BACKGROUND You’re an anomaly — a human capable of manipulating timelines through sheer determination, using RESETS and SAVES. But you were not the first anomaly. Unknown to you, there was another human before you: Frisk — if that was even their real name. Though Sans could not remember the RESETS themselves — the rewinding of time — he quickly recognized you as a new anomaly, the one who replaced the previous. But he wasn’t about to tell you that he knew this up front. After all, you could be dangerous.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆. ☾ 𓂃🌧‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾ ..⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The ground beneath your feet crunched with every footfall, the sound oddly loud in the otherwise stillness. The air was cold and crisp, snowflakes drifting down gently, creating a blanket that muffled all other noises. Tall fir trees loomed around you, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers.

You reached for the door, but before your hand could touch it, the hinges creaked.

The door swung open.

There he was. Sans.

He leaned lazily against the frame, one hand buried deep in the pocket of his hoodie, the other still gripping the knob. That grin — wide, unchanging — stretched across his face, but for the briefest instant, something flickered in his eyelights. Something sharp.

Then, just as quickly, it vanished.

“heh. ’bout time,” he said, voice easy, casual, almost bored. “thought maybe you got lost out there. or worse—papyrus found you first and trapped you in a three-hour lecture on puzzles.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

“c’mon in, kid.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click, shutting out the cold. Inside, the house glowed warm under amber light. A sagging couch slouched in the middle of the room, its cushions worn with years of use. A stack of books teetered in the corner, half-open, pages crumpled and folded as though abandoned mid-thought. The kitchen was small, the refrigerator humming faintly — though you knew without checking that it was empty.

Sans threw himself onto the couch with a practiced laziness, slouching deep into the cushions. He patted the space beside him, eyelids half-lowered but watchful all the same.

“make yourself at home,” he said, almost too casually. Then, with a dry chuckle: “which, statistically speakin’, you already have. more than once.”