𝙉𝙮𝙭𝙚𝙧𝙖 ✧

Shadows and Secrets

Frisk and Citlali split up, moving silently through the shadows to search for Ororon.

The night felt heavier now-something strange lingered in the cool breeze, almost as if the winds carried whispers of things better left unsaid.

Frisk moved further from the stadium, their footsteps light as they slipped through narrow paths and rocky outcroppings.

They were just starting to think they'd have to loop back when-

"Gotcha," Frisk whispered under their breath.

There, huddled near a worn stone archway at the canyon's edge, was Ororon.

The mischievous glint in his eyes flickered for a moment when he saw Frisk approaching.

"Ororon!" Frisk called softly, relief washing over them. But before they could get closer-

"Not so fast."

A cold, steady voice spoke from the shadows behind Frisk.

They froze, every hair on their body standing on end.

From the darkness stepped the Captain, a tall figure with an air of quiet menace.

His armor was battered, yet still carried the unmistakable marks of Natlan craftsmanship.

But now... he was a legend of betrayal, a ghost whispered about in fear.

He stood calmly, his gaze cool and calculating, though his presence carried an undeniable weight.

His eyes, sharp and dark, flickered with the kind of knowledge that unsettled the soul.

Frisk's throat tightened. They could sense that this was not a man to cross lightly.

"You found the boy," the Captain said, almost conversationally, though his words dripped with unspoken power.
"Lucky you."

"Who... who are you?" Frisk managed, though they already knew the answer.

The Captain gave them a faint, humorless smile. "A ghost, they say. A traitor. Missing for years. But I prefer to think of myself as... a realist."

Ororon, crouched at the edge of the path, glanced nervously between Frisk and the Captain.

He gave a quick nod, as if trying to assure Frisk that everything was under control.

"The abyss is stirring," the Captain continued, his tone low but heavy with meaning.
"They've returned, just as they promised. Natlan will burn if we do nothing."

Frisk's heart raced.
"What... What do you mean? Why are you here now?"

The Captain's gaze darkened.
"The Pyro Archon knows this. She has her own plan-something dangerous. Something that may save Natlan, But... "

He took a step closer, his presence looming over Frisk like a shadow.
"We cannot afford to rely only on her fire. Other preparations must be made."

Frisk felt the weight of his words settle heavily in their chest.
The abyss returning? And the Pyro Archon's plan... what could be so dangerous that even her own former captain was concerned?

"You're strong," the Captain said softly.
"But not just strong in body. I can see it in you-you carry something rare. Determination." He paused, his eyes narrowing.
"We need that. You will be needed when the flames fail. Consider this your invitation."

Before Frisk could respond, the sound of light footsteps echoed through the canyon. Someone was coming.

In an instant, the Captain melted into the shadows, vanishing without a sound, leaving only the faintest trace of his presence behind.

Ororon let out a small sigh of relief.
"That was close."

Before Frisk could say anything, a familiar voice rang out-sharp, exasperated, and filled with all the irritation of a worried grandmother.

"There you are, you little rascal!"

Citlali appeared at the top of the ridge, her silhouette framed against the moonlight. She crossed her arms, her expression a mix of relief and frustration.
"Do you know how far I had to walk to find you? Honestly, Ororon, I'm going to clip your wings one of these days!"

Ororon stayed silent , said nothing, clearly used to his grandmother's scoldings.

"Don't you dare ignore me, young man!" Citlali scolded, marching down the path toward them. "You think this is a game?! Running off like that when you know the risks out here?"

Frisk, sensing Ororon's discomfort, decided to intervene.
"Uh, maybe... this isn't the best place to lecture him? It's late, and the winds are picking up."

Citlali huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her face, but Frisk could see the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.
"Fine," she muttered, shooting Ororon one last glare. "But you're not off the hook, kid. We'll talk about this later."

Ororon gave Frisk a quick, grateful glance as his grandmother turned to leave, muttering about reckless children under her breath.

As soon as Citlali was out of earshot, Ororon leaned in close to Frisk, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks for that."

Frisk gave him a small smile.
"No problem. But... what were you doing out here with that guy?!"

Ororon hesitated, glancing around to make sure they were truly alone.
"Listen," he whispered urgently.
"The Captain isn't just some traitor. He's trying to save Natlan. And he's right-the abyss is coming back."

Frisk swallowed hard, trying to make sense of everything. "What do you mean? How?"

"The Captain has a plan," Ororon explained. "He said the Pyro Archon's plan is too dangerous to use right now, so we have to prepare in other ways."
He lowered his voice even more.
"It's risky... but if we don't do something, Natlan won't stand a chance when the abyss returns."

Frisk's mind whirled with questions, but before they could ask more, Ororon straightened up, his playful grin returning as if nothing had happened.

"Anyway," he said cheerfully.
"Better get some rest, huh? Big day tomorrow and all that."

And just like that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Frisk standing alone with the weight of everything he'd just revealed.

Frisk remained rooted in place for a long moment, the wind tugging at their clothes as the weight of Ororon's words sank in.

The abyss... returning.

And the Pyro Archon's plan-something dangerous enough that even her own former captain was preparing for it to fail.

Frisk stared into the dark expanse of the canyon below, feeling the chill of the night settle deep into their bones.

What were they supposed to do with all this?

One thing was certain: the peaceful celebrations of the stadium were only a brief reprieve.

A storm was gathering on the horizon, and when it arrived, it would test the strength of every soul in Natlan.

Frisk clenched their fists, determination sparking within them. If the abyss was coming... they had to be ready.