentioned, we feared you. A monster that absorbed seven human souls would reach godhood; heaven. So it was lady Grace who during humanity's first and last council of humanity, once the monsters were sealed, that make a proposal that would change our history."

“Why don't we fight fire with fire? why couldn't we reach godhood as well?”

[But they'd never be able to...]

The brunette mentioned, just like a monster could absorb a human's soul, humans should be able to absorb monster souls... but they shattered at the same time their bodies turned into dust, due to how synchronized they were. Not only they were sealed underground back then, but even if they were at the surface, there was no such spell nor any sort of technique that would allow a human to absorb their souls or bodies.

Not even in the modern era.

"But... our souls and our bodies are intertwined... "

"Exactly. To absorb the soul of a monster is impossible due to your bodies being magical, not physical like ours; who endure inside our souls as consciousness even after our bodies die. Even with drastically different magic families from all type of cultures and different ways to employ magic reunited at Ebott for the first and last time in our history, we as humanity were never able to find the solution Grace was looking for so we could reach heaven and attain godhood... at least, not until around one-hundred and fifty years later."

Once again he went silent, shoving his hands inside his jacket one last time, only pulling three chips, rather than seven. Papyrus, who was caressing his chin, recalled his history classes from when he and Sans had arrived to Snowdin so long ago, yes, he remembered this part from when they used to talk about the mages that ruined his people's efforts the most when it came to winning the war.

That man with blue hair, that woman with such red, deep eyes like jewels, white hair like snow, and lastly, that man with long, black hair without a doubt were--

"O-o-oh! T-these are.. descendants of the Tohsaka, Einzbern and Makiri lineages! isn't that... r-right?"

"Correct"

The redhaired man smiled softly as he nodded slightly, humming while searching the correct words to explain what came next.

"To create the barrier, the power of the seven mages was required. They had to be concentrated in their spell casting, but they required some external help as well. They asked for it to anyone who could, yet the only ones who answered their call were these three families. The Makiris. The Tohsakas. And the Enizberns. In gratitude, Grace gave them a copy of the ritual they had planned to try and scratch godhood with their fingertips, in hope it would help them achieve it."

"Wait, you're telling me they entrusted such an important investigation to a group of foreigners?"

"Of course. Knowledge, no matter how cursed it is, exists to be shared. Its not meant to be kept in a basement, you know?"

He gladly ignored the gaze the Oldest Skeleton brother gave him, rising his hands to receive the small cup of coffee Toriel offered him, at the same time a small "thank you" escaped his lips.

Sans maintained his gaze on the mage. Sarff's eyelids were closed, but even so, he could still feel the overwhelming power emanating from his soul... and how, seemingly, his attention was focused on him.

Even with his eyes closed, the mysterious guest let out a small sigh, before opening them, and looking at the small scientist with slight boredom, and a clear lack of interest.

"If you have any question you'd like to ask, it would be wise to do so"

"... From what they used to teach us when we were kids back at the Underground, there were many, many magic families back then. Even if they all were way weaker than the seven mages who sealed us, strictly speaking, they all would've been more than enough to help the seven."

"Sans, what are you trying to sa—?"

"What I'm trying to say, Kiddo, is that there was no need to contact with foreigners. Magic families were distrustful, the phrase "Knowledge should be shared" only limits to how much you want the rest of the world to know about you. If the seven were planning a way to reach godhood, sharing it wasn't just counterproductive, but a very, very bad idea as well."

"But... why?"

The yellow-eyed teen asked, Undyne was who, after taking a serious posture and having calmed down after analyzing that man's words, replied to him. Perhaps he might've been their ambassador, and their hero... but sometimes, Frisk, despite being on the verge of his fifteens...

Was too naïve.

"Don't be an idiot, Frisk. Think about it... they died leaving their legacy behind to three families so they find a way to turn humanity into gods precisely because they were afraid that we were capable of doing it."

Asgore scratched his beard, the pieces were already starting to fit, way easier than one would've expected, Chara and Flowey looked at each other discreetly, they were the first in realize the meaning behind those words.

"But... there was no guarantee to Argus or the other six that their investigations to be used to help humankind... they could've easily end up creating an "invincible, divine tyrant" thousands of years later, who would enslave or destroy planet earth... that's why they sealed us into Mount Ebott; so the Seven Mages made a bet with fate itself."

"At the end of the day, it was both an insurance, and an hypothesis. The investigation came to a dead end by the time they left it, because sacrificing seven souls so just one could become a god didn't sound good in theory. And, believe me, neither of them wanted to try and make human experiments back then."

The redhaired man commented, without a care in the world, leaving the empty cup on the table in front of him. His purple eyes shone slightly.

"Of course, you were capable of it, but at the same time, they had to be capable mentally to endure all the pressure that came with wielding so many different souls."

"This is the moment where we dive into speculations?"

Sans asked, and Sarff smiled at him.

"Indeed, my dear skeletical friend. You see, it has been known for centuries that Determination Souls are strong enough to overshadow the other six traits, which is why they are so rare. Hypothetically speaking, if a Monster was able to endure a Determination soul, it would also be able to endure the rest and, consequently, become a God."

"But, why monsters and not humans?"

"Little ambassador, you have to understand something: Monsters are magic in a physical state. You store magic, but you're not made of it. Hypothetically speaking; if humans could absorb souls, and did so without the ritual the Mages were developing, you would die."

Sarff answered to the boy, Alphys adjusted her glasses, well, that was public knowledge more or less. The monsters had a greater magic potential after all; that's what they were. Magic.

It was both ironic, and curious... Human bodies limited their potential, but at the same time, their physical form was a perk, and helped them persist after dying, even if for just a brief moment, meanwhile they had weak souls.

The intense way in which the red-haired looked at the ambassador of monsterkind didn't inspire not the slightest bit of confidence from Chara nor Flowey, because both of them realized, his gaze was focused on his chest.

"... Do you have any idea of how special you are, Frisk Dreemurr?"

"I... "

The World Master replied, not very that sure about the question, it was a rhetorical one. Poor boy... the clock tower mage let out a sigh, this child really needed a good education regarding his own nature... well, it was understandable. If he knew more than the average common folk, all the work they've been doing over thirteen hundred years would've been for nothing.

Sarff pushed Argus' chip slightly towards his direction, demanding for them to focus on it.

"Argus Sandoval. The deceased daughter of the Royal Family. And you. You're the only three determination souls we know of in our entire history as a species interested in knowing our origins, and what came before us."

The brown-haired ghost snorted annoyed at his comment, she had to give him credit where it was due. After all, her soul and Asriel's had shattered a long, long time ago and yet...

Here they were... all thanks to Determination. Her, turned into a ghost for the rest of eternity, or at least until Frisk died of natural causes.

And her brother Asriel, trapped in a plant, unable to feel anything except rage, hate, and maybe sadness on several occasions.

"Even we still have some registers about the day where Asriel Dreemurr came out of the mountain carrying his sister to try and left her body in her village, my most sincere condolences by the way. But that's not important; what's important is... both souls were compatible."

"Wait a second, you mean to tell me—"

"Just like how in the hypothetical case where a human body COULD withstand seven human souls would become a "god", under the right circumstances, an hypothetical monster who was able to endure the Soul of Determination, would be taking the first step into becoming one. And I'm quite sure you people know the reason as to why"

He let out, the way a drop of sweat escaped down Frisk's neck as he looked at Undyne, and the way Sans' face darkened, losing his pupils, while Alphys nervously played with her hands under the table were what gave Sarff the signal to continue. Yes, everyone had an idea, no matter how vague, of how dangerous and powerful the crimson trait was.

"...Determination is, without a doubt, a complete mystery. Its able to wield the other six traits, and we still don't know what it can do on its own. If the little prince was able to endure absorbing the soul of the princess for so long without crumbling or melting, hypothetically speaking, he'd be able to endure absorbing other six souls and reach godhood."

He revealed, causing a shiver in more than one. Asriel... could have become a god if he had been alive? The horror that took over the faces of Toriel and Asgore was unparalleled. Had their little one, that day... taken the first step to become a god? It was that simple?

However, the most affected by that story were Flowey and Chara themselves, the girl clenched her fists angrily.

[This son of a bitch knows something about the final battle we had at the end before Asriel opened up the barrier. I don't know how, but he's making very accurate and precise statements...]

We don't know that!

[With just conjectures he managed to deduce Asriel did became a God. Bite my ass, Frisk; he knows something]

The eight fallen remained in silence due to his small chat with the teenager, a silence Sarff took advantage of.

"Soul-related sorcery is something very unexplored, almost unheard of. Mostly due to the fact that a soul does not last long outside of its body if not contained properly. Memories, power, knowledge, everything is linked to the soul..."

Flowey frowned slightly in a face that, whoever didn't knew him well enough, would assume it was due to anger, but no. He was conflicted. He had to give it to him, he was right on that.

After all; traits came from the Soul. Determination included, but one thing was the magic coming from a trait innate from a soul, and another thing completely different were the souls themselves.

And... if it hadn't been because of him having absorbed all memories and feelings of love, care and friendship at the end of their battle, neither Frisk nor Chara would've been able to beat him. His emotions betrayed him, his feelings... his pain... and all the joy and gratitute the whole Underground felt for their current ambassador during their journey.

Chara, on her end, just smirked. They, despite it all, were one step further from god knows how many hundreds of years of investigation compared with Renown Mages ever since the monsters were sealed on Mount Ebott.

[Change the fate of the world and its people. That's what true Determination can do, isn't that right, Partner?]

"Wow... you really made a lot of discoveries after getting rid of us in order to attain divinity"

Mettaton said, quite amazed, and Sarff nodded slightly, thinking about how should he explain his next topic. Internally, Frisk thanked the Idol of New Ebott for his comment, the less anyone knew about the power to Reset, Save and Load, the better.

Controlling the timeline was an extremely dangerous power; so dangerous he'd rather take it to his grave.

"Although, well, nothing we know could compare with the Sorcery from the Age of Gods."

Said without a care in the world, despite being such a "simplistic" and "harmless" comment, it confused more than one in the room. Undyne tilted her head slightly, had this human actually gone mad... ? No, no. She couldn't judge him, so far, all he had done was sharing a lot of very resumed information of what had happened ever since humanity sealed them Underground... without expecting any sort of compensation.

He trusted them, and at the least she could do... what they all could do, was keep an open mind to him, no matter how ridiculous or complicated it sounded. This reunion also was a step towards a peaceful coexistence.

"Age of Gods?"

Who ended up expressing his curiosity was Papyrus, not before receiving a thumbs up from the former Captain of the Royal guard, at the very least it wouldn't be her who made the most questions tonight.

And surprisingly, the one who would provide him with an answer would be his King; Asgore coughed a little, accommodating himself on the chair, right as his people confused their stares on him.

"Before being Jailed Underground, Argus told me about how mages estimated time. Every civilization had their own unique way to perceive the "calendar", what we currently know as Year "2015 AD" its just an adaptation of the Gregorian Calendar that was stablished by humans as a way to "unify" time for everyone. For mages, time was divided in "Ages", from which we know two: "the Age of Gods" and the "Age of Man". By the time Argus told me this, the Age of Gods was coming to an end, and the Age of man was just starting."

He finished, even if it was just a very brief resume, it was more than enough to make everyone, anyone, understand it. Undyne calmed herself even more, this brought her a lot of nostalgia from back when she was still a girl going to school, and Asgore, from time to time, as he had always done, used to go to the school to share his vast knowledge with the younger generations.

Flowey hunched, moving his head from side to side, bored. Perhaps Asriel might've been "delighted" at the idea of learning more from his Father, but not him.

"That... doesn't explain much"

"That's where I was going to: the Age of Gods is known as such because it was the time where humans and divinity were strongly intertwined. Argus told me it was quite common for gods to mingle among Mortals. That's why it had another name; The Age of heroes and mythology, because during it, many of the iconic characters from different cultures and eras were born."

Frisk's lighted up slightly, oh. He knew this one! the topic quickly caught everyone's attention, in fact, one of the very few things they had told him when he was learning at school had been about the different cultures from the primal civilizations, among them; the Greeks. If what his father was saying was true, then... they weren't "Myths" but history.

And that included one of the greatest heroes of all time...

"Like Heracles?"

The Eight fallen mentioned, and the goat man nodded, his hand extending to his adopted son's head, patting it gently. Toriel, at the same time, took one hand to her chest with pride, seeing that not just her lessons, but the basic education her child had received had been worth it.

"Just like him, yes. Now, he also told me that the quality of sorcery was also noticeably lower. What we nowadays see as something outstanding or out of this world, back then was the minimum one would expect from anyone who traveled the path of sorcery; everyone should be able to."

He finished his small "class" with that phrase, quite the simple terms, simple enough to explain so many things and in such brief time, but time was something they didn't had much of. The meeting on its own was already proving itself to be way more enriching than anticipated. Papyrus closed his eye sockets, already picturing how life back then must've been.

Hell, he wanted to be just like that! A legendary hero! after all, friends and companions was something no true hero lacked in the slightest. Undyne cracked her knuckles, yes she might've loved Anime a lot, but she had to admit that her passion for the so called "Epics" that humans invented was big as well, they spoke of all kinds of legendary figures or heroes... but now she knew... she knew... they weren't tales.

They weren't like Anime... they had been real.

"Color me surprised; you're very well informed, Mister Asgore."

Hynafol couldn't waste the chance to compliment the ruler of Monsterkind. Who simply nodded humbly, quite frankly he wasn't a big fan of compliments, just because of his virtues, it didn't meant he had a big ego or something similar. His gaze, calm, now became one of longing and peace, recalling a time from an era that would never come back, and that sadly, didn't had the happiest ending.

"Argus and me... we were good friends. As a leader, I don't hate him, because he did what he thought was best for his people just like how I committed atrocities for the sake of my own people."

It was something as simple as empathy. No, he didn't hate him as a leader, that would be hypocrite. It would be stupid. Asgore wasn't proud of the fact that his hands were coated in blood; neither of the monsters who survived the era of the war, like old Gerson or his Ex-wife right next to him, were. But it was about survival... and then there were the six children he had killed.

Him and no one else would have to carry that burden. Those deaths weren't something he was proud of, but he did so out of pain. For love towards his people... and because he had seen with his very own eyes how his children were taken away from him in just one day. No, he could never hate Argus, nor humankind for rebelling against them when they discovered monsters could absorb their souls.

It was just life, nature itself... giving everyone a losing hand, and an ability neither human nor monsters asked for in the first place.

"Interesting... anything else you'd like to share?"

"Yes... Actually, yes. You see, Argus explained a few things to me that I see prudent to share with you all, I don't know how much things have changed over One thousand three hundred years, and what is and isn't taboo, but as neither I nor my people are governed by those laws, I'll take this chance to help Mister Sarff in my own way."

The former husband of the Guardian of the Ruisn mentioned, the King extended his right arm towards the perseverance mage, Sarff smiled slightly, nodding as a way to give him his blessing. Its not like he cared that much about being interrupted, in the slightest. He had come here exclusively to give them the information humanity and mage society had. Secrets, taboos, oaths he had made during his whole life...

Here and now, in just one night, he was breaking them all. Not because he wanted to; but because it was his duty. His obligation, and because, for better or for worse, both Frisk and all of them had a big impact and role in both magic and politician aspects of the whole world.

"Go on, Mister Asgore. I encourage you."

Giving him room for talk, the King of monsterkind said a small "thank you" before both arms went to the table, resting his chin on them so he could meditate for a brief moment. This would be a little... complicated, at least normally, when going in depth, but there was no better opportunity than now to speak about it openly, after all, the monsters themselves were trying to integrate into human society.

Now was the perfect moment to talk about the old discoveries his dear friend made so long ago.

"... Well, Argus used to say that in ancient times, existed many fantastic beings; Dragons, Faeries, beasts of all kinds which mages decided to call "Phantasmal Species", entities very sensitive and akin to magic, but very few had the necessary reasoning to be catalogued as "civilized". He shared a theory with me: us, Monsterkind, may originate from a distant branch from Phantasmal Species, which is why we're beings made of magic."

Sans, who had already lost his serious expression after the whole mood changed into something more bearable and friendly, regained his usual smile. His scientist side had come out, even if just slightly, both him and Alphys already finding the perfect comparison between his kind and the humans, so even his brother Papyrus, Frisk, and anyone for that matter, would be able to understand their King.

After all, Undyne was a warrior, not a scholar.

"Something like Darwin's theory?"

He asked, his soul filling itself with pride after he heard Papyrus let out a small "OH!", he understood perfectly what his king meant thanks to him. Clever, very clever. Even Undyne, who was slightly confused, smiled and nodded to herself, Alphys looked at her girlfriend with a loving expression, still a little bit nervous, before looking at Sans, thanking him, who just winked at her.

There was no need to thank him.

"Similar, I'd say. That would explain why we're able to reach "godhood" so easily, because among Phantasmal Species, a lot of them were catalogued as "divine beings". Argus told me that, when the Age of Gods ended around year 0 AD in the Gregorian Calendar, the Phantasmal Species went into hiding "somewhere else". What little bit remained from the old era started to vanish, but some things remained. Among them, what he denominated as "Magic"."

"Magic?"

The little brunette interrupted his fatherly figure, now completely confused. So, if he had understood correctly, magic wasn't just something Magic was not just something intrinsic to human beings with traits, but a remnant? He was right in something. If Monsters indeed were descendants from Phantasmal Species, then that would explain why their bodies and souls were in the perfect harmony to develop a magic potential way beyond the average human.

"Ah, now its my turn. And I'm very thankful, your Majesty. You're going right to where I wanted to arrive. You see, little Ambassador, the Age of Gods might've ended, but many small little things "remained". The techniques we Mages use are called "Sorcery" while the "Magic" is akin to what our sorcery used to be in the old era; similar but not the same."

"Um... I-if its not too much to ask for... C-could you give us an example?"

The current Royal Scientist stammered, clearly afraid of being a bother. Sarff remained in silence, a small "hmmm" coming out of him, it only just worsened and ruined the very few trust Alphys had already, but when he denied her with his head after rising his palm, she calmed down. No, its not that he was denying her request, quite the contrary.

"I can give you many, actually. But first, let me continue: inside our world there's something known as "The Root", where we all come from and where we all return to after dying. From there comes all the knowledge we have. What Mages, sorcerers, call them however you want: want to achieve, is to reach the Root, and the closest way to achieve this, is to get one specific magic. Magics are the pinnacle of sorcerers, but, what differentiates them? quite the easy answer: to make what's impossible, possible"

"H-how s-so?"

The royal scientist insisted, and said question caused that, inside his heart, the very few emotions Sarff still had due to his work, made him feel pleasure; bliss. As if, as they used to say... his soul were dancing inside his chest. Yes, he might've been a Perseverance Soul, but that didn't meant he couldn't feel such basic emotions like pride... or malice.

In this case, Hynafol felt like a winner.

"If I were someone with a lesser rank, I wouldn't know, but lucky for you, I do... how about... I don't know... operating parallel worlds? interesting, isn't it?"

[Oh, god damn it. He KNOWS!]

He let out, and Chara reacted almost instantly. The princess' spectral face shifted rapidly between rage and worry, her voice being heard perfectly by both Frisk, and Flowey. That raised another question; which one of the two had been the one to raise the alarms? Flowey had been controlling the timelines for a long, long time until a few years ago.

Probably he lost his role as "World Master" the moment Frisk was born, and he woke up his trait. He abused his control over time and space way more than the little Ambassador, so much that he had lost count... meanwhile, Frisk at most, had three timelines; three routes, and that's it. He truly didn't want to go back to the Underground, not anymore.

But even so, with all of that in mind... he knew it; Sarff knew.

Don't rush it! It might just be a coincidence!

He replied mentally to the girl with rosy cheeks, in a poor attempt to try and calm her down, he said so more so as a way to try and ease himself, of course... it was in vain either way.

"Now, Magics are something only the highest sorcerers know... and you as well, but lets leave that for later. Their effects are quite interesting, but right now we'll focus on the "Third Magic": a Knowledge that the Einzbern used to have, until they lost it."

"What did it do?"

"Oh, nothing special. Manipulate souls, that's all"

...

Sans' face darkened at that very moment, as a drop of sweat descended through Alphys' cheek. What? did he hear that correctly, or had he finally lost his mind? yes, of course he wasn't insane; he heard that right. Flowey squinted his eyelids.

Well... now things got serious. The princess changed her posture, crossing her arms. This was directly correlated with what had happened to her, or so she believed... and of course, with what happened with Asriel.

You couldn't exist without a soul.

Chara was less than one.

Napstablook, who was a Ghost as well, had also taken the bait. Soul manipulation? that could be related to his kin.

"Oh... then... to Dominate this "Third Magic"... is the first step for humans to ascend to godhood... without the need of absorbing Monster souls?"

"Maybe"

Quite a simple answer. Short. Frank. Concise. After all he had revealed that afternoon, one would expect him to give them a long explanation about it, but just one simple word was more than enough to shock them. Toriel rose an eyebrow, slightly confused. By this point she had been considering this man would be more than enough to satiate all the doubts they had regarding the current state of the Magic World.

And now he just couldn't do it? Why?

"What do you mean "maybe"?"

Sarff, for obvious reasons, expected that question. However the answer he would give them wouldn't be enough to satisfy either of them.

