VALORTALE

Ross became aware of pain before he became aware of himself.

It was everywhere, a deep, crushing ache across his back, sharp and hot along one side of his ribs, and a pounding, rhythmic pressure at the base of his skull that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat. He tried to breathe.

The attempt ended in a thin, broken wheeze.

Air wouldn’t come in properly. His chest spasmed. For a moment, a long, animal moment, panic flared. His lungs felt empty and locked at the same time.

He tried again.

A shallow inhale. It caught halfway, jagged against bruised muscle and a rib that protested the expansion. The sound that escaped him was small and strained, barely more than a faint whistle in the still cavern air.

He didn’t know where he was.

He didn’t remember falling.

There was only the stone beneath him — cold and unyielding — pressing into his shoulder blades. His helmet dug into the rock at an awkward angle. Something inside it shifted faintly, foam compressed and cracked.

He tried to move his arm.

His body responded a second too late.

His fingers twitched weakly against the ground.

The world tilted, though he hadn’t moved. His vision was a smear of shadow and dim, ambient light — golden, maybe. Or that could have been his brain misfiring.

He swallowed.

The motion sent a spike of pain through the back of his head. Nausea rose immediately in response. He made another small, involuntary wheezing sound as his diaphragm seized.

He was aware, distantly, that he should be doing something.

Radio.

Assessment.

Training.

Instead, he lay there, stunned and crooked against the cavern floor, drawing shallow, uneven breaths that rasped faintly in his throat.

His thoughts wouldn’t line up.

Something had happened.

Storm.

Marcus.

Frisk—

The memory fractured before it could finish forming.

He tried to sit up.

The world lurched violently sideways and nausea surged up so fast he thought he might vomit inside the helmet. He made a low, broken sound and collapsed back down, clutching at his side.

Soft.

It registered faintly.

The surface under him wasn’t jagged. It wasn’t stone.

It yielded slightly under his weight.

He blinked again. Forced his eyes to focus. The gold resolved, slowly, into shapes.

Petals.

Hundreds of them.

He was lying in a dense bed of small golden flowers, their stems bent but not broken beneath him. They smelled faintly sweet—like something sun-warmed, like late summer.

That didn’t make sense either.

The impact of collapsing forced a sharper exhale from him, not quite a groan, not quite a gasp.

Just another weak wheeze.

The cavern remained silent around him.

And then, he heard a voice.

• Yours.

MULTIVER SOLUTIONS OFFICE OF INTERNAL AFFAIRS

SECURITY CLEARANCE LEVEL 8 REQUIRED TO VIEW

Case File: Mt. Ebbott Exclusion Zone – Personnel Review

Class: Supplemental Recording - Interview with Subject

Interviewer: Agent [Redacted], codename Terrapin, MultiVer Private Security Liason

Interviewee: Private Ross Stonewall, 69th “Flagbearers” Regiment, MultiVer Private Security

Location: Interview Room 2B, [REDACTED], Georgia

—

Interviewer: Please state your full name, rank, and unit for the record.

Stonewall: Private Ross Ellis Stonewall. 69th “Flagbearers” Regiment, Mt. Ebbott Exclusion Zone security detail.

Interviewer: How long were you assigned to the Mount Ebbott Exclusion Zone prior to the incident?

Stonewall: Eighteen months, sir. Just over.

Interviewer: During your time assigned to the Exclusion Zone, were there any security incidents?

Stonewall: No serious ones, sir.

Interviewer: Please clarify.

Stonewall: We had civilians approach the outer perimeter. Hikers ignoring signage. Locals trying to get a look at the fence. A couple of teenagers once tried to film something for social media. But no one breached the Zone, so we never really had to do much, just ask them to back off.

Interviewer: To your knowledge, had there been any successful breaches prior to your arrival?

Stonewall: We were briefed that some people had gone missing in the past, but that was before the exclusion zone was set up in 1994, and there had been no recorded incidents since then.

Interviewer: And that record had remained intact up to the incident on March 14th, 2016?

Stonewall: Yes, sir.

Interviewer: You can confirm this was, to your knowledge, the first breach since the Zone’s establishment?

Stonewall: Yes, sir.

Interviewer: Interesting. Walk me through what happened leading up to the event.

~

Ross shifted in his chair, the coarse canvas of the ranger outpost seat scraping against his uniform. Rain hammered against the corrugated roof, punctuated by distant rumbles of thunder that made the wooden walls tremble. He glanced over at Marcus Todd, who sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against a crate with an expectant grin.

“Alright,” the fellow private said, arms crossed over his chest, “which would you rather fight: a goat with the mind of a human, or a human with the mind of a goat?”

Ross rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a long, weary sigh. “Marcus… you’ve got to be close to asking questions like that two dozen times since we ducked in here from this storm.”

Marcus winced, like he’d been caught in the act. “Yeah… sorry. I’m just… bored, I guess. I shouldn’t have wished for an easy assignment.” He let the words hang in the air, a mix of regret and helplessness.

Ross leaned back, feeling the damp chill in the room seep through his uniform. “Easy assignment, huh?” he muttered, eyes tracking the shadows the flickering lantern cast along the walls. “Boredom will get you talking about goats and humans in ways that’ll make your head spin.”

Marcus chuckled, sheepish. “Guess it’s better than facing the real thing out there, huh?”

Ross didn’t answer, just shook his head slowly and stared at the darkened storm outside, not daring to wish that something would happen.

