Mt. Ebott was once the source of many stories, all describing how anyone who climbed the mountain would never return. However, as the decades went by and adventurous souls started to march ahead, they found that the stories were nothing more than stories. A sturdy road was soon developed and the city folk started to mingle with the people on the other side. It became busy with traffic, and people of all ages were regularly making the trek to say hello.
That wasn't the reason Frisk climbed the mountain, and it certainly wasn't the reason they walked away from the road.
The stories of yesteryear were still passed on, but at worst, they existed to let parents warn their children about exploring on their own. There wasn't anything particularly frightening about the mountain itself, but kids who believed themselves to be particularly daring, or perhaps they were simply dared, often decided that exploring the rarely visited areas off the beaten path would give them some sort of notoriety. Far more often than not, they would take a few steps before becoming terrified of the unknown and running back to receive a thorough scolding from their parents. For a while, though, their curiosity got the better of them.
That wasn't the reason either.
Frisk trudged forward through the piercing wind. Their hands were bruised and callused, their clothes showing signs of tearing. A small cut on their leg soared freely, as a larger wound on their back needed the protection of their only bandage. It had managed to reopen while they were hiking, and it stung no matter what they tried. Frisk looked behind them for a single second, hesitating to go forward and in that moment wanting nothing more in the world than to curl up in front of a warm fire and rest. Their attempts to kindle something without any proper tools had all ended disastrously, not helped by the billowing wind that seemed to spite them whenever they had a glimmer of hope. They were cold, colder than anyone had any right to be, and they hated it. Still, it was only for a second; they turned their head forward and pushed forward.
The moon shone dimly above Frisk, letting them roughly see what was in front of them and not much more. Every tree they passed seemed to reappear just a few steps ahead, making them feel like they were running in circles, but they continued to walk even as the wind tried its best to throw them away. They reached out to steady themselves on a branch only to wince back in pain. A jagged twig jutted out of the branch's side, and they had stupidly put their palm right on it. A nasty wound started to form; sighing, Frisk reached behind them to remove the bandage on their back. They patted their back lightly to find the bandage's edge, putting too much force on a welt that had lingered for weeks and flinching at the touch. They gently removed it, wrapped it around their hand, and moved on.
Clouds started to form above them, blotting out the moon and stars. Frisk was coated by a drizzle of rain. They tried to hide under the cover of a large tree, but the shower managed to seep through the leaves' gaps, and the torrent only continued to grow in strength and number. They shivered at the first drop – this was the first time they had to deal with rain, and they were woefully unprepared. They knew that they could either hide under the tree's ineffective or charge forward with the hope of finding actual shelter. And so, they charged forward.
Frisk soon became drenched; they could feel the water dripping throughout them and their bandage dangling from their hand. Every part of their body threatened to collapse, they were shaking from head to toe, and the only source of heat that remained was their thin shirt. There weren't enough ways to describe how uncomfortable they felt, but they were far from reasons to stop. They panted considerably as they increased their pace, the dark trees surrounding them blurring into a shadowy mess. They could not stop now, not now, not after such a short amount of time, not until they made it far, far away from the city, not until nobody could find them again, not until —
A cave. A hole built right into the mountain. A shelter from the storm outlined clearly with a distinct lack of trees as if it was designed for protection. Frisk stopped running and blinked to make sure they weren't imagining it, and they blinked once more to get the rain out of their eyes. They dashed forward with what little energy they had left, nearly slipped on the patches of grass that surrounded the entrance, and smiled with relief once they no longer felt the rain thumping on their head.
They checked their surroundings: behind them was the storm that seemed to increase in intensity with every passing second, serving as a backdrop for the trees that bent with the wind; in front of them was a cavern that immediately dipped into near-darkness, with only a small beam of light coming from the moon; below them was a short branch, with one end looking like it was forcefully detached and the other end appearing sharp enough to dig into the ground. Frisk immediately grabbed it and used it to support themselves as they marched ahead.
The moonlight wasn't enough to fully illuminate the cave, but Frisk could generally make out what was in front of them. They didn't have to worry about what was coming up, they didn't have to care about what was behind them, and for once, after what felt like such a long time, they finally felt calm. Oddly enough, they also felt warm; they were still completely soaked, but the walls almost radiated... something, which made them feel less and less cold with every step. It almost felt foreign to them. This pushed them to move forward, craving more and more of the warmth, wanting more and more of it. Suddenly, they tripped.
Their foot snagged on something while they were distracted by the warmth, sending them sprawling forward. They attempted to use their stick to steady themselves, but it landed on a rock instead of the ground, uselessly bouncing off. Frisk did their best to brace for impact with the ground, closing their eyes firmly shut and expecting the worst, but it never came. Instead, they felt air flying past them at great speeds; they slowly opened their eyes and looked into a bottomless pit. Their thoughts were erratic, jumping from memories that were long-forgotten to emotions that couldn't be expressed in such a short amount of time. They still held the stick in their hand, desperately grasping it with all of their might as if it could act as a lifeline.
Echoes of what they had run away from floated within them. They wanted to escape, they wanted to change their story so badly, but they were looking for a new beginning and not an ending. They didn't want it to end like this, plummeting to someplace where nobody will ever find them. Frisk couldn't accept that they would fall, and that there would be nothing more after that. In the short amount of that that they knew they had left, they resolved to only think of one thing: survival. They weren't expecting a miracle to happen, but they wanted to reaffirm, if only to themselves, that they didn't give up and that they certainly didn't let all of their efforts in making it to Mt. Ebott go to waste. They were filled with the same feeling that drove them to climb the mountain.
They were filled with determination.
Frisk woke up in the middle of a patch of golden flowers. As they got their bearings, they felt a lingering soreness that surrounded their entire body, although they were more than capable of freely moving around, they noted the impossibly large distance between where they stood and where the pit loomed, and they felt a whirlwind of emotions as they tried to rationalize what had happened. However, above all else, they took stock in the very first sensation that they felt when they regained consciousness.
They felt comfortably warm.