"The knowledge of Third Magic has been lost even before the first millenium AD. The reason as to why the Einzbern, Tohsaka and Makiri helped the Seven Mages in the first place, was because they believed they had found a way to reach the Third Magic."

"And what does it do?"

"In simple terms? It makes you a battery. In complicated terms? After you die, a soul doesn't survive for long unless absorbed or contained. When it cracks; it joins the Root. What the Third Magic does is "anchor" the soul to the Earth, without the need of a physical body, but with all the advantages that come with being an energy entity."

A low, comprehensive "oh" escaped Mettaton's metallic lips. He was born a ghost, but he possessed the robotic body Alphys made for him, so he couldn't help but be tempted at the idea of a so called "Perfect body", of course he would never change his current shape for anything in the world, but the sole idea of achieving such a magnificent...

Magnanimous state...

It was admirable. So that's what true Godhood was? no wonder humans wanted to achieve it so they could secure their existence.

"... Infinite Energy as long as you're alive. A mocking form of divinity, but substantially nothing could harm you due to the lack of a physical body."

"Unable to be harm, become a mega-battery of power, and achieve the impossible? sounds like a god to me"

Sarff shared his own thoughts, and he wasn't the only one with a similar idea. Every human, since learning the existence of the Third magic, thought the same. That's why there were mages who dedicated their entire existence to its study, the dream they've envisioned for so long; the idea the seven mages had during their lifetime, it was a reality. An actual, achievable possibility. Chara, who had been thinking about what she just learned, and searching in her memories for a while now, found what she was looking for.

It all sounded very, very familiar, and she now knew why.

[That... isn't that what happened with you, Azzy... ?]

The princess asked, recalling the final battle, just like Frisk himself, who seemingly sulked down in his chair, not due to shame nor shyness, but because he was thinking about their final battle with the Prince of Monsterkind before he shattered the barrier.

Six years ago, Flowey not only absorbed the six human souls his father collected over the years; but also all the souls in the Underground, thus allowing him to go back into his true form; Asriel Dreemurr.

And nothing they did could truly damage him. He had an indestructible body, and he was going to reset the timeline to stuck them all in an eternal loop, just as he so very wished, so neither him nor Chara would get separated ever again.

Flowey adverted his gaze very slightly to where his sister was floating, and denied her question as discreetly as he could, so they didn't think of him as crazy.

No. Remember Frisk was still able to hit me; I had infinite magic, power, attack and defense, but I also still had a physical form as well

[That means you must've reached some sort of "incomplete" Third Magic]

The second user of determination rationalized, he almost reached and obtained what humans had been looking for so desperately; Him. A Monster. How Ironic, but as a firm believer that her kind had no reason to exist, it made her happy. Chara hated, still hated and would continue hating a big portion of humanity; one thing was accepting that not everyone was evil... and another thing entirely, was accepting they had the right to exist in the first place.

Flowey nodded slightly, completely trapped in Sarff's explanation.

Maybe... lets keep listening...

"Now, turns out that yes, the plans the Seven Mages had were slightly related with the power of the Third Magic, which is why the investigation was left in the Einzbern's hands until year 1790 AD, where the leaders of the three families took the first step towards a ritual that could make possible to reach the Root and "transcend" as human beings, all thanks to the notes and papers left behind by the Perseverance Mage; Grace Talaz."

"You were going to... scarify seven humans?"

The one who asked that question was the King himself, his tone heavy, because he thought of it as hypocrisy. Doble Hypocrisy that is; because precisely due to them being able to turn into gods with seven human souls, was the reason as to why they were sealed Underground, but it was no big deal when the human themselves committed seven murders with the same purpose? What was the logic behind that way of thinking?

The red-haired man looked at the blonde goat, nodding much to Asgore's disbelief, and everyone else that is.

"Yes, but not in the way you think of... "

... Eh? Well, that was a nice way to break tension in mere moments. By the murderous gazes that almost everyone was giving him, one would think that Sarff would be, at the very least, intimidated or self-conscious about what he had just said, but he wasn't at all. Not even a little. Apparently, they had gotten the wrong idea after hearing his words, luckily, right now he could give them the answer they were looking for.

It was a much more... ethical method than they imagined.

"Do you remember when I mentioned the calamities that threatened Earth?"

"Yeah, something like that"

"Well, keep in mind that humans didn't have and they still don't have the capacity to put a stop to them. That's why, Earth has a way to protect itself in case something like that happens."

As quick as they let go off their hostility, they all went back into confusion. Papyrus let out a small, confused "Nyeh?". Was he actually talking about the same earth? the planet earth? Here where they were standing on? Napstablook let out an "Oh...", feeling bad with himself due to his lack of understanding. For a scientist like Alphys, it all sounded way too... crazy, to say the least.

"... The earth... As in... the Planet?"

Mettaton's cousin asked, and Sarff nodded affirmatively. It only confused them much more. Well, what came next would weird them all out even more, but he couldn't neither would blame them. When he was young, he had already experienced his own share of surprises and revelations that changed his perception of the world. He wasn't lying when he said that ever since their imprisonment under Mount Ebott, many things had changed.

Both in the "surface" magic world, and the depth magic world.

"More like its consciousness, yes. Our beautiful world has the ability to be connected to the Root of it all, making possible the "summoning" of human beings who achieved great things through history. These creatures are known as "Servants", and they would be the sacrifice to reach Third Magic."

Undyne's eyes seemed to light up at that very moment. At the same time, Asgore's gaze darkened slightly, because him and the former captain of the Royal Guard had the same idea.

To summon humans from any part of history... that meant... distant past, right... ?

"Included... ?"

"The Seven Mages? yeah. I trust you all here have the necessary education for some names to pop inside your heads right now."

Perseverance looked at the monsters and the young teenager surrounding him, Papyrus smiled, an excited cheerful "Nyeh!" coming out of him, of course! even he could think of some.

He always felt the same admiration for human heroes, just as he admired Undyne and the Royal Guard.

"Of course! Nyeh hehehehe! Heracles, Odysseus, Jason, you humans have a vast quantity of heroic figures across all your countries"

"heh, slow down your train, Pap."

Sans interjected for his younger brother, before pointing at Undyne with his finger. The blue-skinned amphibian had fiery eyes due to the adrenaline and energy coursing through her soul, Mettaton let out a small "Oh my~" one last time, now the conversation had turned into something she actually liked and was truly, truly interested in, she was "hooked" as the Ketchup loving Comedian would say.

"U-Undyne... a-are you ok?"

"You tellin' me there is a slim chance of facing them?"

"Fight them? yeah Defeat them? I doubt it, but I'll give you some points for your initiative, miss Undyne. I mean, there are legends about a guy with a Red Spear that was enchanted to ALWAYS stab his opponent right in their heart, so... your winning chances are quite slim"

Feeling underestimated, Undyne let out a small "Hmph" just as Alphys let out a small, horrified "Eeek!" at the idea of her lover dying in such a horrible way.

Well, there goes the excitement.

"Damn it..."

The redhaired fish lady growled, crossing her arms, Toriel, who hadn't say much until then, looked at Sarff with a worried expression.

Well, after such a long, long talk, they already had an idea of how society worked as a whole and what direction it took ever since they were sealed inside Mount Ebott one thousand three hundred years ago, but they still need to resolve the main issue that triggered their meeting that morning.

"I'm really... thankful for you sharing so much confidential or forbidden information with us, Mr.Sarff. I can't imagine how many Taboos you've broken by speaking with us... "

She said with a caring tone, the Perseverance wielder waved his hand from side to side, asking for her to stop, so the queen did so.

"A couple hundreds. But if you're worried about my life, you can be at ease, your Majesty. My superiors gave me permission to broke my oaths when speaking with you, because of what you represent, small one"

And just as he said that, his gaze fell on the Determination soul once again, who's eyebrows curved. The Red-haired mage started to gather and store the chips he had let on the table, they had already fulfilled their purpose, so, they could finally speak about the Main topic and the reason as to why he was here in the first place.

"Now... regarding this Letter... my visit will end up soon. I've already told you all you needed to know, so allow me to explain you what Finis Chaldea is looking for, and its founder, Marisbury Animusphere's goal; alongside the motive as to why his child wants for you to be a part of the Staff as the Forty-eight Master"

Sarff pulled one last item out of his jacket; not a chip, but a small picture. A white-haired man with a braid on his shoulder, and a calm, passive expression. As he couldn't nor wouldn't hurt a single fly. But it was just a mere facade. Sarff loved seeing their faces change into weirdness, a photo wasn't enough to decipher a person's character, so not even Sans was able to decipher what type of man this "Marisbury" was.

The only one who trusted his words without a doubt was Chara herself. After all, she was used to lying and pretend being something she actually wasn't. After all; she managed to hide her hate towards humanity and how broken she was from both her parents and Asriel for a long time.7

"Marisbury was... a maniac, however, like many before him, he wanted to preserve humanity no matter the cost. While he was building Chaldea, he found out through unknown means that Earth would come to an end on year 2016 AD"

At that precise moment he wanted to burst into laughing. Undyne opened up her only eye in shock, Toriel took her hands to her snout; Sans' emptied his eyesockets, Papyrus opened up his mouth as wide as it would allow him to. Alphys trembled in her chair, while Asgore's face darkened, and both Napstablook and Mettaton had similar reactions: the ghostly DJ cried a little bit, his robotic cousin seemed to suffer a brief malfunction.

Who broke tension, ended up being no other than Flowey the Flower, annoyed.

What the hell did they just heard... ?

"... You gotta be fucking with me"

"Language!"

Toriel brought out of her stupor as a reflex after hearing the yellow flower curse; the annoyed whine Flowey let out alongside the Queen's bewildered voice seemed to ease up the tension as much as they could. I mean, they just received the most confidential information that could be passed on in the Magic world.

Earth and everything on it would cease to exist, just like that. That they were afraid, or in disbelief, was the least that could be expected from anyone with the slightest regard for his own life. Sarff let out a sigh, once again becoming the center of attention, as he stored Marisbury's photograph inside his pocket.

"As crude as it may seem, yes, that is the best way to put it. We don't know how, or exactly when, but humanity will not make it past the year 2016 AD. That is why Finis Chaldea exists, to prevent that situation from happening."

"And what does Frisk has to do in all of this?"

Sans asked, still not understanding too well what paper the brown-haired kid could have in the current crisis they were going through. The red-haired mage scratched his chin slightly, focusing himself on the small skeleton with blue hoodie, who's expression remained, alongside the heavy aura surrounding him. Who could blame him? he had just received the news that his homeworld would disappear.

Him and Alphys had the same thought; their investigations. Timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting, until suddenly... everything ends. Now they knew, what they had seen, was the end of humanity as a whole on year 2016 AD.

"He may be young, but the potential of Determination is unknown. The mages that summon Servants usually are enhanced by their traits and vice versa, since an user of Determination has never been involved... well, think of it as an experiment to know more about it."

"Like a lab rat?!"

The blue-skinned lady shouted; WHAM, her open palms landed against the table, dangerously growing closer to the human with purple soul. Toriel extended her arm, reaching out for her son protectively. The Clock Tower magician cackled a little bit, it was kinda... cute seeing how emotional and protective they were with a boy that wasn't even from the same species as them.

He had thrown away his morals a long time ago when he decided to walk this path, so it was really... moving to see that all the stories that spoke about monsters being an emotional, pacific race were true. Frisk was really fortunate.

"God no, Frisk will be treated way better than that."

"Forty-eight Masters? Why do you need so many humans?"

Papyrus was the one who requested answers this time. It was a nice question, but not one that had much mystery. It all came down to both quality, and quantity. It was timely, too; because it was a nice way to deviate the topic from the fact that neither of them had any future beyond the Year 2016, not like they had much time in the first place.

It was June 28, 2015, after all.

"Huh, yeah. Its mostly to divide them in teams. Before the "main event" there'll be simulations. There's an A team, the best of the best from what current sorcery can provide... but we know it might not be enough. Frisk, by being part of the forty-eight candidates to become a Master, its testing himself to know if he can become part of the A-Team, or an hypothetical B-Team."

And that was it. Sarff remained in silence, it being a sign that he was done explaining himself, but it was kind of ironic. He came into that house with the intention of explaining their doubts, but he finished it all by dropping a massive bomb that blew their minds.

The end of the world?, no... The end of the world of absolutely everything and everyone?

Internally, Flowey couldn't help but ask himself if he could've changed things.... no, not really. His plan was to keep Frisk, who he had confused with Chara back then, trapped in a loop so they remained Underground forever, a loop wasn't the answer.

In this case; they had no future. Not just Monsters and Humans, but earth as a whole.

Toriel put a hand above her chest; her soul hurt. The brunette was looking at the floor, deep in thought, was he being serious? he thought it was all said and done.

Frisk believed his "fight" had concluded after the barrier shattered six years ago. Now his role was that of a bridge between both races; but he couldn't have been more wrong. Not just monsters needed him now...

Humans too.

All the peace he had built with them... his new life, his new family; it all would... vanish in a couple of months? just like that?

From the other side of the table, Chara's gaze clashed with his own, the girl frowned and crossed her arms, having lost any semblance of passion or comprehension she could've had.

To her... the answer was obvious. Both Frisk and Flowey knew that look on her face.

[Don't let all your efforts be for nothing, Frisk]

She had nothing else to say. Determined, the eight fallen faced his mother, his father, and his friends; inside his chest, his soul burned. This was the last push he needed to make a choice.

He already fought for the future once... how hard would it be to do so one last time?

"I wanna go."

He said to his mother's horror. Chara, on the other hand, regained her good mood. A feeling of pride coursing through her spirit after seeing, and feeling, the fire burning inside the soul of the boy she was joined with. Despite the situation being so serious, she wouldn't lie; it was really inspiring. After everything she knew... no; what they all knew about society shattered into pieces, and rebuilt itself at that same moment, plus learning about the impending doomsday...

But Frisk kept pushing forward. It was a true source of inspiration and admiration. Undyne smiled, clenching her fist, Sans let out a small laugh, just as Papyrus with his loudly "Nyeh heh heh~" motivated Napstablook to stop crying, Mettaton took one hand to his forehead, what else was to be expected from their ambassador?, Toriel looked at her ex-husband searching for support one last time... but Asgore denied her request.

Neither of them could say no to him with THAT expression on his face.

And Flowey? just rolled his eyes.

One would deduce Sarff would be happy, that he would smile or join in their celebration, but he didn't.

"... I won't say I'm satisfied with your answer, little ambassador, because I am not. But I really admire your spirit of self-sacrifice. You're the only one, other than the High Commands and the A Team, who knows what's at stake"

He ruined the hope-filled mood that Frisk had caused with just one simple phrase. Yes, he had done many things, and he managed to not just break the barrier, but bring in a new era of peaceful coexistence, that so far, these last six years, had done nothing but bring in prosperity and joy to both Races. That was admirable, it truly, truly was admirable... but Sarff wasn't an optimistic fool.

He was a Mage.

A Clock Tower mage.

And they never, ever, trusted themselves to sheer luck, or something as simple as hope... no. It was either winning or failing, there was nothing else.

"Neither of the others knows about it?"

Frisk questioned, genuinely surprised. So all he just heard of was confidential? keeping a secret wasn't hard for him at all, but it was very... discouraging, to say the least. I mean, him and other 47 humans were going to give their best to save Planet Earth, and give every living creature on it a future.

Wouldn't honesty about their mission be a good way to motivate them all? to make them take it with as much seriousness as they could? apparently, Olga Marie and her superiors didn't think so.

Sarff moved his head from side to side carefully, breathing longly through his nose, looking at him one last time. His gaze, deeper and undeniably more serious. Frisk gulped slightly, almost feeling a sword clash against their neck. However, as soon as it came, that feeling was gone.

The sorcerer with purple soul closed his eyes, taking a hand to his face to pull off his glasses, letting them rest on the table carefully. When he opened his eyelids again, much to his surprise, his irises were now yellow; almost golden. A sign of the Justice trait.

"Frisk…”

“Y-yes?”

“I'll be honest with you, and most likely it will be the last time any wizard will be honest with you: it would be good if I could tell you that I have the answers to all your questions, but I don't. The mystery surrounding the Earth is much greater than the one surrounding monsters.”

…

“You won't be alone, if that's what you're scared of. You'll make friends, but enemies as well. You'll love, hate, fear. There will be times where you'd feel like giving up, because you're a human being, but… please… stay determined”

End of Chapter 1.

Translation starting date: Friday, February 21, 2025

Translation ending date: Tuesday, March 4, 2025

Chapter Text

Start Date: Wednesday, July 2, 2025
End Date: Tuesday, July 8, 2025

Undertale.

Fate/Grand Order.

“Fate/Scarlet Order”

Chapter 2.

“Of Magic and Snow…”

.

.

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[Entry Number 19]

The actors of this play are about to take the stage.

It won’t be long before the theater opens and the entire world goes up in flames.

Watching how Determination will affect the Throne of Heroes and the entities known as Servants is one of my greatest interests.

My collaborator is far quieter than expected—not that I mind. My work demands silence.

The Traveler will soon arrive at humanity’s final bastion of hope in Antarctica.

Now my attention is divided between their actions, and those of the so-called “President of the Earth.”

Olga Marie Animusphere... Mashu Kyrielight... Romani Archaman... Leonardo Da Vinci...

If only any of you had even the faintest idea of the importance of your lives in so many other worlds...

I truly can’t wait to see how your fates will change in the absence of the true Masters who were meant to star in this tragicomedy...

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.

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-[Prologue: Toward the Future]-

Frisk couldn’t sleep. A strange feeling of uncertainty weighed on his chest, heart, his entire soul—like a damp blanket pressing down without rest. The ceiling of his room seemed farther away than usual, and the silence of the night only made the buzzing of his thoughts louder.

He turned his head, searching for more than just shadows. The specter of Chara, sitting at the edge of the bed with their feet dangling, met his gaze. There was a strange tenderness in their expression, mixed with a hint of curiosity. Their face, usually impassive and dripping with sarcasm, now held an almost human touch.

It wasn’t common to see the always-serene figure in such a restless state, eyes lost in the void, fingers interlaced as if in prayer. Chara decided to break the silence.

[What’s got you so worried, partner?]

She asked in a neutral tone, though a faint note of sincere interest crept in.

Frisk blinked, as if waking from a trance, and answered without delay.

“Mr. Sarff’s reaction… I wasn’t expecting it…”

Usually, when he accepted a mission—whether from a politician, a grateful human, or even a desperate monster—he’d receive some form of recognition. Sometimes empty praise, sometimes heartfelt thanks, but always a spark, a familiar emotion in their eyes. Many felt honored to have his help; others simply wanted to take advantage of his position as the Human Ambassador—an ambiguous figure walking with one foot in two worlds. And some, the more cynical ones, saw only the youngest –though adopted– son of the faltering Dreemurr Family.

But Sarff…

Sarff didn’t fit into any of those molds. When he looked at him with those golden eyes—eyes Frisk could’ve sworn were violet the first time—there was no warmth, no coldness. Only something that felt like ancient sadness, almost resigned. Like someone who’s watched many castles fall before the unstoppable march of the inevitable.

“Stay determined, kid. That’s all I ask.”

Those words echoed in his mind like a broken melody. A warning disguised as advice.

The next day, the man would bring the necessary documents to formalize the assignment. Toriel, Asgore, and Sans would review them with the caution of someone reading a contract with the Devil. And while Sans was too lazy to even stay on his feet for long, no one could deny his uncanny instinct for spotting hidden traps in fine print.

Frisk sighed. Beside him, Chara frowned deeply, which caught his attention.

“What’s wrong?”

Asked the young man with chestnut hair, looking toward the ghostly girl.

[I don’t like that guy]

Chara replied bluntly, making the Eighth Child tilt his head slightly. Was she serious?

“Why?”

[Because I think he can see me. The way his eyes rest on me—like he knows exactly where I am. Only you and Flowey are supposed to be able to do that. Why would he be able to as well?]

Frisk went quiet. That was a very good question.

“He’s a powerful guy… I guess.”

He answered, more thinking aloud than making a firm statement. He looked at Chara, trying to come up with a coherent explanation. “And you’re not exactly a ghost. You’re a specter.”

[And what difference does that make?] retorted the First Determination, raising an eyebrow, almost offended by the implication.

The Second chuckled lightly, trying to find the right words. He could already see Chara’s hand drifting toward the knife resting on the nightstand.

“Well…” Frisk sat up in bed, leaning his back against the wall. “A ghost is an echo. A shadow of a life that’s no longer here. Sometimes they don’t even remember who they were. They dissolve over time, or cling to a specific place, an emotion, an obsession. But a specter… a specter is more.”

[More what? More annoying?]

“More aware. Stronger. More… persistent. Specters are fragments of a soul that refuse to disappear, that still have a will of their own. You are one because part of your soul still lives on in me. And in Flowey, since he was grown from the roots where your body fell.”

Chara nodded slowly. They had discussed these theories before—even debated whether the other fallen children, if they had survived or been close enough to him, might have also heard her voice. But Sarff… Sarff was something else.

[So… how can he see me without having a fragment of me?]

“Maybe… he’s been in contact with others like you. Maybe his magic or experience lets him detect them.”

Frisk shrugged, a thought forming in his mind. One he quickly voiced to his soul-bound companion.

