The snow falls in thick silence. Toriel stands in the center of the square, steam rising around her. Dust lingers in the air like ash.

Sans steps forward slowly, eye dim, voice low.

Sans: (quietly) "How many people did you kill?"

Toriel turns her head toward him. Her expression is blank for a moment—then it cracks.

Toriel: (softly) "All of them."

She starts laughing.

It’s not regal. Not composed. It’s jagged, broken, rising in pitch like a kettle about to scream.

Grillby recoils. Undyne grips her spear tighter. Sans doesn’t move.

Toriel’s laughter echoes through the empty streets, bouncing off the snow-covered buildings.

Toriel: (still laughing) "They were so small. So scared. And they thought I was still their queen."

She wipes a tear from her eye, still smiling.

Toriel: (coldly) "I gave them mercy. The kind Asgore taught me."

Sans’s eye flickers. He doesn’t speak. But the snow around his feet begins to shift.

Sans: (quietly) "Undyne. Grillby. Go get Asgore."

Undyne turns sharply.

Undyne: (shocked) "You’re not serious—"

Grillby: (furious) "But Sans—you’re the weakest monster, you—"

Sans doesn’t flinch. He looks straight ahead, past the steam, into Toriel’s burning gaze.

Sans: (softly) "I’m stronger than you know."

Undyne stares at him, speechless. Grillby’s flames lower, uncertain.

Sans turns back to Toriel. The snow around his feet begins to curl upward like smoke.

Sans: (quietly) "You want more LV? You’ll have to go through me."

Toriel smiles. But it’s not kind.