The Era of Coexistence had lasted longer than written history. And yet, in a passing moment, its ends echoed across the world.

The name of the child whose soul had been stolen by an ambassador of monsterkind has since been lost. The soul itself was never recovered, and its use has only been speculated about; yet the child's community demanded retribution, upheld by their neighbors, and theirs, and theirs.

Monsters and humans had lived side by side. Violence and prejudice towards monsters quickly reached critical levels after the incident, and many monsters began to flee their homes. Others tried to speak out, reach out, and regain peace as pacifists. Most of these activists were killed. It was rumored some of the more well-known pacifist monsters would steal the souls of the humans who listened to them, and command the humans to turn on their own kind. No solid evidence was found to support these claims, but it remains a popular theory today.

Then, in 19XX, the king declared the Soul Protection Act. For the sake of the souls of humanity, all monsters would be eradicated.

Humans possess powerful souls, and pull magic from their surroundings; monsters have souls far less sturdy, yet their magic is pulled from within themselves, and their bodies are largely made of that magic. This had long been a source of conflict between the two races, but had been deemed a natural part of life and was largely accepted. After the SPA, the makeup of monsters' very being was used as 'evidence' of their inherent danger. It was their proof of monsters' lack of humanity, for want of a better word.

The war did not last long. Some monsters fought back, but the anger and determination of the humans sealed the monsters' fate. It was a slaughter.

Just a few months later, only a small sect of monsters remained. The leader of this group, a monster of goat-like appearance, surrendered and begged mercy for the few remaining of his people. Many humans demanded mercilessness, but some hint of regret seemed to have slipped into the hearts of most humans - they had just enacted a genocide. There was no other word for it.

But time was running out; some sects of humanity threatened to kill the monsters themselves, if the king and his council did not act. A group of seven scholar-sorcerers approached the king, and suggested isolating the monsters where they could not again hurt a human. Mount Ebott, a dormant volcano and landmark outside the capitol of the time, was deemed a perfect location.

Quickly and quietly, the remaining monsters were brought to the mountain and led inside. Their leader begged for an alternative, someplace with open skies and a chance for lives led less captive. The king denied him, and as the last of the monsters entered the only entrance, the sorcerors raised their magic.

It is said that the air crackled for miles with the essence of power and determination itself. Some rumors whisper, however, that the air echoed with the cries of the souls sealed eternally within the mountain.

Mount Ebott remains today, towering in the background of the old capitol. The city has been all but abandoned, however; while it remained the abode of the king and his heirs as years passed, in 2015 a natural disaster rendered the landscape unrecognizable. Today, miles upon miles of thorny vines have warped the landscape, making passage to Mount Ebott unthinkable. Rumor, too, of the imminent deadly fate of those who venture to the lair of the monsters curb the few who would risk using magic to explore. The vines appear to be resistant to most modern magics, regardless, and thus Mount Ebott remains an unapproachable tragic relic and reminder of the sins of humanity.

With a dusty snap, Frisk closed the book.

And now, only determined magic scholars venture to the old capitol, they thought. The noise of the book was lost amidst the towering bookcases of the castle library, stretching on and around into the distance.

They sighed, pushing back in their chair to lean on its two back legs. Crossing their arms, Frisk worried their lower lip with their teeth.

This was the greatest amount of information they had found in one book on the monster genocide that had happened almost a century ago. Most modern history books skated over the transition from coexistance to humanity's sole reign.

As infuriating as it was, Frisk admitted that they hadn't even questioned the lack of information until almost 15 years ago. They had been visiting the old capitol with their parents at the time - in 2015. It must have happened in the night, because Frisk woke up to the smell of scorched Earth and thick, thorned vines… everywhere, everywhere. Everywhere, and still moving - slowly. And…

Frisk shook their head. They didn't want to think about the next part. No, no. But after that, after they had escaped the inn, they kept running. Eventually they were rescued by a fleeing mage, but Frisk didn't know much else about what immediately followed.

The young scholar leaned forward, resting all four legs of the chair on the ground once more. With a sigh, they stood, scribbled down some quick notes in a small journal, and left the library.

It was time, they decided. Years of research had led them here, and yet it had done little other than give Frisk more questions to answer.

They were going to do some hands-on research.

00000

Frisk rolled their shoulders with a few deep breaths, leaving puffs of crystalline air in the brisk morning breeze. A warm sweater rested in their pack, but knowing the exertion that awaited them they left it there.

With a quick hike of their soft pants, an adjustment of the small pack on their back, and a nervous tug at the laces of their boots, Frisk nodded at the wall of vines almost cordially. Overhead, the peak of Mount Ebott loomed.

Frisk shook out their hands and closed their eyes.

Modern magic won't work on you, huh?

They squared their stance.

How about something a little more old-style?

Reaching deep into their core, Frisk pulled at their burning determination and felt the warm red spark that waited to be called. Pulling at the energy in the air that they now could sense tickling their skin, they drew characters in the air - ancient symbols that blazed through the depths of their mind.

With a rumble, the vines began to move.

Sweat beaded on Frisk's forehead as they pushed. Even with the ancient working that they were calling, the vines were reluctant to move, and fought to escape their influence. Realizing that it was now or never, Frisk opened their eyes and strode forward, hands still moving as they worked to keep the vines open just ahead.

00000

Two hours later, Frisk was drenched in sweat. The pack pulled painfully at their shoulders as the living vines caught at it as Frisk's magic waned. They were rushing now, sloppy in their work, but desperate to reach some sort of clearing before they were drained. Their arms were covered in cuts and gashes, blood staining their dark skin darker yet.

Frisk knew that they were reaching the peak of the mountain; they had to be. The burnt remains of trees had begun to clear out as they reached either the source of the disaster or the treeline; they didn't take the precious time to figure out which it was.

And suddenly, they realized that they were no longer shifting vines at random - they were parting them, as if heading towards their source. With a burst of renewed energy, Frisk shoved their magic forward, and caught a glimpse of a cave.

Just as they saw the opening in the mountainside, their magic wavered. And with a stutter, they lost their grip on the spark. Horror gripped Frisk, and their head whipped around as the vines snapped close behind them. The closing rolled forward, rushing straight at them.

Without another thought, Frisk sprinted.

Exhausted muscles screamed as they dashed for the small opening they had left ahead of them. Determination was the only thing powering their body now, and the need to survive carried them into the dark cave, forward, forward, sightless -

And suddenly, nothing was below their feet.

With a silent scream, Frisk plunged into the blackness.