“Monsters, when they die, disappear. They leave behind neither soul nor physical trace. They don’t have the same kind of spiritual legacy. But Sarff isn’t a monster. And he’s clearly not an ordinary human.”

Chara scoffed in frustration, though her expression was no longer annoyance—it was a discomfort harder to define.

Even so, the atmosphere in the room seemed to ease a little. Frisk felt it in his chest, like the conversation had loosened a knot that had been tightening for hours.

[You know? Sometimes I curse that giant chicken heart of yours] Chara muttered with a crooked smile.

Frisk returned the smile—tired, but genuine.

“Sometimes I hate it too.”

And for the first time that night, it felt possible to get a little sleep. Even if the answers weren’t clear yet… at least he wasn’t alone.

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June 30. A.D 2015.

The first to open his eyes that day was Flowey. The former prince of monsters straightened up in his pot, as if trying to stretch or shake off sleep—old habits died hard, he had to admit.

Still lying in bed, Frisk slept like a baby, facing away from him, not even snoring. If it weren’t for the fact that his control over the timeline hadn’t returned, Flowey would’ve sworn the damn kid was dead.

[Azzy.]

The princess greeted, appearing out of nowhere, giving her younger brother a slight nod as a hello. One of the flower’s golden-petaled vines stretched toward the alarm clock. Eight a.m. … Strange. He usually wasn’t awake this late.

“You never sleep, do you?”

[I’ve been dead for a hundred and three years.]

The brunette replied, her red eyes giving off a faint glow. Yeah, that had been a stupid question.

Rolling his eyes, the former World Master stretched a vine toward the cot, brushing against the brown-haired boy’s ear. Frisk let out a soft whimper in his sleep when the vine gently tapped his back.

“Hmnngh...”

[… He never sleeps in.]

The princess spoke, turning over to end up floating upside down, drawing closer to the bed; closely observing the face of her successor. Frisk was always the first to go to bed, and the first to wake up—something neither of them had appreciated back when they were alive.

Maybe it was all the stress… or maybe the comfort of finally knowing he wasn’t alone that had made him sleep in for once. Flowey the Flower… Asriel Dreemurr couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity and sadness for his second sibling.

Even without a soul, the thought that the world was going to end irrevocably… seemed completely stupid. And to some extent… it scared him.

“…So… the end of the world, huh…”

Chara drifted through the air again, moving closer to her brother to face him. Giving Frisk a few more minutes of sleep wouldn’t be a problem for either of the Dreemurr siblings—after all, chances to talk alone like this were rare.

It all sounded insane… hell, everything Sarff had told them two nights ago was insane. But he hadn’t come to make enemies—quite the opposite. Even if his presence didn’t exactly inspire trust, he hadn’t hidden anything from them.

That’s what terrified the prince the most.

[Sounds crazy, doesn’t it…?]

“Like total bullshit. After everything we went through down there, and everything I did… everything we all did with the Resets… it seems ridiculous that the end of the Earth isn’t coming from one of us, or another war between humans and monsters… but from some outside force.”

[It’s something inevitable, you know? I left the house and spent some time at that market on the corner—the one that still sells newspapers. I flipped through some magazines and stuff by seriously messed-up people. Alien fanatics, total nutjobs, but they all had ideas about how humanity would end.] Chara shrugged, floating in lazy circles above Flowey’s pot. [Meteor strikes, interdimensional invasions, the sun burning out… everyone had their own favorite flavor of the apocalypse.]

Flowey let go of the vine holding the clock and fixed his gaze on his older sister.

“And you bought all of them, didn’t you?”

[Didn’t spend a single cent,] she replied with a sly little grin. [Just skimmed while the clerk was busy with someone else. But what really got me was this: when I finished, I thought, ‘None of these people are even close to what’s actually going to happen.’ And that scared me more than their clickbait headlines ever could.]

The flower sighed—if a flower could sigh. Its petals curled in briefly before returning to their upright posture.

“Afraid? I didn’t think the Great Chara Dreemurr even knew that word.”

[Oh, shut up] she said, crossing her arms and now floating at the level of his stem. [Being a specter doesn’t make me immune to existential dread. I just see it from the outside… like a fire on the other side of the window. Safe, but aware that everything’s burning.]

“Well, lovely. Burning together as one.” Flowey waved a vine, making invisible air quotes. “End of the world, brought to you by Sarff. We could sell t-shirts.”

Chara laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it.

[Maybe Frisk should design them. He’s got the soft heart that loves saving lost causes… and apocalyptic fashion trends.] She glanced at the sleeping boy. [Should we wake him?]

“Not yet” Flowey replied, lowering his voice out of pure habit. “Last night, he kept tossing and turning after you left. I heard that boneheaded skeleton telling jokes even I couldn’t understand. Mom still hasn’t decided whether she wants to invite Sarff in for tea… or kick him out the moment he sets foot in the house.”

[Dad’s not helping either] Chara noted. [Every time someone says ‘end of the world,’ he lets out that awkward laugh and… changes the subject.]

“He’s had enough cataclysms for one life” Flowey replied. “And honestly? So have I.”

A heavy silence fell between the two siblings as they watched Frisk. The boy shifted slightly; his hand, resting outside the blanket, gently closed around the vine still brushing against his back—like a child clinging to a parent’s finger. Flowey went still, surprised by the involuntary gesture.

[He sleeps like an exhausted hero] Chara said softly. [Or a brave idiot.]

“Both,” the flower admitted. “And that’s why we’re here, I guess. Because, unlike those magazine fanatics, Frisk doesn’t want to survive the end of the world; he wants to stop it.”

The pink-cheeked girl slowly turned in the air, letting her hair float as if she were swimming.

[The worst part…] her voice dropped, a faint tremble barely noticeable—but it was there [The worst part is that Sarff didn’t lie about anything he said. Not even a little. His eyes… it was like he’d already seen it all, over and over.]

“Visions of dead futures” Flowey murmured. “Or of pasts no one remembers… except him. He sounded… tired. Like a writer worn out from writing the same ending every time.”

[Exactly.] Chara let out a nonexistent sigh. [And still, his biggest piece of advice was: ‘stay determined.’ Do you realize that? No solution, no secret weapon. Just the same stubbornness that helped us cross the barrier, save everyone, and… for what? Just to crash into something that doesn’t even understand what a RESET is.]

The room seemed to grow colder. An invisible gust stirred the curtain—just a whisper. Flowey narrowed his petals.

“Hey, genocidal princess.” He tried to lighten the mood with a gentler tone. “Maybe we do what we’ve always done best: improvise. If there’s no script, we write one. If there’s no miracle, we make one. That’s how it worked the first time.”

Chara smiled, though her red eyes shimmered with a muted glint.

[And if it fails… at least we fought together. Ironic, isn’t it? That two soulless specters and a stubborn idiot end up defending the fate of an entire planet.]

Flowey’s leaves curled in something resembling a smile.

“The best stories are the ironic ones. And the bravest.”

A sleepy voice joined in:

“Who’s talking about brave stories…?” Frisk opened one eye, then the other, blinking in confusion. “What time is it?”

[Time to save the world, sleepyhead] Chara replied, tapping his nose without actually touching it.

Frisk sat up with a groan, rubbing at his eyes. He blinked, letting his golden gaze adjust to the morning light.

“Again…? I thought today was just a meeting with Sarff.”

“Oh, just a meeting, sure.” Flowey swayed his stem, giving him a light bop on the forehead. “Meeting, paperwork, deciding the fate of existence. You know, the usual.”

Frisk let out a tired but genuine laugh.

“I’m getting coffee.” He stood up, bare feet pressing against the wooden floor. “Then we’ll see what fate we’re signing off on today.”

As the boy disappeared through the door, Chara watched him go.

[Do you think we’ll have time?]

Flowey took a breath—or something like it—before answering:

“If we don’t, we’ll make it. Like always.”

And for a moment, even with the clock ticking toward an uncertain morning, both specters felt that —for a change— time was in the hands of a human determined never to give up.

.

.

-[Fragment 1: With uncertainty]-

It wasn’t common for Frisk to get up for coffee—much less to choose breakfast before taking a shower—but then again, nothing about any of this was common. Or the way it was supposed to be. Frisk descended the stairs with firm steps, still a little drowsy, as if his body was lagging behind his mind.

He wasn’t used to sleeping past seven, and his brain was already resenting it. Too much of something could be just as bad as having nothing at all. The third Determination blinked in surprise upon seeing his mother—her back turned—already dressed and finishing a plate of fried eggs, toast, and a bit of bacon.

“My child. Good morning.”

“Mom.”

The ambassador greeted the queen with a hug, one Toriel returned without hesitation. It was a curious contrast; just two mornings ago, it had been her in pajamas while Frisk came down in his usual outfit.

The worry was clear in her eyes. She had raised this child long enough to know when something was bothering him—or so she thought. The young Dreemurr made his way to the kettle, turning it on to heat the water… but instead of tea, he reached for coffee.

“Coffee?”

“Still a bit sleepy… weird, right?”

He said it casually, then winked at his teacher. Two slices of toast went into the toaster, and unlike the Head Monster, what he craved was something simpler—just butter.

What a vacation this was turning out to be… not that he was complaining. On the contrary, a change of scenery was exactly what Frisk needed. Away from school life, and far from the messy, stressful, downright disgusting world of politics.

But going from books and laws and civil rights… to saving the end of the world?

A faint yellow glow flickered in his eyes; his soul pulsed in his chest with determination as the bitter taste of coffee crossed his lips. The toast popped, and he quickly set them on a plate, heading to the table to eat alongside his maternal figure.

He didn’t look quite as full of life as he did on other mornings, but after everything involving the letter from Finis Chaldea… and what Sarff had revealed… it was clear the overall atmosphere had grown much more… somber.

“Frisk.”

“Hm?”

The boy looked up from his toast, just after spreading a thick layer of butter across it. He was stopped before he could take a bite. Across the table, Toriel watched the now not-so-little brunette with raised brows.

Her son was slowly becoming a man… but even so, she had never expected him to grow up so soon… Nor to be the one who had to save the damned planet Earth.

“…Are you okay, my child?”

Frisk swallowed before answering—not out of fear, but because the question hit harder than he expected. He looked down at his toast, still warm… but suddenly flavorless.

“I’m… functioning,” he finally said, with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Which is more than I can say for some mornings at City Hall.”

Toriel’s frown deepened slightly, but she didn’t press him. Instead, she leaned forward and held her cup with both hands, as if the warmth of the ceramic could shield her from what she wanted—or rather, didn’t want—to say.

“You don’t have to carry everything, Frisk.”

“I know.”

“People usually says that more to convince others than to convince themselves.”

Frisk shrugged, and the clink of his spoon hitting the edge of the plate was the only sound for several long seconds. The coffee had cooled, but he drank it anyway. The bitterness was grounding. Real. As if it kept him awake not just in body, but in soul.

“There are things no one else can do” he finally added. “Things that… I just can’t let go of. Even if I wanted to.”

Toriel remained silent for a moment. She watched him with the quiet patience of someone who had seen too much pain to rush in with hollow comfort.

“Your father and I…” she began softly, as if stepping onto thin ice “We’ve lived long enough to witness endings. Bad ones… and worse. But you… you always searched for the beginning. Even when everything screamed that there wasn’t one.”

“And now it’s my turn to watch the end.”

“No,” she corrected him, with a firmness that even surprised Frisk. “Now it’s your turn to fight so someone else can have their beginning.”

Frisk finally looked her in the eyes, and what Toriel saw there wasn’t fear or resignation… It was a deep weariness, woven with threads of courage. As if centuries lived within him—and a heart that refused to stop beating.

“Mom…” he said, setting the cup down on the table. “It’s not just the end. It’s not a bomb or an invasion. It’s… like the world is unraveling. Like existence itself got tired of holding us up.”

Toriel didn’t respond with words. She rose from her seat, walked over to her son, and embraced him from behind—wrapping her soft arms around his shoulders. She rested her chin on his head, just like she used to when he was small.

“Then now is when you’re needed the most,” she murmured. “Because if even existence is tired… someone will have to remind it why it was ever worth continuing.”

Frisk closed his eyes for a moment. He felt that warm, ancient, maternal comfort. Not from a queen—but from a mother. And for just a second, he wished the world didn’t need saving. That this was all just a badly told nightmare.

But he knew it wasn’t.

Knock knock

They both looked toward the door. A short, discreet knock—like someone who knew perfectly well they were interrupting something important. A human moment. Something real.

“Are you expecting someone else this early?” Frisk asked, already getting up.

Toriel shook her head, her expression tightening with that subtle tension that always accompanied uncertain times.

The young ambassador made his way to the front door and opened it cautiously. Standing on the other side, bathed in the dim gray light of morning, was Sans.

Blue jacket, lopsided smile, hands in his pockets.

“‘sup, kiddo.”

“Sans… this early?” Frisk asked, still holding his coffee cup.

“Got a message from Undyne,” the skeleton explained, holding up his phone like undeniable proof. “Says Asgore asked her to let us know: Sarff’s already at his place and wants to move the meeting up. Apparently, ‘he doesn’t like wasting time.’”

Frisk blinked, feeling that familiar pinch of anxiety tighten his shoulders again. Still, the mention of Undyne—and by extension, Asgore—brought him some comfort; if the king was willing to host Sarff first, at least they weren’t facing this alone.

“Thanks, Sans. Give me five minutes” he replied, closing the door softly.

Toriel, standing by the kitchen doorway, watched him with a determined expression. “I’m coming with you,” she said, reaffirming what she’d told him the night before, without room for protest. “I’m not staying behind while something this important is being discussed.”

Frisk nodded, more relieved than he cared to admit.

“Alright, Mom. I want to be there before Mr. Sarff starts putting on pressure.”

As he climbed the stairs to change, Toriel headed to her room to fetch a light coat. On the way, she turned off the kettle and tidied up the kitchen—an automatic gesture, oddly reassuring in the face of the chaos to come.

Frisk returned within minutes, now wearing his iconic striped sweater neatly under a dark coat draped across his shoulders. He liked to imagine he tucked his Determination into his pocket before stepping out.

Sans waited for them by the curb, rocking on his heels.

“Undyne said she’s sending a monster taxi in a couple minutes. Not exactly the MTT Resort,” he shrugged, “but it’ll take us straight to goatdad’s place.”

Toriel smiled warmly at the nickname, then turned to Frisk. “Ready, my child?”

“Like always…” he replied, though his voice wavered just slightly. He took a deep breath, and the steady beat of his soul synced with the cold morning air of Ebott City.

The three of them walked together to the corner. The sky overhead was covered in leaden clouds, as if the world couldn’t decide between dawn and storm. A modest car with glowing magical license plates pulled up in front of them; the driver—a small Moldsmall in a cap, somehow managing to operate a vehicle—gave them a friendly wave.

Sans opened the back door with an exaggerated flourish. “Ladies first.”

Toriel climbed in, followed by Frisk. Sans settled into the passenger seat, where he could chat—or throw out bad jokes—directly at the driver. The vehicle started with a soft hum.

Inside, Frisk squeezed his mother’s hand. She returned the gesture with a gentle squeeze of her own and a look that silently said: “You are not alone.”

The ride through the streets of Ebbott City passed quietly, weaving between flickering traffic lights and shops just beginning to raise their metal shutters. The usual bustle hadn’t started yet, and there was something ghostly in the urban calm of that hour.

Sans turned his head to glance back at them.

“Just so you know—Undyne’s patrolling near Asgore’s place, in case Sarff decides to bring… surprises. And, heh, Alphys is monitoring everything from the lab. Let’s just say we’ve got cameras hidden in every custard flan Asgore baked yesterday.”

Toriel let out a soft chuckle despite the tension.

“I’m glad we haven’t lost our sense of humor.”

Frisk, meanwhile, took another deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.
He visualized the scene awaiting them: Asgore, with his deep baritone voice; Undyne leaning in the doorway with arms crossed; and Sarff… Sarff with his golden eyes, watching everything like he already knew the ending of the story.

“Not this time,” he told himself. “If the end of the world is truly at stake, it’s going to have to go through us first.”

He could feel—more than hear—the steady thrum of his soul. He was no longer just a child trapped in a cycle of RESETs, but someone who, despite everything, still believed in a tomorrow.

Toriel gently brushed his hair with her fingers. “Whatever it is we find… we’ll face it together.”

The monster taxi took the final curve onto the residential street where Asgore had settled since they reached the Surface. In the distance, the former king’s firm silhouette stood at the entrance to his garden, beside Undyne, her metallic-scaled skin shimmering under the weak morning light.

Near them, a man in a dark trench coat—different from yesterday’s—stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He appeared to absorb the morning light, like an eclipse contained within a human form.

Sans let out a brief whistle. “Here we are, end-of-the-world buddies.”

“That was awful, Sans”

“I do what I can, kiddo.”

The monster taxi stopped in front of Asgore’s house, nestled on a quiet street in Ebott City, lined with tall trees still holding morning dew. It was summer, yes, but in the early days of the season the air still carried a soft coolness, as if winter didn’t fully want to let go.

Frisk stepped out first, adjusting his light cotton coat. He cradled Flowey’s pot to his chest; its roots shifted restlessly with each step. The flower subtly turned its stem, surveying the surroundings like a general arriving at a battlefield. Just behind them, floating a few inches above the ground, Chara followed with arms crossed and a barely controlled air of alertness.

Toriel stepped out easily, closing the door calmly—leaving the house in order to hold uncertainty at bay. Sans waited on the sidewalk, stretching his bones and casting a casual glance toward the figure awaiting them at the garden entrance.

Sarff.

One would expect, given how he spoke, that he’d be an old man with a wise air—but he wasn’t. He was young. Or at least looked young. But that youth did nothing to detract from his commanding presence.

Sarff’s aura was immaculate and deliberate. His attire, though classically tailored, was adapted to the modern world with subtle and dangerous elegance. He wore a long, matte-black trench coat, edged with crimson red along the sleeves and lining. Fine gold embroidery traced the sides and collar—almost invisible unless the light hit at the perfect angle—revealing ancient symbols and geometric patterns.

Underneath, a high-collared bone-colored shirt was fastened with a thin chain of aged gold, clasped by two brooches shaped like stylized eyes. His trousers were slim-fit, modern cut, and his polished leather shoes reflected the barest hint of light. He wore no cape, but his jacket’s upright collar insinuated the bearing of someone used to being seen… and obeyed.

His hair—red as the symbol of Determination—fell in disciplined waves to his cheekbones. He wore round, dark glasses that concealed his golden eyes, though it felt as if they looked right through you. His posture was unbreakable—a blend of old-fashioned courtesy and latent threat, like someone capable of apologizing while pushing you off a cliff.

When Frisk and the others looked at him, it was hard to say whether they were facing a man… or a living manifestation of a fate they didn’t yet want to accept.

His molten-gold eyes found Frisk the moment he stepped onto the pavement.

But he said nothing.

Asgore, standing beside Undyne, broke the silence. He wore his signature checked shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a flour-stained apron still tied at the waist. He’d been baking that morning—out of habit or nerves, no one knew. His voice rumbled, warm as ever.

“Frisk. I’m glad you all made it quickly.”

“Good morning, Dad.” Frisk returned the greeting with a smile that felt more genuine than the one he’d given his coffee hours earlier.

Toriel stepped forward as well, nodding respectfully and offering a courteous greeting to Undyne, who stood arms crossed with sunglasses perched at an odd angle, visibly uneasy.

Sarff remained rooted in place. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft—eerily similar to the previous day. Frisk wondered if that was his “business persona.”

If it was… it would be quite funny.

"I appreciate your punctuality. I had the impression that today... wasting minutes wouldn’t be wise."

Frisk merely nodded. "With what's at stake, I understand."

The visitor’s eyes shifted, for just a moment, to the figure of Chara floating behind him. He didn’t show surprise. Only a kind of silent recognition, as if he had seen her before. As if he remembered something that hadn't happened yet.

Chara held his gaze without saying a word, but her expression hardened. The red glow in her eyes intensified just a little.

[Damn it, he can actually see me] she whispered, not to Frisk, but to herself.

"And that’s not a good sign," murmured Flowey from the flowerpot, not bothering to hide his wariness.

"Come in," said Asgore, stepping aside to let them through. "I prepared a little breakfast. I don’t know if anyone has an appetite, but... I didn’t want this to feel like a sentence."

"Or an ambush," added Undyne, finally taking off her sunglasses. Her visible eye blinked sharply. "I’m here in case things go sideways. Just saying."

"I have no problem with that," said Sarff with an unsettling calm. "I’m here to share information. What you do with it... depends on your will."

As Toriel passed by him, she felt a chill. Not quite fear, but something older. As if the presence of that young man didn’t fully belong to their time. As if reality itself tensed slightly when he spoke.

The group crossed the threshold of the house, where the smell of freshly baked bread mingled with a kind of electric tension in the air.

Frisk was the last to enter. Before closing the door, he looked back toward the empty street, then up at the sky. The sun was beginning to rise strongly, melting the dew on the trees. A summer morning like any other, right?

One by one, they walked into the living room of the king of monsters, who hurried to serve a plate with some flan as a "starter" for his guests. Though he would never match the baking skills of his ex-wife, his talents weren’t limited to gardening and fire magic.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Sarff gave a slight nod of appreciation. Frisk placed Flowey beside him on the table, and for a brief moment, a look of faint nostalgia crossed the golden-petaled flower’s face. Toriel and Asgore sat on the left side.

