The sunlight was warm on their face. Birds sang in the trees. Laughter drifted through the air—Papyrus and Undyne sparring in the backyard, Alphys cheering them on. Asgore tended to his garden. Toriel baked her favorite snail pie. It was peace, finally.

Frisk had won.

They had chosen mercy over violence, compassion over fear. No one had to die. And together, hand in hand, they had climbed out of the Underground and into a new life.

But peace, Frisk learned, could be fragile.

Lately, the world had felt… off. Like a painting tilted just enough to unsettle. Memories surfaced that shouldn’t exist—flickers of paths never taken, battles that never happened, friends who had once fallen, but now smiled without knowing why.

And worse: the temptation. A whisper, soft and persistent, curled in the corners of their thoughts.

“You could do it again.”

“One more time.”

“Just one reset.”

They tried to ignore it. They remembered Sans—how he had looked at them, tired but hopeful. How he had said, “No more resets, kid. Promise me.”

Frisk had nodded. They meant it.

But Sans… he noticed the change.

He always noticed.

And one quiet evening, beneath the golden light of a setting sun, he found them alone in the garden, staring too long at nothing.

“Hey, kid,” Sans said softly, no smile in his voice. “We gotta talk.”