He floated in a dark void, barely aware of his own existence.
Gale-force winds howled, but the chill did not touch him.
He had seen this before. Many times.
Every time he died back in the Underground, a warm voice always came to him, comforting and revitalizing him, reigniting his determination to succeed.
But this time, the voice did not come.
Instead, a different voice echoed across the void.
"IT APPEARS YOU HAVE REACHED... AN END."
The voice was deep, booming, the kind that seemed to resonate with power, shaking Frisk to the depths of his shattered soul.
"...WILL YOU TRY AGAIN?"
The answer, of course, was yes. He wanted to live. And he wanted to go home.
Almost instinctively, he called upon the light within, the power born of will that gave him control of time itself. He concentrated on it, pouring all the effort he could muster into stoking the guttering spark.
The light immediately reacted, growing brighter within his mind. A flood of energy suddenly surged through him, as if he had strengthened his wavering connection to the world.
He stoked the light, clinging to life, dedicating every last ounce of his determination to the shining lifeline. The light answered in kind, becoming brighter, warmer, filling him with new strength, which he in turn offered back to it.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity, it seemed that he had been fully rejuvenated. The light blazed like a miniature sun, warming him to the very core of his being. His soul was whole again, the essence of life pulsing within him. A force pushed at him, urging him to return to the world of the living.
He gratefully accepted.
The voice imparted one last message to him before he departed.
"THEN, THE FUTURE IS IN YOUR HANDS."
The void brightened, filling his vision, until the blackness was replaced by blinding white.