Sans and Undyne were seated on the right, with Frisk and Sarff at the table’s “ends,” facing each other directly.

The prince of monsters extended one of his roots to grab the spoon. His father had kindly served him a portion too, thank heavens. After a small taste, with the spoon still in his mouth, the plant turned to look at the comedian from Snowdin.

Sarff, meanwhile, reached into his coat and pulled out a folder bearing a symbol Toriel recognized instantly — the emblem of Finis Chaldea.

"Hey, smiley trash bag. Where’s Papyrus?"

He asked in his characteristically hostile and unfriendly tone. Sans shrugged before casting a quick glance at the little flower. It was true that Paps had wanted to come along as a witness for this second meeting, like he had on the night of June 28th, but...

In a situation like this, his little brother would be more of a distraction and a liability than a help — something Sans, unfortunately, had to accept. That’s why he had asked him to stay back this morning.

Sarff cleared his throat softly, drawing the small ambassador’s and his friends’ attention, before rotating the folder around on his wrist a few times.

"What do you have there, Mr. Sarff?"

Asked the Queen. The folder was opened, and the redhead began spreading the papers across the table one by one. It wasn’t just a contract... there was more to it.

Life insurance...

That was the first thing Undyne read, narrowing her eyes. The atmosphere, already heavy, seemed to thicken even more. So much so that the tension could be cut with a knife, if needed. Sarff didn’t wait for anyone to ask the obvious question—not at all.

Quite the contrary.

"After you agreed to join the Chaldea Master program, I contacted Director Olga Marie Animusphere. I asked her to send me a copy of the contract and the paperwork signed by Finis Chaldea employees."

Sarff nodded calmly at Toriel’s question. Then, in the same measured tone he'd maintained since entering, he kept answering:

"Chaldea is recruiting backup Masters… but you, Frisk, don’t fall under that category. Not after what you did to preserve peace between humans and monsters. Not after showing natural synchrony with the soul and time."

Frisk tilted his head. "And what does that mean, exactly?"

Sarff unfolded another document. This one didn’t look like the standard initial contract—it was thicker, sealed with several metallic insignias and a red ribbon crossed over it. On top, in elegant lettering, it read:

MASTER AUTHORIZATION PROGRAM – STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL
INTERNAL USE ONLY: TEAM A

"This is a copy of the contract signed by members of Team A. Not the replacements. The originals," Sarff explained, letting his words fall like stones into the quiet of the room.

Undyne furrowed her brow. "Isn’t Team A that bunch of super-trained geniuses kept in cryo waiting for missions? You mentioned them yesterday before leaving..."

"Yes. And each of them was chosen not only for their talent but for their structural value in the human preservation plan." He turned to Frisk. "Chaldea wants to give you that same role. And that same contract, even though on paper, you’d be listed as a reserve."

Toriel sat up, concerned. "And what does that contract entail?"

"Highest mission priority. Authorization to operate in Singularities. Specialized training... and yes, extended life insurance." He paused. "That includes cerebral backup in case of emergency. As long as the facility remains operational."

Sans gave a low whistle. "So... top tier. With magical clauses and everything."

"Exactly."

Flowey looked at him suspiciously. "And why so special with him? What makes him different from the other magic kids you’ve got?"

"Determination is the only soul that hasn’t been studied in depth. If you had a talking flower and knew there were no others like it, wouldn’t you dissect it to see how it works?"

...

Silence took control of the room for a few brief moments, and Flowey went completely still at the overwhelmingly brutal way Sarff had shut him up. So much so that he even forgot about the spoon still in his mouth.

The redhead, for his part, raised an eyebrow—as if silently asking if that was enough—and the monster princess couldn’t help but smile a little before noticing her younger brother’s defeated but visibly annoyed expression.

[Jeez, Azzy... that was a critical hit if I’ve ever seen one...]

"Grrrr..."

He growled like a mangy dog, just as Toriel refocused on the contract Sarff had presented. It had everything... except for one more thing.

There was something that intrigued not just her, but the rest of the adults who understood the stakes. So much so that Undyne, frowning, looked up from the contract.

Okay, time to talk seriously about this.

"Hey. All this… is it a job, a university exchange program, or an internship exactly? Because requiring a contract—"

"It would be like a job..."

Finished the queen of monsters. And the young ambassador’s eyes widened. A contract. A job. Not an internship or anything temporary. If Chaldea and Olga Marie Animusphere required his presence and wanted both him and his legal guardians to sign it, that meant—

Sarff seemed to smile slightly. He already had an idea of what they were about to ask, and what they were thinking.

"I see you’re wondering if he’ll be getting paid during his stay."

"That's the least they could do!"

Blurted out the captain of the royal guard, before Asgore silenced her with a single glance. The redhead sat down almost instantly. "My apologies..." she said, though it was obvious she didn’t mean it at all. But Asgore saw it differently.

After all... the letter stated that both lodging and food, as well as travel, would be covered by Chaldea. Neither Frisk nor any of them would have to spend a single gold coin.

Sarff leaned slightly forward, gently placing a new sheet atop the folder. The document, with golden edges and a barely visible magical seal, seemed to radiate a seriousness that grotesquely contrasted with what he said next:

"Usually, the amount is not included in this version of the contract. It's revealed after signing, as a way to ensure they’re doing it out of personal commitment… not for money."

He paused, dramatically—almost theatrically.

"But since we’re among friends… this would be the amount."

He turned the paper with a fluid motion, like revealing the final card in a poker game.

$375,000 USD per month

The silence lasted exactly three seconds.

"WHAT?!"

"WHY THAT MUCH?!"

"WHERE THE HELL DOES CHALDEA EVEN GET THAT KIND OF MONEY?!?!"

"That’s more than a president makes! A SHONEN VILLAIN!"

"Forget that, Obama makes that in A YEAR!"

The voices exploded one after another, chaotic, disbelieving. Even Sans raised his eyebrows in a way that was almost visible. Flowey stretched his petals as if trying to rip himself out of the pot from sheer shock. Chara simply floated upside down in the air with a look of utter disdain for reality.

The crimson-haired man remained perfectly unperturbed.

"Mages are eccentric," he explained simply. "They’re offering you the official salary of a primary Team A member, along with a hazard bonus, compensation for temporal isolation, and an advance for potential post-singularity trauma."

Undyne shot up from her chair.

"AND THEY PAY THAT TO ALMOST SIXTY PEOPLE?!"

Sarff raised one finger without losing his calm.

"Seven, actually. Only seven receive that salary. Backup Masters get exactly half."

Frisk remained motionless, as if still processing how many zeroes were in that number.

"I… just wanted a vacation."

Flowey, wobbling in his pot, screeched:

"THAT STILL DOESN’T ANSWER MY QUESTION! WHERE THE HELL DO THEY GET THAT MUCH MONEY?!"

Sarff finally raised an eyebrow slightly, as if he’d been waiting for that outburst since he walked through the door.

"The UN funds us."

Everyone stared at him like he had just confessed to a war crime.

"Where do you think all the money donated monthly through humanitarian campaigns goes?" he added, dropping the line like a bucket of ice water.

Toriel, pale, whispered in horror:

"I thought… I thought it went to schools, healthcare… rebuilding... developing countries..."

Sarff tilted his head with a vague, even sardonic smile.

"Wow, and I thought Mr. Skeleton was the one who made bad jokes."

Sans crossed his arms proudly—until he was smacked by the Chief of Police of Ebott City.

Frisk slowly lowered his gaze to the contract, his normally closed eyes now wider than ever.

Beside him, his companion murmured:

[Congratulations, Frisk. If you survive a year, I’m pretty sure you can buy your own country.]

"You could even found your own country!" shouted Flowey. No one but him and the ambassador heard Chara start.

"Or maybe flee to one?"

The skeleton chimed in with his own little contribution.

Sarff raised an eyebrow, looking at a visibly anxious Toriel.

"I don’t get it. Is this your first time seeing a number that big?"

"We’re monsters, we don’t have this kind of expenses... "

"Oh, right… My apologies."

Frisk sighed so hard the flan on his plate vibrated, and he slammed his forehead onto the table, defeated.

"I'm starting to think saving the world… is cheaper than keeping it running."

"Welcome to the world of magi, kid. Ebott is just a grain of sand; don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to diminish or insult your society… nor you, Frisk."

Sarff continued, face-to-face with the boy whose bright eyes now reflected the weight of the world—and the soul pulsing inside his chest.

As he had said in their last meeting, Frisk had no idea how special he truly was, nor that—no matter the choice he made—his very existence would define the course of history. A blessing? No. In Sarff Hynafol’s eyes, being Determination was nothing less than a burden—an immensely heavy burden from which one could never be free.

A punishment, and a deeply painful one… which Frisk had not yet fully faced.

"It might sound crazy, but magi spend most of their time trying to keep this planet spinning. Be grateful it’s Chaldea calling you—and not the Clock Tower, or the Wandering Sea."

"…Sorry, what?"

Obviously, neither Frisk nor anyone else understood a word of that, something that, deep down, made Sarff happy… though also a little sad. The world the monsters and their little savior lived in was the equivalent of a tiny bubble.

A bubble that, for worse, was about to burst—because the world demanded it.

"My apologies. I was just rambling. We’ve solved almost everything… except for one thing."

"And that would be?"

The elder skeleton brother, genuinely curious, sought answers. Mentally, he wondered whether it meant that both Asgore and Toriel would need to sign off on everything. And yes, he was partly right.

Keyword: partly. Sarff set his eyes on Frisk once more, then looked at the King and Queen.

"Your companions. Since you’re underage, kiddo—and since you’re far from ordinary—you’ve been granted the chance to bring two people with you."

"I’M GOING!"

As one might expect, the first to speak was the Queen herself. Asgore, however, shook his head, much to his ex-wife’s obvious frustration. The former caretaker faced the goat man with a deep frown, more upset than anything.

"Tori. That won’t be possible. None of us can go with him."

"What? Why not?!"

"… Because you’re the kings."

It was Undyne who, after gritting her teeth, realized the truth. The weight of what she represented—and what, even as a teacher, she still stood for—hit Frisk’s mother like a cold bucket of water. The embassy clearly didn’t favor monsters. That was obvious.

It was Frisk and Asgore—“father and son”—and living proof that peace and coexistence were possible, who kept Ebott’s higher-ups from treating monsters like something less than animals.

"Frisk leaving is already walking a tightrope, Your Majesty. Do you really think leaving King Asgore alone is a good idea?"

Toriel swallowed hard, quietly gripping her purple robe beneath the table. Her ex-husband lowered his gaze, softly squeezing the wooden spoon he still held—ready to serve more dessert in a half-hearted attempt to ease the atmosphere.
No one spoke. No one could.

It was Undyne who broke the silence with her usual fiery voice:

"Then I’ll go. If the Queen and King can’t, let it be the ex-Captain of the Royal Guard and current Chief of Police of Ebott City. I’ve trained this brat more than once, and if anyone tries to lay a hand on him, they’ll end up with a spear up their—"

"No.”

One word. Firm. Direct. Spoken without raising his voice. It was Sarff.

Undyne turned to him, surprised, nearly offended. But what she found wasn’t a challenging face—but eyes behind dark glasses looking at her with something like genuine concern.

"I don’t doubt your strength, Miss Undyne. That’s exactly the problem."

"…The hell do you mean by that?"

Sarff sighed, crossing his arms. His fingers tapped lightly on his sleeve.

"Magi are experts at what they do best: words. They manipulate with tone, with silence, with a phrase flung like a dagger. I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I know they’ll get under your skin in minutes. And when that happens, it won’t be a fight. It’ll be a slaughter. Not yours. Theirs."

Silence again. This time, colder.

"And trust me—I don’t like all of them up there. But there’s a difference between winning a fight… and starting a war. Frisk doesn’t need a spear at his side. He needs…"

"...a compass."

Frisk looked at him, surprised. A mix of fear and hope in his expression.

Sarff took a symbolic “step forward.”

"So I propose myself."

"You?" repeated Asgore, somewhat surprised at the offer.

"As his tutor. His guide. His protector if needed. Let’s call it… magical guardian. It’s a legitimate figure within magical circles: a high-ranking mage takes on an apprentice and teaches them everything. It would allow me to accompany him during training, observation, and—if it comes to it—combat. It’s within Chaldea’s regulations, but it’s rarely used… mostly because nearly all candidates are of age."

"And wouldn’t that violate the escort limit?" Undyne asked, still displeased.

"It would, if that weren’t the point. You two—" he said, pointing at Sans and her "can accompany him only until operations officially begin. Once Frisk is formally registered as a trainee agent… you must return."

"And you don’t?" asked Toriel, frowning.

Sarff took off his glasses, revealing his golden eyes for the first time. There was exhaustion in them, yes… but also a light of resolve that brooked no argument.

"I won’t. Because I’ll be part of his development. Because I’ll be registered as his guide. Because—" he turned to Frisk "—if you’re truly going to become someone capable of challenging the world… then I need to make sure you survive long enough to do it."

Sans, who had been quiet until now, raised a brow—if he had one.

"heh. sounds like somethin’ an important character says… right before dying in the final arc."

Sarff smiled with a tired smirk.

"Relax. I have the bad habit of surviving arcs."

Frisk nodded. He knew he couldn’t have it all. But somehow, Sarff seemed to understand the world he was heading into. And though his eyes hid more than they revealed, there was something about him that made Frisk feel… safe. Which was strange. Sarff’s presence should have inspired mistrust, uncertainty. And it did—in part. But like the redhead himself had said back on June 28th… he was being honest with him.

And apparently, honesty was a rare quality among magi—if not nonexistent.

"So… if I understand correctly, Sans is coming with us. But not you, Undyne?"

The ex-Captain of the Royal Guard shook her head, albeit reluctantly.

"If what he’s saying is true, then taking me would be a disadvantage. Its better if only Sans goes with you, punk."

She sighed. The comedian lost the white dots in his eye sockets for a moment. Part of him felt overwhelmed by the new “World” and “Universe” unfolding before his very eyes… and those of everyone he knew

He hadn’t thought the surface—and magical society—had changed so much to the point where no mage had any scruples left, or that humans themselves were constantly trying to anticipate the end of the world.

Damn it, it almost made him want to go back six years, back when they were still imprisoned under the mountain... almost, because freedom was still everything and more than he could ever ask for.

“Of course… I’ll need authorization from both of you. You’re still Frisk’s legal guardians, and without your signatures…”

Sarff tapped the contract a few times with his index finger.

“It would be absolutely worthless.”

As if casually, he tilted his head slightly to one side, then shrugged. A bead of sweat slipped down the goat woman’s face, quickly disappearing into her fur, and then she looked at Frisk. Her eyes, usually a golden yellow, now had a reddish tint to them.

His decision hadn’t changed, and asking again would have been redundant.

But it was inevitable… after all, she had already lost two children. She didn’t want to lose the last piece of happiness she had left, and Asgore was in a similar situation.

“...Frisk. I’ll ask you one last time.”

“Are you sure you want to go?”

Just as she expected, even with everything stacked against him, and so much to learn, he wasn’t intimidated. Chara crossed her arms. [Typical…] murmured the princess, closing her eyes.

That’s how he was. The immovable object. The indomitable soul. Something not even Asriel—with all his nearly infinite power—could destroy. Underestimating him was a mistake.

He had already faced something akin to a god, after all.

“Yes... I don’t want…”

His voice caught in his throat for a moment, suddenly finding himself the center of attention for both monarchs, the judge, the captain, and the mage in question. His soul pulsed—burning, strong, determined.

“I don’t want everything we’ve achieved together to have been for nothing.”

The entire room fell silent.

Frisk didn’t shout. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even lift his head. But what he said… he said with his heart laid bare.

Undyne frowned, glancing away slightly. Sans looked off to the side, wearing that awkward smile he always used when he felt more than he could process. Toriel… couldn’t help it. She stepped forward and wrapped the boy in a strong, long hug, with that scent of cinnamon only a mother could carry.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered. “I don’t like this at all. But if you’re going to go… you’ll do it with dignity. And all of my love.”

Asgore, for his part, remained silent. He walked with slow, solemn steps to the table where the documents lay. He took the pen without saying a word and signed. Then he looked at Toriel.

She hesitated only for a second… then did the same.

The whole situation felt like they were signing a contract with the Devil himself.

Sarff took the papers with a professional, almost neutral smile, and stored them in a sealed folder marked with a golden sigil that seemed to glow with life.

“Good,” he said, with a faint note of relief. “We’re officially underway.”

“When do we leave?”

Just as the redhead was about to answer, Toriel held up a small hand to stop him. Sarff looked at her closely, and the goat woman swallowed hard before speaking in a soft, steady voice:

“Frisk turns fifteen in a few days,” she pointed out. The boy and the others blinked. Right, his birthday was on July 8th. “We were planning a party… that could also serve as a farewell… Could you please give us that time?”

The mage stood still. He thought about it. One second, two, three.

By the fourth, he gave his answer:

“… The preparations for the backup Masters begin at the end of the month. The trip takes a week. We depart exactly on July 14th. Not a day more, not a day less.”

The breath Toriel hadn’t realized she was holding finally escaped her lips, and she gave a tearful smile to the man who had just changed the world for everyone in the room.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Sarff.”

“No need to thank me, Your Majesty. No need at all.”

And just like that, Sarff put his glasses back on, taking everyone by surprise. Was he leaving already? So soon?

“Are you leaving already, Mr. Sarff?”

“I apologize for the lack of ceremony, but yes. I must inform my superiors at the Clock Tower of my absence, and… I need to contact Lord Animusphere.”

He explained as he headed for the door, escorted by the King and Queen, though the ex-captain’s eyes followed him closely, like a hawk. No one noticed when Sans had stood up and appeared beside them.

That’s just how he was.

His glasses slid back into place as he adjusted them. Sarff looked directly at the small wielder of Determination—though not before Chara noticed that, for a split second, he seemed to glance her way.

Flowey, still on the table, crossed two vines in disapproval, his face clearly telling him to hurry up and go to hell already.

“U-um… would you like to… attend?”

The boy offered shyly. His obvious innocence caught the emissary from the Clock Tower off guard, though he didn’t show it. His expression softened into something more friendly, more human.

More in line with what a normal human should be. He almost wanted to laugh—but didn’t. For a moment, he had forgotten that he was dealing with a simple orphan raised in a humble home, not in the world of mages…

But in a home full of love and people who truly cared for him. In the end, Frisk wasn’t a mage… just a simple little human carrying a burden they were never meant to bear.

And that was… something beautiful, compared to the world he came from. Their lives couldn’t be more different.

“I appreciate the invitation, little one. But my work hardly allows me any free time, I’m afraid.”

He said, ruffling the brown-haired boy’s head. Frisk giggled softly, watching as the redhead straightened up naturally.

Dossier in hand, Sarff turned, bidding farewell with a brief wave and an unexpectedly cheerful “Goodbye.” The mage stepped through the doorway, accompanied by the group of monsters, and as the door closed behind them, his silhouette vanished into the dim hallway lights.

.

.

Outside, the garden breeze rustled the leaves with a deceptively calm rhythm. Sarff descended the steps of the entrance with measured steps, flanked by Sans, Undyne, Toriel, and Asgore.

He walked a few paces across the damp stone path—until he suddenly stopped. Nothing in his body moved, except for the subtle tilt of his head. As if he had just heard a dissonant note in an otherwise perfectly written symphony.

The others halted too. Absolute silence.

Sans was the first to speak, his voice low and alert:

“hey, dude. something wrong? did you forget some important paper?”

“…No. That’s not it,” Sarff replied, without turning around. “We have… unwanted guests.”

At once, everyone tensed. Instincts long dormant since the time of war ignited like wildfire. Asgore and Toriel narrowed their eyes, their magical senses extending like invisible nets. But they detected nothing.

Undyne’s hand was already on the hilt of her spear.

“Where?/Who?”

Sarff snapped his fingers. A faint crimson glow flared beneath his feet, spreading like a pulse of blood across the ground. The garden trembled slightly. Around the Dreemurr house, columns of light rose into the air, closing in like a dome—a dense, ancient magical barrier, trembling with power.

“They’re Magus Killers” he said at last, with absolute calm. “Mage assassins. Someone leaked Frisk’s upcoming involvement. Or maybe word got out about Miss Olga’s interest in recruiting him. Either way, someone doesn’t want him reaching Chaldea.”

Undyne growled behind him, spear already summoned. But Sarff raised a hand.

“Don’t draw your weapon. Not this time.”

He turned just enough to look at the four of them.

“Go back inside. I’ll handle this.”

Asgore looked like he wanted to protest. Toriel hadn’t even lowered her guard. But Sarff didn’t give them the chance. With a sweep of his cloak, he walked away from the group, heading toward the tree line just beyond the garden.

It was there, among the shadows, that he truly felt them.

Five.

No—six. Camouflaged. Surrounding him from blind spots. Dogs trained to hunt what they do not understand. Rats in enchanted robes. The true enemies of knowledge: guardians of the status quo.

And then, they emerged.

One, then another. Armed. Enchanted. Shields active. Clock Tower insignias visible on their clothes and the spellwork etched into their gloves.

