The fire cracked softly.
Rain continued to fall in slow, steady sheets, its gentle patter against the stone and trees blending with the night. The girl sat where she always had — legs tucked beneath her, arms loosely around her knees — but something in her posture had changed.
Her eyes were wide now, the reflection of the flames flickering within them. For the first time since the man began his tale, she shifted, leaning in slightly. Her brow furrowed, and her gaze broke from the fire to land on the man beside it.
Though his hood still concealed his face, the curve of his mouth suggested a knowing, patient calm.
The girl raised a hand, gesturing — swift, sharp, confused movements. A tilt of her head. A rapid flick of her fingers. Another gesture, this one frustrated. Why? How? When did the story change? She didn't speak, but the meaning was clear in her restless hands and furrowed brow.
The man gave a soft, quiet chuckle.
"Slow down," he murmured, voice low and unbothered by the rain or the night's chill. "One thing at a time, little one."
The girl blinked, then let out a small breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She lowered her hands, composing herself, cheeks puffing out briefly in a quiet, almost sheepish pout. After a moment, she began again — slower this time, fingers and hands moving deliberately, shaping her questions in the air.
'Why did Frisk give up?' 'Why does it keep happening?' 'Is there no way to stop Chara?'
The man nodded along to each, taking them as seriously as if she'd spoken them aloud.
"To your first question," he said, leaning forward to stoke the fire, the embers briefly flaring bright against the dark, "Frisk didn't give up. Not at first. He tried… and tried… and tried. Mercy, kindness, new beginnings. But some things leave a mark so deep, not even time or forgiveness can wash them clean."
The girl's lips pressed into a line.
"To the second," the man continued, his voice quieter now, almost lost to the sound of falling rain, "because it is what it means to bear consequences. The world remembers, even if its people forget. A story like this… never truly ends. Not when someone like Chara still lingers."
At the mention of the name, the girl's expression darkened.
"And to your third…"The man paused, tilting his head." No one's found a way. Not yet."
A long silence passed between them, save for the rain and the crackling fire.
Then, the man straightened, glancing at her.
"You aren't cold?"
The question startled her. She blinked and looked down at herself as if only now noticing the water clinging to her clothes, the dampness in her hair, the way her skin prickled with the chill. But after a moment of consideration, she gave a small, defiant shake of her head, followed by a quick gesture. 'It's not so bad. The fire helps.'
The man chuckled softly." I thought you'd say that."
From beside him, he pulled a small, neatly folded jacket — worn but clean, clearly her size. The fabric looked thick and warm, lined with soft cloth. He held it out to her without a word.
The girl took it hesitantly, her brow furrowing in silent question. She tilted her head, gesturing: 'Why do you have this?'
The man's hidden grin was audible in his tone. "Secret," he teased.
She frowned for a heartbeat, then relented, slipping the jacket on. It was warm, far warmer than she expected — a comforting weight over her shoulders. She pulled it close, hugging it to herself, a small satisfied look crossing her face for the first time since they'd begun this strange meeting atop the mountain.
The man chuckled again. "You look almost… cozy."
The girl shot him a sharp glare, then smirked — just a flicker, small and quick, before she settled back by the fire.
The man let the moment linger a beat longer before leaning forward.
"Well then… shall we continue?"
The rain fell. The fire crackled. And the story pressed on.