The one in front smiled. He was young—well, they were all young compared to him. But above all, he was arrogant. The kind who thought the first book they read gave them the right to look down on others. Or the kind who believed their bloodline defined their worth in the magical world.

Poor bastard.

“So, you’re the one responsible for the transfer?”

Sarff didn’t answer. He simply looked at them with a faint smirk.

“Why Frisk?” he finally asked. His voice was cold, probing. That was all he wanted to know.

“We’re not here for the kid,” the leader replied confidently, as if speaking from an untouchable position. “We’re here for you.”

There was a pause. The wind stopped. Even the leaves seemed to hold their breath.

“There’s no one registered under the name Sarff Hynafol in the Clock Tower,” the young man continued. “No records of entry, no bloodline, no affiliation. We don’t even know how you crossed the plane.”

Sarff looked at them, amused.

“Well,” he murmured. “I figured you’d realize sooner… that I don’t answer to those miserable bastards at the Tower.”

The leader narrowed his eyes.

“Then… who do you answer to? The higher-ups wanted to know that before we had to kill you. Give us that, man, and we’ll make it quick.”

Sarff smiled.

“For now… I only to myself.”

And in an instant, his presence changed.

What was once a distant, elegant figure became something else entirely. The air quivered. The sky seemed to darken ever so slightly. A pressure rolled outward from his body like a wave, forcing the assassin to take a step back without even realizing it.

Sarff removed his glasses. Carefully tucked them into his inner pocket. His golden eyes now burned with a beastly glow.

“Last chance. Turn around and leave.”

The assassins didn’t reply with words.

They replied with fire.

And Sarff, with a low laugh, charged like lightning.

.

.

Twenty minutes.

It only took twenty minutes.

CRACK~

Another soul turned into pieces, the fifth one; this time, it was gray. Sarff's face didn't show a bit of empathy for any of them; they were mages after all.

Mages who betrayed their own natures in favor of results... the well-known and despicable "the end justifies the means," the cancer of the human race, and in turn, the antidote that any bastard on duty drank to justify all the atrocities they wanted to commit.

All in the name of progress.

"G... gkkkth...!"

There was still one more. The mage, holding a crimson sword dripping with blood, walked with his other hand inside his jacket's pocket; slowly, he took a cloth from inside, wiping away the blood that had stained his face.

Out of all six, that was the only one with a colored soul: Bravery.

A spider stupid but brave enough to try to fight a dinosaur, that would be the best comparison he could come up with.

And from the ground, crawling with his only remaining arm, the other having been severed up to his shoulder, the orange-eyed wizard did his best to crawl in a cowardly attempt to live.

How... how did he do it... ?!

"I wouldn't recommend moving that much."

Sarff spoke, putting the handkerchief he'd used to clean his face back into one of his pockets. He still had the bearing of a gentleman, though now the tone of his voice was way more... informal, but he still had that superiority.

It wasn't arrogance, it was simply... obvious how things were going to end, from his point of view.

Blood escaped from the wretched bastard's throat, and he felt like his shattered ribs were imploding into his torso. A horrifying texture spread across his stump; everything that sword had severed had gained some kind of curse or something similar.

It was inconceivable.

"What... What kind of magic is this...?!"

He growled, proud and incredulous, before the redhead's foot landed on one of his legs, stomping hard to prevent him from crawling any further. He applied a little more force, intending to break his ankle.

He writhed like a cockroach in its own misery. From above, Sarff actually felt somewhat intrigued.

"Huh? Didn't they teach you how to recognize and counter curses in your department? I admit that's somewhat... disappointing."

The look those veiny, bloodshot eyes returned to him was almost comical. It was always the same with mages. Too self-centered to accept that a "lesser being" would put a stop to their "glorious existences."

Sarff twisted his ankle slightly, listening to the crunch that accompanied the muffled scream from the man on the ground.

"I stopped expecting entry-level status in this guild of charlatans a long time ago..." he muttered with a wry smile. "But it still amazes me how they keep finding ways to disappoint me."

He crouched down, still graceful, unhurried. The killer's face was drenched in sweat and blood, twisting in pain, but still filled with hatred.

"You know what's really curious?" Sarff continued, now barely inches from his victim. "That you —all of you— use all sorts of excuses to justify your actions. Acts so abominable that it sickens me to think I breathe the same air as you, miserable wastes of oxygen."

The mage opened his mouth to retort, but only spat out blood and tooth fragments.

Sarff rose his hand slowly. The red sword, as if it was alive, pulsed, reacting to its owner wielding it, ready to do whatever he was about to command.

"You thought coming six against one gave you some kind of advantage. That the world responded to the rules you learned in a dusty library."

He stood up.

"That was mistake number one."

With a soft click, the curse lodged in the man's stump was fully activated. It wasn't a scream. It was a shriek. One that no silence seal could contain.

"You know, I'll give you something before you die. Something more valuable than your entire career: clarity."

The man looked at him with his one unburst eye.

"This wasn't a fight. Nor was it a duel. It was an execution."

Sarff rose his sword once more, and without fanfare, without unnecessary movement, brought it down. A clean, final cut.

Silence.

Only the forest wind, which seemed to have been restrained until then, stirred the blades again as if exhaling in relief.

Sarff stood among the bodies. He shook the blood from his blade, before making it disappear in a small rune that sealed itself with a purple flash, and then adjusted the collar of his coat as normal.

"Twenty minutes," he muttered. "I'm rusty."

CHAS

He snapped his fingers once, and the inert body in front of him was enveloped in a reddish light. A "buzz" sounded in the air as, before the redhead's impassive eyes, the destroyed body of the "Brave Assassin" was reconstructed normally.

The corpse reattached itself. Clean skin, unblemished. Its sockets once again housed an orange set of eyes. It came back to life, but the lack of glow in its irises indicated it wasn't the same as a few minutes ago.

"You will return to your superiors. You will say that the monsters' strange magic poisoned the gray souls and they died. You followed and found the information you needed: Sarff Hynafol is not registered in the Clock Tower because he directly served the Marisbury Animusphere and, with his death, he followed the orders left to him by his Lord. After that, you will disappear, understood?"

There was no response other than a vague nod and the sensation of his presence being magically erased.

Sarff stared at the scene for a few more moments before snapping his fingers again. The rest of the bodies were covered by scarlet flames that consumed them one by one.

Five minutes after he had finished, the red-haired mage turned on his heel and walked back to Dreemurr Garden, crossing the still-active barrier. The lights surrounding the dome pulsed softly in recognition of his presence and opened just enough to let him pass.

Undyne was the first to confront him, running from the portico of the gate to grab him by the shoulders, ignoring all decorum.

"What was that?! The sky changed color for a second, damn it!"

Sarff didn't reply immediately. He stopped, took out his handkerchief again, and wiped a red stain that had remained on his cheek. When he spoke, he did so with the same calmness as if commenting on the weather:

"Six. All of them neutralized. The last one… fought back more than expected."

Toriel appeared behind Undyne. Her face was pale, tense.

"Will there be more?"

"I doubt it. I sent one back, he’ll say whatever needs to be said. He’ll claim Frisk refused the invitation, and that I only came to try to convince him but failed. That’ll keep them calm—for now. But I’ll still return after sending the signed documents to Chaldea."

He replied, and his words brought a sense of peace to the group, though not completely. Flowey frowned from his pot, nestled in Frisk’s arms to move around, and Chara, for her part, glanced toward her companion.

They were both thinking the same thing.

What the hell just happened...?

They were already used to all kinds of terrorist attacks, but… Magus Killers? That was something different. Not just another activist trying to blow him up or poison him or his family.

This was a completely different level.

[File Saved]

Just for safety, he made a save point right there in the living room, invisible to everyone except the princess, her brother, and Frisk himself. Chara let out a relieved sigh. Good—no one they cared about was dead, and they wouldn’t have to reset until breakfast time.

That was… something.

Sarff, once again, put his glasses back on. Now his posture was more composed, confident. He wasn’t worried… at least, not that they could tell.

Which only made the others feel more secure.

"I don't think you're going to have any more problems. Don’t worry."

His lips curled into a small but subtle smile, as his gaze focused on the yellow-eyed boy.

He inclined his head in farewell.

"Have a good birthday, little one. Your Highnesses. Sans. Undyne. I’ll see you soon."

His words, though soft, felt like the end of a chapter.

With that final glance, Sarff turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the Dreemurr garden, as if the night itself welcomed him once again. His footsteps made no sound on the stone. And when he crossed the edge of the barrier, it unraveled without ceremony, vanishing like dust into the air.

Silence hung over the group like a heavy blanket.

Frisk still held the pot with Flowey. The stem had stopped trembling, but the petals didn’t look relaxed. He hadn’t said anything since the threat was mentioned.

"Magus Killers...?" he finally repeated in a low voice.

"A very specific kind of threat," Sans replied, his tone low. "Too specific."

Toriel sat down slowly. She crossed her hands in her lap and stared blankly ahead. Asgore remained standing, back straight, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Undyne clenched her teeth. Not out of frustration… but out of helplessness.

"The kind who go for your throat without showing their face," she spat. "They don’t even have the guts to fight head-on. And yet they call themselves ‘elite’."

Frisk said nothing. He just kept staring at the spot where Sarff had disappeared, eyes slightly narrowed. He knew this wasn’t normal. None of the mages were. But there was something about Sarff… something that, even with everything he’d lived through, he couldn’t quite read.

Chara, beside him, still had her arms crossed, her brow furrowed.

[You say that like it’s something new] she muttered. [All this reeks of manipulation. Are we really going to a place where this kind of thing is ‘normal’?]

"We’ve been to worse," Flowey replied quietly, his stems returning to normal as he looked at his floating sister. "The difference is… over there, magic isn’t measured in love or rage. Over there, they kill you without even giving you the satisfaction of a final monologue."

Chara clicked her tongue. They hadn’t even packed yet, and they were already facing problems like this. She hated that Frisk had accepted the deal.

[That was too honest for you, flower.]

"I’m not in the mood," the golden flower replied, lowering his petals slightly. "And you shouldn’t be either."

The [File Saved] still floated invisibly in a corner of the room, glowing faintly with that soft shimmer only the three of them could see.

Frisk took a deep breath, and without turning, spoke into the air:

"We’re going. That doesn’t change."

And just like that, the conversation returned to where the whole morning had started. Was he saying it to convince himself? Or to convince the others?

.

.

-[Fragment 2: Decisive]-

The weeks were flying by. His birthday had been well-received—even more than usual. Gifts here and there. Useful gifts, in a way.

Warm clothes, a brand-new, top-of-the-line cellphone, books on magic, history, and politics gifted by Asgore from his personal library.

"If you're going to get involved in that world, this might help. Even basic knowledge is welcome."

Of all the presents, he felt the old goat man had given him the most useful one.

"Hmmm... I can't believe things have changed this much..."

Murmured the eighth fallen to Mount Ebott, reading with genuine curiosity the passage that spoke in detail about, precisely, the family that had contacted him a couple of weeks ago.

The passage about Aetherius Animusphere. The illustration used to depict the white-haired man had an air of majesty that neither Flowey nor Chara particularly liked.

What could you expect from one of the greatest monster slayers and ‘seers’ humanity had ever produced to ensure their victory in the war?

Olga’s ancestor was illustrated floating in outer space, looking straight ahead, as if those orange eyes were alive and judging him from the ink itself. Below him, two purple silhouettes representing his two children.

To both princes and the young ambassador, the fact that the damn future could be predicted through Astronomancy was sheer madness.

Madness.

"If what Sarff said is true... along with Dad’s stories... maybe Marisbury found out about the end of the world the same way this piece of trash and his offspring discovered the monster movements during the war."

Commented the golden-petaled flower. The young Dreemurr gave a grimace that mixed curiosity and intrigue. Could he be right? Maybe Marisbury had seen the world’s fate in the stars, just as the founder of his bloodline had done a thousand years ago.

Or maybe he had just been lucky.

Even so, Frisk wasn’t entirely sure, and Chara was clearly skeptical.

[Do you really believe astral bodies pity us enough to whisper our expiration dates to someone?]

Asked the spectral monarch with evident sarcasm, frowning. She wasn’t one to question magic, far from it, but even if they could go back in time to some extent, that wasn’t the same as predicting the future.

"The world’s full of mysteries, Chara."

[Touché, Asriel.]

Chara’s voice echoed with irony through the stale air of the quiet room. Her crimson eyes, though transparent, were fixed on the open page. The figure of Aetherius seemed to watch them from the paper, unblinking, like the living image of an ancient god looking down on them—as if they were nothing more than ants unworthy of his gaze.

Frisk turned the page carefully. The crackle of the ancient book filled the room with a solemnity it didn’t quite deserve.

"You know what’s the worst part?" murmured Flowey, his petals drooping slightly. "That he probably thought he was doing the right thing."

[And that justifies it?] Chara replied sharply, turning to glare at the golden flower.

"No," the flower answered, not even raising his voice. "But in a twisted way... it just makes him even more human."

The teenager closed the book gently, sealing the gaze of that ancestral mage between its covers. He set it down beside the other old texts Asgore had left him. Though more than texts, they were journals—gifts from the First Determination who had set foot in Ebott City centuries ago. Some titles he couldn’t even read properly due to the ancient form of the language, but he tried.

Some had grandiose names, and others were, frankly, kind of stupid. Apparently, mages had a habit of giving pompous titles to their works—a pattern tied to the arrogance they had carried for centuries.

Frisk sighed, placing a hand on his chest, right where that indescribable part of his soul burned.

"Astronomancy... what if it's real?"

[If it is,] said the princess, this time in a more serious tone [then fate is written in a language we can't read. And that puts us at a disadvantage.]

"But it also means someone can read it," added Flowey. "And if that someone isn’t on our side..."

Frisk simply shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to think about that.

"I think you’re being too pessimistic. The book about Aetherius says only one per generation can have the ability and finesse to be a perfect Astromancer. And we don’t even know if Miss Olga is one."

"...You’re right. After all, the one who created Chaldea was her father, Marisbury... or so Sarff said."

[One of those rare cases where nepotism actually brings positive results, huh?]

There were some small chuckles from both the human and the ghost. Yes, in a strange way, that seemed to be the case.

"Who knows? Maybe Miss Olga does have the gift, and instead of being our enemy, she could help us. We haven’t even met her in person yet."

That was a pretty good point, and both the former human and former Dreemurr conceded for now.

The atmosphere was no longer so tense. The weight of what they had read still lingered, but now they had something in their hands: a possibility. A crack through which they might slip into plans written by others.

Frisk gently caressed the book’s cover. The spine was worn and the leather was starting to peel, but it was clear it had been read many times. The pages still carried the scent of incense and old ink.

"You know, Dad once told me that books are maps of the soul of whoever wrote them."

"And what kind of soul does this one have?" asked Flowey, not in the mood to be sarcastic.

"One that never wanted to understand us," Frisk answered honestly. "But... that doesn’t mean we can’t try to understand it."

Chara rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else. The boy had already won the conversation.

It was then that footsteps echoed down the stone hallway. A familiar rhythm—heavy but calm. The door creaked open, and the figure of Asgore appeared in the doorway, a cup of tea in one hand and an old tome tucked under his arm.

"Everything alright in here?" he asked, his voice as warm as always.

Frisk nodded, closing the previous book and accepting the new one from his adoptive father with both hands. This one was thinner, but its title was in a language he didn’t recognize.

"A partial translation of the first treatises of the Animusphere family, when they came to Ebott at the request of Grace Talaz, the Mage of Perseverance," Asgore explained upon seeing his curious expression. "My old friend Argus gave it to me before the war. I never had time to read it until we were trapped. I remember reading it after the war, when I tried to understand how human minds worked beyond the battlefield—and what drove them to lock us under Mount Ebott."

"Why did you keep it?" Frisk asked, staring at the book in his hands.

"Because I thought it was useful to understand how someone so brilliant could become so cold."

Asgore set the cup down on the desk. He observed Frisk for a moment, then sighed softly.

"No matter how powerful their magic or science was… what they always lacked was heart."

The tone of voice with which Asgore finished his sentence was somber and pessimistic. His three children noticed it instantly. Even if he didn’t show it, there was a nostalgic and sorrowful look in his eyes as he remembered those times.

It was obvious that, from time to time, he thought about the past—like anyone would who wished they had done things differently.

Many lives were lost, on both sides... lives that Asgore, Toriel, and Gerson—the last ones remaining from that era—believed could have been saved.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

True to his kind nature, the brown-haired boy echoed the same question his mother had asked weeks before, when she saw him drinking coffee that morning. His hand reached for the king’s, squeezing it with the affection only a child could give a father.

Flowey avoided looking at the scene, and Chara’s expression darkened slightly upon seeing it. Asgore silently closed his hand around Frisk’s, squeezing it for comfort. His face, worn from having lived far more than anyone should, nodded with an air of resignation.

“Yes, I’m fine, son… it’s just that… I’ve lived too long.”

He answered, shaking his head. It had been so long since he was young. His mother, Asalia, and his father, Sarmiel, had died naturally—as it should be.

They left the future of their race in his and his fiancée’s hands, and sometimes Asgore wondered if he had done a good job. After all, he hadn’t worn his crown again except for important meetings—because deep inside, he felt he didn’t deserve it.

It wasn’t right for an adult to talk about their problems with their children; parents were there to help, to guide, to pave the way forward for their kids.

Kids he had lost in a single night—and whom he still saw in his dreams... and his nightmares.

The blond turned to look at the little ambassador before offering a sincere smile.

“You know? I never understood why humans feared death or sought eternal life. Having lived so many years… I’m sure that if you asked your mother or old Gerson, they’d say the same thing I do… eternal life… is horrible.”

The words hung in the air like ashes. There was no anger in his voice, no regret. Only the heavy truth of someone who had lived long enough to understand it from every angle. A man worn by time, loneliness, guilt, and the wish that things had gone differently.

Frisk didn’t respond right away. He just looked at him, his golden eyes shining with something between compassion and understanding. He squeezed his hand a bit tighter.

“But you’re still here.”

Asgore blinked, surprised by how simple and profound that answer was. He smiled, though tinged with sadness.

“Yes… I’m still here.”

“Then that’s what matters.”

The old king let out a hoarse, weary laugh, as if someone had tickled a long-forgotten part of him.

Flowey heard it from the shelf, not daring to fully turn around. His stem trembled slightly, and his flower was half-closed. He knew. That voice, that warmth that still flowed from someone like Asgore, was the same that once tried to protect him, too—when he was someone else. When he still had a soul.

Chara, on the other hand, stood with arms crossed and a faint frown. She said nothing, but her gaze drifted between the king’s face and Frisk. She, too, was remembering. A starless night. A small body in the arms of a voicelessly weeping goat. A war born of love.

[You look like him] murmured Chara, though no one heard it but herself. A reflection. The Demon who appeared when Called had been affected more than she let on. [Much more than you realize…]

Asgore carefully sat back down in the old armchair in the corner. He had brought more books, but didn’t open them. He just looked at his adopted son, and—without knowing it—at his spectral daughter, and the fragmented soul that had once been his rightful son.

“Frisk. What you’re about to do… it won’t be easy.”

That much was obvious, wasn’t it, Frisk? But even so, you listened. A father’s wise advice is never wasted.

“Not because the world is cruel, though it is, but because they’ll ask you to be someone you’re not. To act like an adult. To make decisions you shouldn’t have to make yet.”

Frisk listened without blinking. His golden eyes (the same shade as Sarff’s, the king thought) stared intently at him.

“And I know you will. I know you’ll do well. But… just remember this, please.”

The king looked at him with a seriousness he rarely showed these days.

“It’s something my father, Sarmiel Dreemurr, told me centuries ago: Don’t let them turn you into someone else. Into a symbol. Into a tool. No matter how great your destiny may be, you are you. That… is the most valuable thing you have.”

Chara looked down. So did Flowey. Frisk only nodded, silently, feeling those words etch themselves into some deep corner of his soul.

“Something I learned with time—not as King Asgore, but as Asgore Dreemurr—was that not all of us are born into greatness. But we feel, love, hate, and hurt just the same. Don’t become something they call ‘good.’ It’s not worth it… It will never be worth it.”

He finished, before placing his hand on the brown-haired child’s shoulder. With his mouth slightly open, the young Dreemurr stared at his father in silence, his soul aching slightly from the paternal love received from the monarch.

And internally, both Flowey and Chara experienced something similar. A tear slid down the face of the golden flower, while the first girl took in a breath, as if sighing once more.

Ring… ring~

“Oh.”

The emotional moment was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone. Asgore nodded, giving his third child permission to answer. On the other end, the shrill voice of Papyrus rang in his head.

“FRISK! HELLO! THIS IS THE GREAT PAPYRUS SPEAKING!”

“HELLO, PUNK!”

Wincing slightly, Determination the Third felt the ringing in his head before letting out a small chuckle. Every time Undyne and Papyrus were together, it could only mean one thing.

“Hey, Kiddo.”

“H-hi, Frisk.”

They had arranged a small gathering. Alphys and Sans joined the conversation shortly after. Although it wasn’t a video call, the voices and background noises—clinking dishes and machinery—came through loud and clear.

Along with a classic jazz tune that both the king and the human recognized instantly; it was Grillby’s favorite song.

“H-hello…”

Sitting at his table, the younger skeleton brother smiled with a “NYEH!” His older brother let out a soft laugh, and Alphys—wearing her black dress with white polka dots—smiled nervously. Maybe they’d overdone it a little with the shouting...

“Frisk! Since you’re leaving soon, we were thinking of making the most of the time we have left!”

“HELL YEAH! COME ON! WE COULD EVEN HAVE A SLEEPOVER!”

Roared the redhead. Wham! Her fists slammed on the table, earning her a pointed finger from Grillby, who was serving fries to a bunny-shaped monster.

Frisk looked at Asgore, silently asking what he should do, but to the king, the answer was obvious.

“I don’t think spending all your time studying would be wise, son.”

Something both Chara and Flowey agreed on. Everyone needed a break, and they weren’t entirely sure how much free time he’d have once he joined the staff at Chaldea.

Toriel would agree too.

Smiling, Determination nodded, delighted by the idea of eating with his friends.

“I’ll be there in five minutes. Grillby’s?”

“The best place in the world, kid.”

Answered Sans from the other end of the line, earning a “MORE LIKE THE ONLY PLACE YOU KNOW!” from his brother. Frisk hung up immediately, then hugged Asgore—who returned the gesture without hesitation.

Memories of an older time came to the king’s mind. So similar, yet so different from his only daughter... It had taken him and Toriel an eternity to earn Chara’s trust and to get her to allow even a hug.

That’s why he looked at the interaction between his successor and his father with nostalgia—and a slight touch of envy.

“Thanks for everything, Dad. See you later.”

Said the child, receiving a playful hair ruffle from the monster king. Yes, maybe he had lived too long and lost too much, but after seeing Frisk walk out the door with Flowey in his hands, headed to the most famous restaurant in the city, he recalled the words he had spoken himself.

You’re still here…

He repeated to himself as he closed the door. So many friends and loved ones had been lost in the war, or to old age while waiting for a freedom that never came. Rudy Holiday was one of them, and though Carol, Dess, and little Noelle were doing fine, his absence was still felt.

But he was still here… and in the end, Asgore was living a happy life—just like everyone else—thanks to that child who had already become a man.

.

.

Outside, the world was still white.

In the Arctic, the superstructure of Chaldea rose like a needle of steel and glass buried in perpetual snow and frozen mountains. That white desert stretched for miles, and although during that season a bit of sunlight filtered through for a few hours a day, the landscape still looked like something out of a bad dream.

Romani Archaman, Head Physician of the organization, walked down the interior corridors while sipping from a mug labeled “Coffee = Life,” a gift from an assistant who no longer worked there.

The building's interior, at least, was a climate-controlled oasis. Thanks to the central heating system, the halls stayed at a constant 22°C (72°F), and each room could be climate-tuned with surgical precision. Which, to be honest, was the only reason the residents hadn’t gone completely insane during the last solstice.

Romani didn’t complain. Not too much.

After all, he still had coffee. And more importantly: enough internet to watch Magi☆Mari without interruptions.

He sighed in resignation as he stopped in front of the sliding doors to the main conference room.

With a soft hydraulic whirr, the doors opened at his presence, revealing a space that completely contrasted the polar white outside.

The meeting room was an oval chamber, spacious but not excessive, covered in clean surfaces of soft ivory white that wasn’t quite cold. The walls were adorned with glowing bands that lit up in a soft blue upon detecting movement, and the ceiling—a dome of reinforced glass—projected a real-time image of the Arctic sky: shifting clouds, auroras, and occasionally, the silhouette of the sun peeking over the frozen horizon.

In the center of the room, a circular table floated just a few centimeters above the floor, held up by an artificial gravity system. Translucent screens rose from it with a mere gesture, displaying astral maps, timelines, magical profiles, and, as of a few hours ago, information on something as unusual these days as “SOULS with fixed emotional attributes.”

To one side, an automatic beverage dispenser hummed softly with a classical melody—probably a setting left by the chief technician to add “an academic atmosphere” to the room. The chairs—ergonomic and far too expensive—were arranged with mathematical precision, each marked with a small holographic plate showing the name and rank of its occupant.

Today, due to the sensitivity of the topic, only five people were present:

Dr. Romani Archaman – Chief Physician

Leonardo Da Vinci – Head of the Technology Department

Lev Lainur – Deputy Director of Chaldea

Olga Marie Animusphere – Director of Chaldea

And last but not least:

Mashu Kyrielight

The only name without a rank, but fully deserving to be there. The girl’s job was to assist Team A in simulations until she was called to join them when the mission truly began. But that wasn’t relevant just yet.

They were all waiting for him.

“Romani, welcome.”

“Good morning, everyone. Sorry for the delay.”

“Is coffee giving you trouble again, Romani?”

Leonardo Da Vinci was not the bearded old man one might expect upon hearing the name. No. The genius of Chaldea had chosen to manifest in a more... practical form, according to her. Standing before Romani was a young woman with long dark brown hair, intense violet eyes, and a smile that could only be called enchanting—a living reflection of the famous Gioconda.

She wore a stylized version of the organization’s magical uniform: a red blouse with golden details, a short skirt with blue trim, and high leg-guards that fit her form with elegance. In one hand she held her inseparable staff adorned with astrological motifs, and in the other—a mechanical prosthetic worthy of her inventions—rested a cup of her favorite brew.

Around her, small automatons the size of butterflies floated, likely performing calculations or adjusting formulas in the background. Her mere presence seemed to fill the room with an artistic spark no other scientist could match.

“Creativity doesn’t fuel itself, Leo.”

Romani replied, looking at her with professional fondness. Sometimes he forgot that behind that youthful appearance hid one of humanity’s greatest minds.

Da Vinci returned the smile, while his gaze moved to the side.

To his right, arms crossed, stood Lev Lainur Flauros, his thin figure and overly elegant style making him look like a mannequin escaped from a Victorian fashion show. His dark green suit was as perfectly pressed as always, the cuffs and collar lined with black fur. His top hat barely moved, even when he tilted his head in one of his polite gestures, and the permanent smile on his face was as fake as it was unsettling.

“Its wonderful to see you, Romani.”

He spoke with a soft, courteous voice… too courteous.

He seemed to enjoy being there more than the situation warranted—if they hadn’t been close friends for years, Romani would be far more suspicious of him.

Archaman turned his head, now looking toward the head of the table.

At the center, with her arms resting on the floating table, sat Olga Marie Animusphere, Director of Chaldea. Her upright posture and focused gaze on the screen before her revealed that she’d been there longer than necessary. With silver-white hair and intense orange eyes, the heiress of the prestigious Animusphere family wasn’t exactly the warmest person—especially when the situation called for seriousness—but her efficiency was undeniable.

Or so people said. She herself vehemently refused to accept such compliments.

“We were about to begin without you, Romani,” she declared, though she knew she was lying—appearances had to be maintained officially. “If it weren’t for the fact that your medical report is essential to this case…”

Romani scratched his head with a nervous gesture, mumbling a low “Sorry…” that made Leonardo chuckle and caused Lev’s smile to twitch slightly as Romani took a seat, glancing to Olga’s right.

Sitting beside Olga, almost like a kind shadow, was Mashu Kyrielight. The youngest in the room, with lavender hair tied in a half-ponytail and a pair of round glasses framing her light violet eyes, Mashu was the only one in the group who didn’t quite match the academic and hierarchical air of the others… and yet, no one in the room questioned her presence.

She wore the same standard uniform of the female support logistics staff: a sleeveless gray shirt, a red tie, but instead of the white lab coat, she wore a white and gray hooded jacket. Though she remained silent, her eyes attentively followed every word, every gesture, every fluctuation in the floating graphs before her.

But upon noticing Romani’s presence, she turned slightly and offered him a small, soft smile.

“Good morning, Doctor Romani.”

He returned the gesture. Unlike the others, Mashu never judged him for arriving late. She never did.

Once everyone had settled in, the screens began projecting the latest data—gathered by the man who had sent them the documents after his journeys to Mt. Ebott.

Seven spheres of light appeared before them.
Seven colors.
Seven emotions.

And at the center of them all… an image of Frisk.

“That’s…”

“The current ambassador of monsterkind, Frisk Dreemurr,” Olga Marie finished for the pink-haired girl, giving a slight nod.

Above each of the spheres, words began to appear—phrases, names that had been assigned since humanity first became aware of itself:

Perseverance for purple.

Bravery for orange.

Justice for yellow.

Kindness for green.

Integrity for blue.

Patience for light blue.

And Determination for red.

“And the current Determination of this era.”

“The child who freed an entire race after thirteen hundred years… and changed the world in just seven days.”

Lev added from his seat. The universal genius, Leonardo, brought a hand to her chin, then glanced at Olga. Meanwhile, Romani remembered the idea the director had proposed months ago—to formally invite the brown-haired youth to become a part of Chaldea.

A decision she had ultimately acted on, sending him a letter. Come to think of it… had he ever responded?

“Is this related to the Grand Order, Director?”

The last of the Animusphere line nodded before pulling a small file folder from an inside pocket of her coat. She didn’t take long to slide it across the table to Romani.

Archaman was the first to receive and open it. It was the contract he had sent to their contact in Ebott, but what surprised him most…

Was that the signatures of the King and Queen of Monsters were there.

“Then… he accepted?”

Olga nodded, watching as the document passed from Leonardo Da Vinci’s hands, to Lev’s, and finally to Mashu’s.

To say that was a massive surprise would be an understatement. Part of Olga hadn’t expected it to amount to anything—but she had been wrong.

Her enthusiasm surfaced in the form of a proud smile.

“That Sarff guy managed to get young Dreemurr to accept. I didn’t know my father had someone so useful under his command.”

The Director’s words caused a brief pause at the table. The three adults present exchanged a subtle glance—silent, but full of meaning.

This wasn’t the time… but that conversation would definitely come later.

The existence of Sarff was, at the very least, intriguing. But for now, the priority was the information laid out in front of them.

Olga adjusted her tie and cleared her throat gently to draw everyone’s attention. Her voice came with the characteristic confidence of someone trained to lead.

“Good. I know everyone here is familiar with the general history of the Monsters, but now that we have updated data—provided in good faith after their liberation by young Frisk—it’s time to review.”

There was a collective nod. Olga continued:

“To understand the nature of monster souls and their relationship with humans, we must go back several millennia. To the dawn of magic itself, when Homo sapiens sapiens first became aware of their ability to manipulate it, and the earliest traces emerged of what we now call Human Traits.”

The seven colored hearts glowed at their naming, then scattered to form a straight, Indian-style line.

The white-haired woman continued:

“When a human is born, their soul is gray. Over time, depending on their personality and life experiences, the soul develops one of seven colors: purple, orange, yellow, green, blue, light blue… and red. This last one, Determination, is the rarest of all. Unusually rare.”

“How rare, exactly?” asked Mashu with genuine curiosity.

“Since the earliest records of magical bloodlines, with over 300,000 years of history as a species, only three confirmed individuals have ever displayed this trait. There are other theories, of course, but officially recognized cases are few.”

“And what makes it so special?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Romani answered, crossing his arms. “But there’s a persistent theory: that those who carry a red soul are destined to alter the course of history. Not just influence it… but change it — for better or worse.”

Da Vinci spoke up once the doctor finished:

“Besides young Frisk, there are two recorded individuals with this trait: Chara Dreemurr, the first human to fall into the Underground, and Argus Sandoval, the Mage of Determination who led the creation of the seal that imprisoned the monsters in Mount Ebott.”

“And the theories? The unconfirmed users?”

“Some names always show up in the more esoteric discussions,” replied Olga, tapping the table gently with her fingertip. “Gilgamesh, Romulus, King Arthur, Solomon… and of course, Jesus of Nazareth.”

Mashu’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.

“Jesus Christ? I thought he was more associated with Justice or Kindness…”

“And rightly so,” Lev gave her a soft smile, eyes half-lidded as he looked toward the floating image of the brown-haired boy. “But among the more… obsessive soul theorists, there’s a hypothesis that one of Determination’s key powers is dominion over life and death. Coming back from the dead by sheer will, rather than divine intervention. By that logic, Jesus Christ would be the highest-known example of this affinity.”

“Hmm…”

Mashu looked down, thoughtful. Romani took a sip from his cup. Da Vinci smiled like someone enjoying a good story. And Olga closed the report with a soft tap, leaving the dossier on the floating table.

“Whatever the case may be, the fact remains: Frisk Dreemurr has one of those red souls. And if the theory is right… he doesn’t just have the power to change the world. He already is.”

Silence lingered for a few seconds before Romani broke it. He stood up, straightening himself as he looked directly at the daughter of the previous Director, who returned his gaze without hesitation.

“I know it’s not my place to say this… but don’t you think Frisk is still too young? He’s not even fifteen yet. He hasn’t left his closed magical environment. What we know about him is… political, not martial. He’s an ambassador, not a warrior.”

Lev nodded subtly, as if sharing the sentiment, though he didn’t voice it aloud. Even Mashu, despite her usual composure, slightly tightened her lips. In part, it was true — from the outside, Frisk did look like a “sheltered child.”

But then Olga’s voice rose again. This time, firmer, heavier.

“Since the death of King Arthur at the hands of Mordred, his own son — marking the final collapse of Camelot — the Age of Gods officially ended.”

Everyone in the room recognized the weight of those words. It was foundational history, especially for mages.

“Since then…” she continued, placing her hands gently on the table, eyes still locked on Romani. “Humanity entered what we now call the Age of Man. And with it, the connection to ancient magical bloodlines and Human Traits began to weaken.”

Da Vinci lowered her gaze slightly, but a gentle smile curved her lips, silently acknowledging the truth of the Director’s words. “Well said…”

“Today, only two out of every ten humans are born with a Trait. The rest… gray souls. No affinity. No color. No potential. We are losing something that once defined us from the very beginning of magic.”

Romani looked down at Frisk’s dossier again. His soul, represented in intense red, stood out like an anomaly among millions.

“That the only three confirmed cases of Determination were born in this Age… could have been a warning… or a sign.”

“Then… is that why you invited him?”

The Director nodded.

“Exactly. We’re not going to use him as a tool. No one will ask more of him than he can give. But we do want to understand that soul. How much it can endure. What it can do. Whether it can evolve.”

She paused briefly before continuing.

“He won’t be on the front lines. Neither in Team A nor B. But he’ll be close… as a last resort. A discreet support, a controlled loose end. Because if the world collapses again — as it’s nearly done before — I want to know if that soul can survive the apocalypse.”

Lev spoke this time, his tone still soft, but with a thin layer of criticism beneath his diplomatic smile.

“I must say, Miss Olga… you’re placing an enormous responsibility on a boy we barely know. His soul may be as red as a star, but that doesn’t make him a guarantee. Sometimes, ideals are just that… ideals. Fragile against reality.”

The comment hung in the air with a subtle sting. Da Vinci noticed, but didn’t step in. She knew Olga could handle it.

The Director stayed silent for a moment, looking at Lev without expression. Then, she took a deep breath, and her voice dropped slightly… becoming more honest.

“Maybe. Maybe I’m betting on something that doesn’t even belong in this room: faith.”

Her words drew even Romani’s attention, who lifted his eyes from the dossier to look at Olga intently.

“But you know what?” The albino woman continued, now addressing everyone in the room. “I don’t fully trust Team A.”

That really was a bombshell. Mashu’s eyes opened slightly. Romani blinked. Even Lev’s eyes narrowed with amused interest.

“Oh? And why is that, if we’re allowed to know?”

Animusphere responded almost instantly—like a monologue she had rehearsed a thousand and one times in her mind.

“They're mages. All of them. Trained. Educated. Capable. But cruel… or indifferent. Or simply so emotionally closed off that I struggle to see them as anything more than useful pieces.”

She stepped away from the floating table, arms crossed.

“I know it’s a mage’s duty to act with cold logic. But I also know that doesn’t make them good people. And to me, that still matters.”

Mashu lowered her gaze. The words resonated within her more than she would’ve liked to admit.

“I’m not naïve,” Olga continued, firmer now. “I know everything could go wrong. Even Frisk himself could fail or be overwhelmed by something we don’t yet understand.”

“But if I have to choose between seven experienced, ambitious mages”—her eyes scanned the room—“some of whom I know would stab me in the back if it brought them closer to their ideals…”

She stopped in front of a screen displaying Frisk’s profile. His red soul floated above a youthful silhouette.

“…and a child who still believes things can change for the better…”

Her voice softened. For the first time, she spoke not as a director, but as a person—deeply, from the heart.

“...Then yes. I choose him. A thousand times. Because as long as he exists, maybe we still have the right to fight for a future.”

The daughter of Marisbury concluded with the impact of a well-delivered final blow to the conversation. Romani, from his seat, couldn’t help but smile warmly at the words spoken by the founder’s daughter. Olga was a mage by every letter of the law... but she still carried something of that human spirit she had just invoked.

She had morals. She had a “soul”—not in the literal magical sense, but the deeper, spiritual one. Even if she never saw her own accomplishments as enough… never believed her leadership style measured up...

If you asked Romani, Olga was a thousand times the director her miserable father had ever been.
And he would know—he’d met Marisbury personally, more than once.

He wasn’t the only one who thought so. Leonardo shared the sentiment. And while Mashu had only fragmented memories of Marisbury, in the eyes of the lavender-haired girl, Olga was the best person Chaldea could have as a leader right now…

No.

She was the only one who could lead Chaldea into a better tomorrow. Of that, she was certain. Lev Lainur, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes again and let out a light chuckle—but not mockingly.

He found the Director’s reaction almost… endearing. Charming, even. Like a child who believed too deeply in things like ideals and faith but…

The same could be said of Frisk Dreemurr. He had been idealistic enough to undo the work of his predecessor from thirteen hundred years ago, believing that reunifying both races was the right thing to do.

Why? Because he was an idealistic child—one who had become an idealistic young man, even if he had no idea what he was getting into or what he was truly facing… he was doing it.

She had been right in that, just by merely existing and breathing, he was already altering the course of history.

Olga raised an eyebrow, fixing her gaze on the brown-haired man in the green suit.

“Is something the matter, Lev?”

He shook his head.

“No, just… It’s unlike a mage to speak in such… idealized terms, Director. Your father would be rolling in his grave.”

Because it went against the core magical philosophy of "the end justifies the means." Mashu, Romani, Olga, and Da Vinci all thought the same thing in that moment, but Olga wasn’t shaken.

Her orange eyes gave a brief purple flash. Her soul, burning in her chest, flared to life. Her brain, like a supercomputer, calculated.

“My father lived as he wanted and believed he should, Lev. I’m doing the same. And maybe that boy was right.”

“Right about what, Director?”

Leonardo asked, visibly curious. Bravery and Perseverance—the two traits Olga carried as a “dual soul”—intertwined within her intensely, harmoniously. They were the truest reflection of someone like her.

Brave enough to enter a world where the strongest mages devoured the weak and non-magical just to survive… Yet still persevering, in her own way, to carry her bloodline’s name with pride.

“That sometimes, all it takes is faith and goodwill to change things.”

Leonarda smiled—not with mockery or skepticism, but with the spark of someone who sees beauty in a simple truth. She shifted elegantly in her seat, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on the armrest, face tilted slightly toward Olga.

“You know… what’s curious is that, even as a scientist, I’m more than willing to believe you.”

She said it with a playful tone, but the sincerity was clear. No one in the room doubted it: Da Vinci, for all her genius and logic, still held onto something most mages had lost centuries ago—wonder. Curiosity. A deep respect for the impossible.

“Maybe faith can’t be measured in formulas, and goodwill doesn’t show up under a microscope… but history’s been written too many times by people who dared to believe.”

Romani nodded slowly, as if the words of both women echoed something deep in his memory. In fact, they did. He thought of a simpler time. Of a promise once made. Of a name that still burned in his soul.

“And maybe that’s exactly what we need,” he said at last, setting his coffee cup down. “An anomaly. A glitch in the system. Something the calculations didn’t predict.”

Mashu, silent until then, lifted her gaze. Her eyes were fixed on the screen showing Frisk’s soul— that vibrant, red sphere, glowing and pure.

“He’s not a soldier… but what he’s done, what he represents… has saved more than any of us could ever count.”

And then came a moment of silence.

Not an awkward one.

But one of contemplation. Of respect.

Everyone present knew they were on the edge of something significant. Not just a new chapter for Chaldea… but perhaps for all of humanity. The return of Monsterkind to the surface. The appearance of an active Determination soul. The alteration of history through impossible means…

It was as if the world’s fabric was being rewoven with that old skein once tucked away on the shelf.

Finally, Olga spoke.

“Alright. The boy is already on his way. The contract just reached us, so that means it was sent around two weeks ago. If my math is correct, Frisk Dreemurr will officially join Finis Chaldea as a trainee on the 21st of this month.”

She opened a new holographic window over the table, and as she did, the room subtly responded to the designation. Soft lights began to glow over an empty pod in the northern corner—reserved for “extended team” members.

“His position will be low-ranking. He won’t enter any missions until his training and psychological evaluation are complete. But he’ll have access to the library and the simulation rooms. And…”
she glanced at Da Vinci, “…maybe even the technical workshop, if someone supervises him.”

Da Vinci clicked her tongue with a grin.

“Gladly. I’m always short on small hands for soldering circuits.”

“Then it’s settled.” Olga stood up. “Let a new chapter for Chaldea begin.”

Everyone followed her lead, though it wasn’t a formal ceremony.

Mashu looked one last time at the image of the floating red soul and smiled softly, as if she could already sense the boy’s presence. Romani, for his part, muttered to himself:

“I hope you know what you’re getting into, Frisk.”

And Lev… simply remained silent.

For now.

.

.

-[Fragment 3: To the horizon]-

Saying that today was an extremely busy day would be an understatement. Toriel, who wore casual clothes just like everyone else, wiped away a tear with her thumb almost immediately, her foot still on the brake. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken out the ca—

Oh… it was for that trip to the beach…

What reminded her almost instantly was the tiny palm tree doll with sunglasses hanging from the rearview mirror. It had been a gift from Frisk himself, who had a small suitcase beside him, on which Chara was sitting—completely invisible to her mother. Flowey, like the brown-haired boy, had his seatbelt on, wearing a mildly annoyed expression.

He never liked car rides.

Something both the soulless flower and the Queen of Monsters noticed was that Frisk kept moving his feet up and down; whenever one went up, the other went down. A reaction that both Asgore and she had known for years.

“Nervous?”

The King asked, sitting in the passenger seat this time—after all, it was his ex-wife’s car, not his. The young ambassador reacted immediately at his father's voice, noticing both goats had their eyes on him.

“Just a little,”

He replied, watching the buildings pass by. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the airport, and he wasn’t wrong. Toriel glanced at her ex-husband from the corner of her eye, and he smiled back—not with nervousness like usual.

“Well... maybe this will cheer you up and give you the confidence you need, my son.”

The King spoke, and that caught the attention of the three Dreemurrs in the backseat. Flowey stretched slightly, and Chara floated higher—both opening their eyes wide in disbelief. Then came Frisk’s reaction.

“Huh...?”

It was true that he had expected his closest friends to come say goodbye, of course. He had built a deep bond with all the monsters of the Underground during his journey, and over the years, it had only grown stronger.

Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, Napstablook, Muffet—they were all there, as one would expect… but—

“Here he comes!”

Tsunderplane shouted, doing a few light loops in the air. Madjick cast a small spell—“Hocus Pocus!” cried the tiny magician—before a series of small fireworks appeared out of nowhere, just as Toriel parked the car.

POP… POP~

Asgore let out a small laugh as he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. Frisk quickly got out, picking up a still-surprised Flowey while Toriel watched her ex-husband head to the trunk to retrieve the boy’s suitcase.

“E-Everyone’s… here…?”

The ambassador murmured in disbelief. Sarff stood in the main group, and when Papyrus saw Frisk, he instantly waved. His older brother let out a soft chuckle, watching the boy approach them with a bright golden glint in his eyes.

He was tackled almost immediately—Lesser Dog leapt onto his face, licking him affectionately. The only reason Flowey didn’t hit the ground was because Sans held him up with magic, but Frisk wasn’t so lucky. Amidst barking and laughter, the small pup insistently licked his face.

“What did you expect, punk?! You’re the most important person in all the Underground! Of course we’d come to say goodbye!”

Undyne shouted before grabbing the white-furred pup by the scruff, who barked one last time, clearly not wanting to part from Frisk. “WOOF, WOOF,” he went, before the former captain hugged him tightly to calm him down.

Frisk stood back up, joyfully. His soul pulsed, burning with excitement. Even the Royal Guards 01 and 02 had come—so had the Amalgamates.

[I can’t believe this...]

Chara muttered. It had been a long time since she’d seen so many monsters gathered in one place. Shyren softly waved her antenna, humming a gentle tune of affection for her friend.

“Even you, Mettaton?”

He asked, surprised. The black-haired entertainer laughed dramatically, full of ego—but not in a condescending way. That was just how Mettaton was: flashy, flamboyant, and yes, flawed… but lovable all the same.

Leaning down, his gloved hand ruffled Frisk’s hair. His eyes shimmered with a pink glow as he nodded.

“Darling, please. Do you really think I’d miss your moment to shine? You’re going to reach new heights! Maybe even be as fabulous as me!~”

The artist replied, making Frisk blush with embarrassment. His eyes then turned to Muffet, who greeted him. She wasn’t alone—several little spiders accompanied her, each holding small signs with a cute caricature of Frisk’s face surrounded by hearts as a token of love and support. After what had happened in the Underground, the spider families who had been separated for generations—those in the Ruins and those in Hotland—had finally reunited.

And after establishing her bakery, not just Muffet but also Grillby had experienced a massive boom that seemed endless. Frisk’s mere association was enough to turn their businesses into thriving sensations. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that their success was thanks to him—something Muffet openly acknowledged.

“I didn’t think you’d come, Muffet… you never like closing your shop.”

Spoke the eighth human, and the four-armed spider woman shook her head. One hand went to her mouth as she giggled softly, another waved the thought away. True, she was a bit stingy—but this? This was important. Not just to her… to everyone. He had changed and improved their lives. That wasn’t something to take lightly.

“Ahu huhuhuhu~ Oh sweetie, don’t be silly. Why wouldn’t we come? The spiders adore you, they truly do. Once we found out you were leaving, not saying goodbye would’ve been madness.”

She replied, her six eyes closing one by one. A tiny spider climbed her dress, carrying between its legs a chocolate donut with white sprinkles and another one grape-flavored. Frisk quickly accepted them. The fireworks Madjick had summoned continued popping above.

Knight Knight held a massive sign in her giant hands that read “Safe travels, Frisk”—on it, six different-colored hearts had been drawn.

“Make sure to stay clean, Frisk.”

“AND EAT YOUR GREENS!”

Woshua chimed in. The duck on his body let out a “quack” before being seconded by Vegetoid, to which Frisk could only nod. Undyne finally managed to calm and subdue Lesser Dog, who returned to the rest of the Royal Guard’s canine unit. She, Alphys, and the skeleton brothers surrounded the young ambassador. Asgore and Toriel, for their part, waited with Sarff.

Papyrus wore a clearly sad expression. Alphys, on her end, removed her glasses to wipe away the fog that had formed due to her tears. And Undyne… despite not wanting to show it, her soul ached.

“I never thought we’d see you go… you know, punk?”

She said. Despite her sharp features and intimidating presence, Undyne knew how to show emotion. And right now, anyone who knew her—or didn’t—could see she was sad. Her single eye said it all. Was this how Gerson felt the day Asgore made her Royal Captain? No, this was different. She still saw Gerson; they both lived in Waterfall.

But Frisk... Frisk was leaving.

Alphys gently squeezed her girlfriend's hand, and the blue-skinned monster did the same.

“Undyne… F-Frisk isn’t going anywhere…”

“I know, but—”

What interrupted her were the arms of the brown-haired boy, which wrapped not only around her, but also around the royal scientist. Frisk squeezed both of them tightly. Alphys blushed from the embarrassment of such a sudden show of affection, and her girlfriend’s one good eye went wide as a plate. The boy’s hands pulled the couple in close to him. Though his eyes were—as always—shut, now his eyelids were wrinkled, a sign of how hard he was hugging them.

“… It’s not a goodbye. It’s ‘see you soon’...”

He told them both, and Undyne closed her eye; her two arms wrapped tightly around Frisk, and Alphys did the same. She had to, to hold back her tears. The one who didn’t hold back, when it was his turn after the hug broke, was Papyrus. The tall skeleton trembled like a leaf, as two rivers of water ran endlessly down his skeletal face.

Flowey, floating beside Sans, rolled his eyes with a huff—which earned him a small shake from the shorter skeleton’s blue magic.

“FRISK! I can’t believe you’re leaving us! The Great Papyrus won’t be nearly as great without one of his best friends!”

“Papyrus… you don’t have to cry…”

The brown-haired boy tried to reassure him, just before Papyrus lifted him up into the air. Unable to stay down on one knee any longer, the tall skeleton rose to his full height, lifting Frisk several inches off the ground. His grip, though gentle, was firm and full of affection. The young Dreemurr clung tightly to the former royal guard hopeful. Though their sleepover from a few weeks ago had been amazing…

Now that they were all gathered together, part of Frisk felt like he hadn’t spent enough time with them. He didn’t know when he’d be back—that was his biggest uncertainty. Maybe six months, maybe a year, or maybe longer… that was the hardest part.

Papyrus, his sockets closed, furrowed his brow before holding Frisk up to look at him face-to-face.

“I’M NOT CRYING! THERE’S JUST SOMETHING IN MY EYE!”

He declared, shaking his head proudly. The ambassador tilted his head in curiosity, while Chara’s ghost smiled—they already knew that line. Frisk did too.

“Oh yeah? And what was it?”

“TEARS!”

He replied, finally setting Frisk back down. His hands, covered in red gloves, returned to his face so no one could see just how hard he was crying. The last one Frisk had left to say goodbye to—before his mom and dad—was Napstablook. The ghost DJ, who was also crying, tried his best to smile… but couldn’t manage it.

He was wearing his top hat, wanting to look his best to say goodbye to one of his closest friends.

“Oh… so… is it time to say… goodbye?”

“Napstablook… I’m not leaving forever. Ebott is… you guys are my home.”

“YES! AND IF YOU DO LEAVE FOREVER I’LL KILL YOU! HEAR ME?! I’LL KILL YOU, KILL YOU, KILL YOU!”

Mad Dummy shouted from the back, furious to see his cousin crying over that stupid brat. His three body segments—head, torso, and stand—separated and snapped back together violently over and over. Even though he was threatening him, both Mettaton and Napstablook knew him well enough to understand what he really meant. It hurt him too, seeing Frisk go. More tears spilled from the ghost’s sockets, and Frisk watched, a bit surprised, as a small USB stick slid out from beneath his top hat.

“Well… I… composed this… for you. It’s music… so you’ll always have… something from us with you…”

He spoke slowly. Mettaton quickly added his own contribution. “It’s got some of my unreleased tracks too, darling!~” he chimed before striking one of his signature dramatic poses—raising one leg to the sky and placing a hand on his metallic face as if he were still on stage.

Frisk took the small device in his hands, slipping it into one of his jacket pockets before giving the ghost a hug as best he could.

He was still intangible, after all.

“Thank you, Napstablook… I’ll listen to it every day, whenever I can…”

It took a lot out of him… a whole lot, but the spectral composer smiled. The only ones Frisk hadn’t said goodbye to yet were his parents. He walked past Monster Kid, sharing a brief conversation with him. For the small horned monster, it was truly sad that one of his only friends was leaving… but he put on a brave face.

Just like everyone else was doing.

“See you soon, Frisk.”

“That’s right, Kid. Sooner than you think.”

And even though Monster Kid didn’t have shoulders to hug him with, he did it anyway. His hands wrapped around Frisk’s neck in a gesture of affection, and the little yellow monster rested his head on his human friend’s shoulder. In Frisk’s absence, he promised himself he’d go on as many adventures as he could with Undyne and Papyrus, so he’d have all kinds of stories to tell when his friend came back. He swore it.

And Frisk was eager to see just how much things would change by the time he returned. After letting go of Monster Kid, he finally made his way over to the royals.

Now... only the last goodbyes remained.

Asgore was first—ironically, he had been the last monster Frisk met when he arrived in the Underground. The sight of the king in full armor had once been intimidating, but once Frisk truly got to know the man (monster) behind that golden armor, it wasn’t hard for him to find a place in his heart.

Frisk stopped in front of him, and the king looked down. For a few moments, he didn’t say a word. He simply looked at him. His son—because that’s how he saw him in his heart, ever since the day they went to the playground together—was about to go off to a world that, even with all his years of life, he didn’t fully understand.

“I remember when we first had tea and pie together.” Asgore let out a quiet laugh, slightly cracked—not just from the sadness he felt, but from the emotion that welled up with the memory. “You… you made a total mess… It feels like it was just yesterday, but… today I realize you’ve grown so much, my son.”

Frisk didn’t wait. He threw himself forward without a word, burying himself in Asgore’s chest, and the monarch’s arms wrapped around him without hesitation. His gauntlets were gentle, almost reverent. Flowey, silent, hung between Asgore’s fingers—but this time, he didn’t protest. He simply lowered his petals.

Asgore closed his eyes. He could feel the warmth of Frisk’s soul. That unmistakable red hue, that Determination, pulsing. Once, when he had been a different monster, it might’ve broken him to feel it. Now, it filled him with pride.

“Do you know the most important thing someone like you has taught us?” he asked, pulling back just a little to look at him with tenderness. For a moment, his blue eyes saw Asriel in Frisk’s place—he was sure they would’ve gotten along wonderfully...

“What is it…?” Frisk asked with a trembling voice.

“That you can always choose to be kind. Even when you don’t have to.”

Frisk’s eyes sparkled. Asgore brought a hand to his cheek and stroked it gently.

“We’re proud of you, Frisk. Both me… and Toriel as well.”

As if his words had summoned her, Toriel stepped forward. It was clear she had been holding back during the entire farewell. Her eyes were moist, but her posture was dignified. Mother and queen, always in balance.

When she reached him, she opened her arms. Frisk ran to her without needing a single word. They embraced as if time itself might stop—and for a moment, it did.

“My child…” Toriel whispered. “My determined child…”

“Thank you for letting me stay…” Frisk murmured, his voice already broken by emotion.

Toriel shook her head gently, stroking his back with her fuzzy hand, giving him the kind of warmth only a mother could offer.

“We didn’t do it out of pity, Frisk. We did it because you taught us how to be a family again. This world can be cruel… but you gave it another chance. Just like you gave one to us.”

She pulled back slightly and lowered her gaze. Something trembled on her lips—a sob she managed to control with care.

“If you ever feel alone… if you ever don’t know what to do… remember this: you were never a burden. You are a gift, Frisk. Since… Since Asriel and Chara… you’ve been my greatest gift.”

Chara, invisible to them, watched silently. Her expression was hard to read. There was sadness… but also pride.

[Sentimental fools…] she murmured softly. But her gaze didn’t leave. Not this time.

Toriel took Frisk’s hands in hers. Her warmth, her love, her strength… all of it was there.

“Don’t forget to write. If you don’t, Asgore and me will invade Chaldea with butterscotch pie.”

“Toriel, please!!”

The mentioned man groaned from behind, visibly nervous. Frisk let out a giggle. And then another.

A full minute of laughter—that’s how long it lasted. And then Frisk’s golden eyes, full of a rare and deep warmth, met Sarff’s. The man had taken off his dark sunglasses, revealing his own golden eyes—though Frisk swore they were once purple—watching the group with a smile on his lips.

“I must admit, kid. I haven’t seen this many people saying goodbye to someone since the Mount of Olives… But just like back then… it’s time to go.”

Sarff extended his hand, and the boy handed him his suitcase—filled with clothes, memories, and more. His soul, metaphorically speaking, was in that suitcase.

SNAP

The magician’s finger snap drew attention. A soft glow to the left made Frisk turn. There, a somewhat tall man with white hair and tired sky-blue eyes met his gaze. That familiar smile was on his lips—not as wide, but still unmistakable.

“let’s go, kiddo. it’s a long trip…”

“Sans…”

The skeleton—now in human form—tilted his head. His old bad-joke buddy looked at him with some concern, which he waved off with his signature grin.

“don’t worry, tori. the kid’ll get there safe, and i’ll be back after makin’ sure it’s not a bone trap.”

The goat woman gave him a shaky smile as the humanized monster turned and began to walk.

“don’t let paps stay up too late, undyne!”

“YOU GOT IT!”

And with that, Sans disappeared through the threshold of the massive gate leading into the airport. Sarff followed shortly after, walking calmly and peacefully.

Behind them, only the Dreemurr children remained.

The time had come.

Toriel kissed Frisk on the forehead, just like she used to when he was younger. Asgore offered one last hug—warm and protective. Then, both of them stepped back, giving him space.

Frisk looked one last time at his parents, his friends… his home.

Flowey, still in his hands, whispered in a voice only Frisk could hear:

“…We’ve got to come back in one piece, Frisk…”

“I know, Asriel. I know.”

And with that, Frisk Dreemurr began to walk.

Without looking back.

But with each step, his Determination burned brighter.

.

.

Twenty minutes later, they had already departed. Frisk was sitting beside Sarff, and between the little ambassador's legs sat Flowey's flowerpot, his gaze fixed on a Japanese comic.

A comic that not only he—but also his sister—was reading. Chara reached out her left hand, as if wanting to turn the page.

[Turn it already, Azzy]

"I'm still reading," muttered the golden-petaled flower, closely studying the drawing. The character seemed to shoot some kind of slashes from his hands, and he looked pretty intimidating with that crazed grin. His brow arched in amusement.

[What?]

"Doesn't he remind you of someone?"

The pink-cheeked ghost didn't take the comment well—quite the opposite. She crossed her arms and let out a huff, flipping him off discreetly. If he was going to be like that, she might as well leave. [I'm going to watch the birds] she snapped, before phasing through the window to float beside the damned plane.

They were flying so high they soared above the clouds. Most would suffer a heart attack, but not Chara. She’d lost her fear a long time ago, and no matter what happened, she wasn’t going to die.

After all, she was already dead.

Frisk, for his part, focused on Sarff. Just like Flowey, the man had buried himself in something to pass the time—but his reading was far more… refined than a manga.

“The Divine Comedy?”

The redhead nodded, then glanced at his companion with a faint smile.

“Did they teach you about it at school?”

“Yeah. Mom and a lot of monsters really like human literature. Do you too, Mr. Sarff?”

Sarff smiled—but not just any smile. It was the kind of smile that sinks in slowly, like the bearer was holding ancient, heavy memories, yet still chose to carry them gently.

“More than you can imagine, young Dreemurr.”

He closed the book carefully, marking the page with a worn leather bookmark.

“Dante was a foolish idealist. He dreamed of divine justice, of redemption… and believed the human soul was worthy of climbing toward the divine. That... I respect a lot.”

Flowey, without looking up from the manga, murmured in a flat tone:

“And yet, Dante thought it was fine to toss a bunch of people into hell for stuff that wasn’t even that bad.”

“He didn’t put them there,” Sarff replied calmly, crossing his legs. “He just wrote about it. And while some of his ideas haven’t aged well… his vision still helps remind us that our choices matter.”

Frisk looked at the bookmark, with the initials D.A. embroidered in gold. He wanted to ask about them, but something in the way Sarff gently caressed the edge of the leather told him it was better not to.

Instead, he looked down at Flowey.

“And you? Do you like reading?”

The flower scoffed, not taking his eyes off the manga.

“Not as much as you, Mr. Nutrition Label Reader.”

Frisk chuckled softly, resisting the urge to nudge the pot. But Flowey turned his stem just enough for their eyes to meet for a moment. There was something in his gaze… a faint gleam, almost shy.

“…But I like seeing what you read.”

And with that, he returned to his usual pose of indifference. “Besides, the protagonist in this manga throws wind blades. It’s like Sans and Undyne had a kid with insomnia, anger issues, and two mojitos in their system.”

[Azzy!] Chara’s spectral voice echoed from the wing of the plane, where she lay floating face down, chin resting in her hands. Her hair danced in the wind, but her tone was sharp and clear. [Frisk doesn’t need that image in his head!]

“What? I’m not thinking about anything!” Frisk protested, covering his burning cheeks with both hands.

Sarff, amused, adjusted his glasses.

“To be fair, that combination would be powerful… though highly unstable.”

“Sarff, please!”

The ambassador nearly shouted, sinking into his seat with an embarrassed groan while Flowey burst into laughter and Chara let out a ghostly giggle of pure amusement.

The plane glided peacefully, slicing through clouds like foam. A silence settled in for a few minutes—pleasant, calm.

“How much longer?”

Frisk asked, now calmer, resting his head against the window. The clouds looked like endless cotton fields, and on the horizon, the northern lights had begun to appear.

Sarff checked his pocket watch.

“Less than an hour. The layover is in Washington D.C., and from there we’ll take the first flight to Santiago, Chile.”

“And how long is that flight?”

“Almost 9 hours. Depending on when we arrive, we’ll wait a day or less before flying to Punta Arenas, then another flight to the Union Glacier Camp, and finally a plane to the geographic South Pole, where Chaldea is located.”

The golden flower let out a groan of annoyance from his seat, flipping another page before stretching again. Thank whatever gods or forces made Earth that Frisk had bought enough manga for the whole trip—with Alphys’ help, of course.

Now that he no longer had a soul, all he could do to pass the time was read, draw, eat, and sunbathe. By all appearances, the once-prince of monsters, Asriel Dreemurr—now Flowey the Flower—was a pet.

But a very happy pet, because despite his terrible condition, his best friend, his parents, and his new brother were with him.

And his kind was free. His parents had never lied when they said that the sun and fresh air were beyond compare.

“How are you doing, Sans?”

Frisk asked, turning to look back at the older of the two skeleton brothers—but he didn’t get an answer right away. Sans had his eyelids shut, deep in thought. Not asleep—if he were, he’d be wearing the sleep mask he’d brought along.

As far as Sans was concerned… he wasn’t at peace, but it had nothing to do with Chaldea. Rather, it was about things that, like much of his past, he preferred to keep buried—never to resurface.

Things the world had forgotten, but he never could… chief among them was his father.

Dr. Wing Dings Gaster. The first royal scientist under Asgore Dreemurr’s rule, Alphys’ mentor, and the one responsible for bringing “Heat” and Electricity to the monsters trapped in Mt. Ebott, thanks to his creation: the CORE.

His greatest invention—what saved them all from freezing and starving to death—was also what cast him into the void. There were many reasons why Sans slept most of the time.

Mental fatigue. Emotional burnout. Spiritual exhaustion. His disconnect from everything around him—like reality itself was slipping through his fingers, and at any moment, he’d wake up back in his bed in Snowdin. Even though Frisk had promised, years ago, that they’d never return underground.

But the biggest reason... was that, just as Toriel and Asgore still dreamed of their dead children whenever they closed their eyes, Sans couldn’t stop seeing the moment his father slipped from his hands and vanished into nothingness.

Calling out his name, begging him to do something. From that day on, everything changed—and what was once a family of three became a family of two. He never stopped wondering how. How the hell was it possible to rip something—or someone—out of reality like they never even existed?

As far as Papyrus knew, they had no father. Just a deceased mother, and that was that. To Asgore, Alphys was the first royal scientist he ever had. And to Alphys, even if it was strange and unjustifiable that there was a secret lab beneath her own in Hotland... that lab still felt “hers,” at least a little.

Sans was the only one blessed—or rather, cursed—with the memory of his father… and the occasional glimpse of him. Of Gaster, and all those long-lost colleagues from so, so many years ago.

That eternal smile staring at him from a distance never gave him peace. Not a smile of anger—but one of sorrow, like it was saying: “I’m sorry I’m not there.” That slumped hunch. That way the old man would still listen attentively every time Papyrus talked about his birthday or about training with Undyne while they watched TV, as if he were still part of the house.

It was that kind of thing that tortured Sans and made him feel like a kid again—sneaking into his father’s workspace to play with him or begging for stories about his mother.

Sometimes he wondered if remembering those moments was a blessing... or a curse. But that was the thing—

Where the hell are you, old man...?

Gaster hadn’t shown himself since the Barrier shattered. The last time Sans saw his father was the day he and Papyrus moved their belongings from their Snowdin home to their new house on the surface.

He closed the door of that snow-covered house, thinking he’d see him again. Gaster had nodded, watching as his eldest son shut the door in his face. And Sans turned around that day to catch up with Papyrus... and that was it.

He hadn’t seen him again in six long years—and that was what unsettled him the most to this day.

Sans slowly opened his eyes. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t answer the “how are you doing?” Frisk had asked with his usual warmth—but he did tilt his head just enough for the kid to know he’d heard.

The disguised skeleton let out an exhale—just a reflexive mimicry of what he remembered breathing felt like. His fingers, hidden beneath blue gloves, gently tightened around the edge of the armrest. He could feel it… that tingle. Not of fear or anxiety—but of expectation. As if the universe were rearranging itself, and something—something old, something that didn’t belong to this time—was about to rise again.

“sky looks nice today, huh?”

He finally said. His voice was low, relaxed… but there was a nearly imperceptible crack in it. Not from sadness—but from the effort it took to stay grounded. To stay present.

Frisk smiled warmly, turning his head a little to look out the window.

“Yeah… it’s like we could reach out and touch it.”

Sans stayed quiet for a moment before adding:

“yeah, but... it also feels like it wants to reach back and touch us too, doesn’t it?”

Frisk blinked. He didn’t understand right away—but he didn’t push. Flowey, for his part, turned slightly in his pot, eyeing him out of the corner of a petal.

“Seeing ghosts again, you useless lump?”

The response was a nasal laugh. “pfft… again? when did i stop?”

Flowey rolled his eyes, though his tone lacked any real mockery this time.

“If you see one of those ghosts… just tell ’em to piss off. You’ve had enough already.”

“…heh. i’ll keep that in mind. thanks, flower.”

“Hmph.”

A soft grunt with a nod was all Sans got from Flowey before, just as he’d predicted, the flower pulled out a sleep mask and slipped it over his eyes.

“Wake me up when it’s time to get off.”

Frisk nodded silently, turning his attention back to the manga Flowey was enjoying. Chara, arms crossed and eyes fixed ahead, watched the sun high above.

She was sitting on one of the airplane’s turbines, admiring the scenery. Not many humans ever had the privilege of seeing the sky in all its glory, after all.

The princess closed her eyes, inhaling deeply until her lungs were full of air. Even if she wasn’t alive, breathing deeply still brought her a sense of peace.

Of calm.

Second Determination could feel it—through her connection with Frisk. He was nervous, hopeful, and excited about a new adventure and an unknown world. Something she shared.

Exploring the Underground with Azzy had always been one of her favorite pastimes. But this… this would be like discovering a hidden underground city—one that had always been there, along with an entirely new civilization.

Just like it had been with the monsters, it was the perfect way to describe the deep magical world, hidden from the eyes of the average civilian.

Little by little, the pink-cheeked girl smiled, the sun’s rays shining on her semi-transparent face.

Whatever it was they were about to face—be it trials or enemies her mind couldn’t even conceive of…

They were going to kick its ass.

Nobody messed with the Dreemurrs.

.

.

The days passed quickly, at least in Frisk’s opinion. It had been nice and interesting to see other places—especially since, until just a month ago, the farthest he’d ever been from Ebott was the city’s beach.

It had been a blessing, he thought shyly, remembering that all the trips had been on private flights that at least allowed Flowey to talk.

He couldn’t imagine the flower staying silent for that long, even if Sarff had recommended (threatened) that he tone down his language.

Frisk had protection from Sarff. Flowey—despite being Frisk’s “brother” (though their guardian didn’t know that)—did not enjoy that same privilege.

That was one thing to worry about. Now, as for the other one...

.

.

Chara was silent.

The crimson-eyed princess stood face to face with Sarff. The man no longer hid the fact that he could, indeed, see her—he had approached her directly to ask for a moment alone while they waited for the plane that would take them to Punta Arenas.

[What do you want?]

The mage didn’t answer. His golden eyes stared at her steadily, making Chara shift uncomfortably in place.

This was weird as hell.

“You know,” Sarff said finally, “you should learn to control yourself a little more…”

[Huh? What the hell are you talking about?]

Chara asked, visibly irritated. Who did this idiot think he was? Not even her parents had been able to control her when she was alive, and the donors she had the misfortune of sharing genetics with never even tried to raise her.

Who did this poor imitation of Merlin think he—

Tap.

Her train of thought snapped.

Out of nowhere, Sarff’s index and middle fingers gently touched her neck.

What… the…?

[Huh…?]

She both thought and spoke at the same time—an automatic reaction. The first fallen’s eyes widened; Sarff’s skin was warm, like that of any living person. But that wasn’t what truly unsettled her. It was his gaze, calm though it appeared…

It carried that same air of threat and mystery she always felt around him.

She’d always known, deep down, that Sarff Hynafol was dangerous. But it was the unknown about him that made him terrifying. And now, here was a new mystery that struck deep into the spectral soul of Chara Dreemurr.

“I can not only see you… I can touch you, your majesty.”

Unlike the times he used that title for Toriel or Asgore, this time it was clearly said mockingly. As a threat. And Chara picked up on it—because she had seen, many times before, how a human behaved when threatening another.

They imposed presence. Power. Respect. All qualities Sarff had, masked behind his calculated but cold demeanor.

H-how…?

“In the magical world…”

He began, raising the index finger of his other hand like a teacher starting a lesson—just as the fingers pressing gently to her neck withdrew, allowing the red-eyed girl to swallow with difficulty, still stunned by what had just happened.

The red-haired man turned, giving her his back as he walked a few steps, followed by her gaze the entire time.

“There’s something called necromancy. Necromancy is the branch of magic that allows humans—and monsters—to interact with the undead and spirits.”

Chara’s eyes flew wide open.

Of course. Of course she knew about necromancy. But in monster culture, it was considered a dead branch. Completely useless—because monsters turned to dust. Not even a necromancer could “rebuild” or use a monster’s dust to attack.

Necromancy, according to the history books in Snowdin, was only useful on humans—because of their bones, their flesh. It was a type of magic Chara had honestly forgotten.

“Necromancy is one of the oldest, most cursed, and most useful magics of all time, little princess. Every self-respecting necromancer knows how to create… to dispel… and to purify corpses, places… and especially spirits.”

Sarff stopped in front of the private airport’s large window, letting the grey Patagonian morning light outline his silhouette with a soft glow. The runway stretched out beyond, still empty, cloaked in a light mist that drifted like a veil across the earth.

Chara, still floating with her arms crossed, watched the man’s back, biting her lower lip. The chill she felt when he touched her still hadn’t left. It wasn’t just the act itself… it was that it shouldn’t have been possible.

That wasn’t necromancy. Not the kind she knew.

Necromancy meant placing a soul into a dead body to manipulate it, nothing more… You can’t touch a soul directly!

But Sarff had done just that. As if a soul were nothing more than thick smoke to him. As if her spectral existence were as tangible as paper or steel.

And the worst part…

He’d done it with insulting ease.

“You’re wondering how, aren’t you?”

His voice broke the silence without even turning around.

[Of course I am,] Chara muttered under her breath, though her tone was laced with suspicion. [You’re not a common necromancer. If you were, I’d already be screaming in pain. You wouldn’t even be able to stand being near me.]

Sarff tilted his head slightly, just enough to reveal the curve of an almost invisible smirk.

“Good. I see you have more brains than you let on.”

The comment drew a low growl from her, but she didn’t reply.

Sarff continued, his tone now adopting a more didactic air, though still laced with a veiled threat:

“Necromancy is, in fact, the manipulation of the dead. But most mages… misunderstand it. As if it’s only good for raising bones and rotting flesh. As if ghosts were just echoes of tragedy. Empty shells. Soul trickery. Voices that don’t know how to fade because they don’t realize their time in this plane is over.”

He turned to face her now, looking directly into her crimson eyes.

“But spirits like you… are not simple emotional residue. You’re will. You’re fire without form. You’re living memory that refuses to fade. For one reason or another, you are anchored here.”

Chara swallowed again, this time feeling it in her chest—if she still had a heart, it was pounding with spectral force.

“My specialty is not raising corpses, little one. My specialty is conversing with the beyond.”

Chara’s crimson eyes flickered with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination.

[You can… talk to all the dead?]

“To all those who want to talk,” he answered bluntly. “And you are particularly loud.”

The remark made her frown, more out of discomfort than wounded pride.

Sarff stepped closer, calm, never raising his voice. His golden eyes shimmered faintly, emphasizing the sheer weight of the presence he commanded.

“Your soul isn’t completely broken. You still have form. You still retain consciousness, weight—exactly 21 grams. That means something, or someone, is keeping you tied to this plane.”

[… Frisk.]

“Exactly.”

[And what does that have to do with you?]

Sarff tilted his head again, as if carefully weighing his next words.

“It means that as long as you’re connected to him, you’re part of the equation. And every equation must be understood… before it’s solved.”

His golden eyes flashed with a deep gleam. A glimmer of ancient knowledge. Of magic as old as the first corpse on Earth.

“I could unmake you, Chara Dreemurr. Wipe you from existence like a chalkboard. But I won’t. Because if you’re here, there’s a reason. And as long as that reason exists…”

He stepped closer still, now standing face to face with her.

“…I’ll be watching you.”

Chara didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat tasted like dust, and her awareness thrummed like a shattered bell. Sarff wasn’t bluffing. He never threatened for fun. If he said it… it was because he could.

And that… that terrified her.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Until, without warning, Sarff turned on his heel and began to walk away, as if the entire conversation had been a minor formality. Chara followed him with her eyes, trembling ever so slightly.

No. This wasn’t necromancy.

This was something much deeper. Much older. Much more… dangerous.

Her thoughts were interrupted once more when the red-haired man, after just two steps, stopped again. He didn’t turn this time. He simply spoke—his voice calm, but clear enough to fill the room.

“Oh, and by the way, Chara…”

The girl lifted her gaze. Her incorporeal body still echoed with the latent threat, that presence Sarff didn’t need to assert—because he simply was.

“I’m not the only one who can see you.”

The phrase hit like a bucket of ice water.

[W-what…?]

“There are others like me. Some in Chaldea. Some outside. Priests. Exorcists. Mages of the spiritual branch. Individuals with gifts. With authority. And unlike me…”

He barely turned his face, just enough to glance at her with a more serious expression.

“They don’t ask questions. They don’t watch. They don’t listen. They purge.”

The word held a particular weight. A vibration that felt like pressure in the air.

“And if any of them catch you doing something inappropriate, the first thing they’ll do is isolate you. The second… is exorcise you. And the third…”

He turned fully toward her again, his golden eyes now devoid of any trace of amusement. The same deadly seriousness she’d once seen in her father at the end of the journey—when he was ready to kill Frisk for the sake of his people’s survival.

“…is tear you from this plane. Not with grace. Not with compassion. By force.”

For a moment, Chara went pale—if that were even possible in her ghostly form. Sarff noticed, and his tone softened slightly, though his seriousness remained.

“You’re not a threat. I know that. You’re irritating, unstable, maybe too impulsive… but harmless. For now. But that won’t matter if you slip up in front of the wrong eyes.”

He paused.

“And if that happens… it won’t just be you who suffers. Frisk, the child you’re bound to, will pay the price.”

The ghost’s eyes widened.

“The bond between a spirit and their host isn’t simple. It’s like a root in the earth. If it’s ripped out carelessly… the soul that shelters you, the soul that loves, also breaks.”

Sarff stepped forward again, never breaking eye contact.

“So listen closely, little majesty: I protect you because he protects you. But if you do something that forces others to act… I won’t be able to stop it. And then, there won’t be you… or Frisk… or the bond that ties you together.”

And with that, he turned away.

This time, he didn’t look back.

Chara remained there, alone. In silence.

The air felt heavier. Her thoughts, a whirlwind. For the first time in a long time—not out of guilt or regret, but out of true fear—Princess Dreemurr felt her existence hanging by a thread.

And that thread had a name.

[Sarff Hynafol…]

She muttered under her breath, still fixated on the silhouette of the red-haired man with golden eyes—so similar to her companion’s, and yet so different—until she finally lost sight of him. Only then did Chara decide to return to Frisk.

Though now, she was completely absorbed in her thoughts, reflecting on what had been said. It wasn’t a threat, but a warning. One made in good faith.

Chara had always been someone who didn’t play by the rules. Someone who didn’t heed consequences; her first taste of them had been when her failed suicide attempt ended with her leg broken, bone piercing flesh, and Asriel having to carry her home so his mother could heal her.

Her second taste came with her slow death after consuming the golden flowers from the garden. Being poisoned wasn’t beautiful—vomiting, burning with fever, and sweating through every night until the end.

And her third, final dose… was becoming this. A ghost. After the humans killed her and Asriel that day. Her family shattered, her father becoming a murderer of six children, her brother condemned to a life where he could no longer feel love or empathy. And she—she didn’t even have a body.

Sarff had been, as always, brutally honest and painfully sincere with her. She needed to control herself. She needed to stay silent, think with a cool head, and finally apply the manners Toriel had tried so hard to instill in her, day after day, when she was being raised.

Because this time… if she screwed up a fourth time…

It would be her last.

And she doubted whether a “Reset” or a “Load” from Frisk would be enough to bring her back. From now on… she’d have to tread carefully.

Because just like Azzy and Frisk, she was walking across a minefield.

A very… very dangerous one.

.

.

-[Epilogue: Cold, cold home]-

July 21, 2015.

"ACHOO!"

A sneeze escaped the young ambassador's nose just then; a red scarf—identical to Papyrus’s—covered his mouth. The eighth human lowered it slightly, wiping his nose with a handkerchief before tucking it back into his pocket.

“Bless you,”

Said the rosy-cheeked girl leaning against the ship’s railing, her gaze fixed on the vast snowy land ahead. Today was the day.

“Thanks,” murmured the ambassador, sniffling with a hint of embarrassment as he adjusted his scarf. The icy wind whipping across the ship’s deck felt like fine blades of ice—it reached even his eyelashes. But his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

There it was.

Antarctica.

An infinite expanse of pure white, as if the world had been tucked under a soft, cold sheet. The sun shone brightly overhead, but offered no warmth. It was a place where the presence of human life seemed to defy nature itself.

Chara stood next to him, watching in silence, for once without a sarcastic comment or a mocking grin. There was something about this landscape that pulled her inward, making her feel small. Smaller even than her ghostly, weightless form.

"You okay?" asked the young ambassador, noticing her distant expression.

[Yeah…] she replied after a few moments of thought, forcing a tight smile. [I just… never imagined I’d see something like this.]

Frisk nodded, understanding the feeling of the Determination that came before him. “Me neither.”

[It’s cold, immense… desolate.]

“But also… peaceful, right?” he murmured. “Quiet. Pure.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, scoffing with a mix of mockery and annoyance. [You and your damn poetic view of the world.]

The boy gave a small laugh. Flowey, from his pot bolted to the safety rail, growled in irritation.

“Poetic?! Five minutes ago, I almost got my face ripped off by the wind! Why would anyone want to live here?!”

“Maybe because here, there’s no war,” Frisk replied. “No borders. Just… ice.”

Flowey shot him a dry look. “Yeah, right. Until someone tries to dissect me the moment they see me.”

[Then don’t talk] Chara snapped flatly.

“Like you’re any better company, princess!”

Frisk sighed. Before the exchange could escalate, a voice rose behind them—the calm, authoritative tone Sarff always used when it was time to listen, and you'd better do so.

“Get your things ready. We dock in ten minutes.”

They all turned toward him. Sarff, dressed in a thick burgundy coat and dark sunglasses, stood on the stairs to the ship’s upper level, where some of the Chaldea members had already begun to gather.

In the distance, the eternal ice stretched like a carpet leading to the white continent. The massive structure that was Chaldea rose imposingly before them, embedded in the side of a frozen mountain that had been terraformed into a smooth surface.

“Frisk… welcome to Finis Chaldea.”

Sarff's voice faded slightly, the trio’s eyes fixed on the circular structure. The brown-haired boy with golden eyes took a deep breath, adjusting his scarf once more.

“It’s now or never…” Frisk murmured under his breath.

Chara didn’t answer. She just watched him quietly as he turned to grab his backpack. Flowey sighed in resignation. “This better be worth it…”

The small group began moving across the deck, weaving through other passengers as Sarff led them with steady steps. The scene looked like something out of a dream: a boy with a red scarf, a half-sulking talking flower, and a crimson-eyed ghost walking together into the unknown.

“heya.”

None of them were surprised when Sans appeared out of nowhere, waving lazily in greeting. Flowey raised a brow—now that he noticed, that grinning pile of bones in his human “disguise” looked suspiciously like the guy from the manga he’d been reading.

All he needed was to shoot red, blue, and purple orbs—or wear black shades.

“Hey Sans. Thought you were asleep.”

Frisk greeted him, earning a soft chuckle from the comedian. Papyrus’ brother shrugged and laughed, shaking his head side to side. It was true—he had been sleeping almost the whole day.

But they had to understand… sleeping on a boat was a totally unique experience. Even Frisk understood that. The ambassador watched the skeleton walk beside him with hands in his coat pockets.

His dark eye sockets and heavy bags under them somehow gave him a unique charm, made even more memorable by the ever-present smile on his face.

“I gotta say, this place is… picturesque. Kinda grim from the outside.”

“No one wants to draw attention.”

Sarff interjected. It was only natural for Chaldea to be as minimalist as possible from the outside—after all, it was the first thing anyone would see upon stepping onto Antarctica.

Then maybe I shouldn’t either…

Thought the monster as his eyes finally locked onto what they had come for. It didn’t take long to disembark. The enormous white walkway was nearly empty, just them standing before the massive metal gates leading into the facility.

PSHHHHHHHHHHHHH—

The hangar doors slid open with a subtle hiss, revealing the figure of a young woman waiting in the middle of the windstorm. A white coat with a high collar flapped lightly in the polar breeze. Her expression was composed, her posture elegant, despite the bone-deep chill.

Olga Marie Animusphere, Director of Chaldea, stood ready to receive them.

“Ambassador Dreemurr, welcome to Finis Chaldea. I hope your journey was as comfortable as possible.” Her voice was clear, practiced, but not rigid. “Apologies for the delay. The storms have been relentless lately.”

She extended her right hand, which Frisk immediately took in a firm handshake.

“I’m Olga Marie Animusphere. A pleasure to meet you in person.”

“Frisk Dreemurr. The pleasure is mine, Miss Olga.”

She nodded slightly at the greeting, then turned and gestured toward the man at her side:

“Allow me to introduce our Acting Medical Director—Romani Archaman.”

At first, there was no response.

Romani didn’t move.

His eyes were locked on a single figure, completely ignoring introductions, protocol, or even the ambassador’s presence. It was as if time itself had frozen for him, and only Sarff existed in his vision.

A trembling hand lifted the scarf beneath his face, as if to confirm that his eyes weren’t playing tricks.

“Th-this can’t be…” he whispered, barely audible. “You… You’re supposed to be dead. It’s been too long. Even for you…”

Romani’s murmur was so low it shouldn’t have been humanly possible to hear it.

But Sarff didn’t seem to care. He stepped forward, hands behind his back, the icy breeze ruffling his blood-red hair, his golden eyes glowing like embers in the white gloom.

And when he spoke, it was in a perfectly neutral tone.

One only Romani seemed to hear with absolute clarity.

“Is that how you greet your master… Solomon?”

End of Chapter 2.