But something happened, anyway.

The crackle of the radio cut through the low rumble of thunder, making Ross jerk upright in his seat. Marcus froze, eyes widening. Ross snatched the handset.

“Private Stonewall, Station Twelve,” he said, keeping his voice steady over the static.

“Station Twelve, this is Perimeter Post Three,” came the urgent voice of the guard. “A tree fell and knocked part of the fence down, and someone’s through the perimeter. We’re seeing footprints in the mud, heading toward your zone. Repeat: someone has breached the perimeter, headed for your zone.”

Ross’s jaw tightened. “Copy that, Post Three. We’ll begin pursuit immediately.”

He slammed the handset down, spinning to Marcus. “Time to move.”

Marcus scrambled to his feet, fumbling with his helmet. “Finally! Something interesting!”

Ross shot him a glare, but didn’t wait for a reply. They swung their helmets on and buckled the chinstraps tight, the rain already soaking through the edges. Outside, the storm had reduced visibility to a blur of gray and green, and the wind clawed at their faces as they mounted the quad.

Ross revved the engine, the machine’s growl almost swallowed by the thunder overhead. “Hang on,” he barked over the roar as they sped off. The mud-slicked trail to the summit stretched ahead, carved with rivulets of rainwater and dotted with footprints too small for him to identify at a glance.

Marcus grinned behind his visor, excitement mixing with apprehension. “This is what I get for wishing for an easy assignment, huh?”

Ross didn’t answer, keeping his eyes forward. Every jolt over the rocks and roots of the mountain trail sent the quad bouncing. Rain plastered their hair to their helmets as Ross and Marcus crested the summit. The storm had carved the mountain into slick rivulets, and mud clung to the tires of their quad. But what they saw ahead froze them both.

A small figure stood at the edge of a jagged sinkhole, no more than ten years old. Their striped shirt was barely visible through the mist and driving rain. Ross pumped the brake handle, and the quad skidded in the mud, throwing up spray.

“Hey!” Ross shouted over the storm. “Stop! Don’t get any closer!”

The child froze, then slowly turned to face them. Ross’s heart sank as his boots found unstable ground… the mud slowly slid from under the child’s shoes. “Hey… what’s your name?” he asked, crouching slightly, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture.

The kid’s hands moved, deliberate and precise. Ross caught the letters: F-R-I-S-K.

“Frisk,” he said aloud. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ross, and this is Marcus.” He gestured to Marcus, who gave a tight nod and a wave. “We just want to make sure you’re safe. Can you walk toward us… slowly?”

Frisk nodded, taking tiny, careful steps toward them. Ross kept his eyes on the mud, every instinct screaming that the ground wouldn’t hold.

And then it gave way.

Ross lunged without thinking, grabbing Frisk’s striped shirt and yanking them back with all his strength. He shoved them toward Marcus, who caught the child in a firm, panicked hug.

“Marcus! Get them to the Command Center!” Ross yelled, his voice nearly drowned by the storm.

Marcus' eyes went wide as the sinkhole widened beneath Ross. “Ross!” he shouted, preparing to take a step forward.

“Get back! I’ll be fine! Get a rescue team up here!” Ross called down, already sliding into the yawning dark. The wind roared in his ears as the mud and rock swallowed him, and then he was gone from the summit.

Marcus crouched over Frisk, whispering calm words into the rain. “Ross will be fine. We’ll get a rescue team out here. We’ll get him out.” He quickly pulled a radio beacon from his pack and dropped it into the mud to mark the location. Then, holding Frisk tight, he vaulted onto the quad.

The tires bit into the wet trail, and they sped down the slope. Behind them, the sinkhole began to close, soil and rock settling with an almost deliberate speed, as though the mountain itself had swallowed the evidence of its claim. By the time they were gone, there was no trace left but the radio beacon.

Mount Ebott had taken another human.

~

Ross tumbled through darkness, the wind whipping past his helmet as the walls of the shaft blurred into streaks of rock and soil. His hands clawed at whatever he could, scraping against the slick stone, but there was nothing to slow his fall.

“Command! Command!” he shouted into his radio, his voice echoing off the stone like it had fallen into a cave. “This is Private Stonewall! Sinkhole breach at—at the summit! Private Todd is bringing the child to Station One! I’m—I’m falling into a—”

The words cut off abruptly when his helmet slammed against a jutting outcrop of rock. Pain exploded through him, sharp and blinding, and the radio clattered from his grasp, tumbling downward into the black.

His body went limp, the world tilting and spinning as darkness swallowed him whole. The echoes of his own voice lingered, distorted and fading, until there was nothing but silence.

Unconscious, Ross fell down the shaft, the storm and the mountain above fading from his awareness.

~

MULTIVER SOLUTIONS OFFICE OF INTERNAL AFFAIRS

SECURITY CLEARANCE LEVEL 7 REQUIRED TO VIEW

Case File: Mt. Ebbott Exclusion Zone – Personnel Review

Class: Supplemental Recording – Agent Debrief

Participants: Agent [REDACTED], codename Terrapin, MultiVer Private Security Liason; Agent [REDACTED], codename Pekan, [REDACTED] Liason

—

Terrapin: For the record, Private Stonewall’s account matches the prior statements from the child and Private Todd?

Pekan: Yes. Blow by blow in all the places that matter. He confirms there was a sinkhole at the summit and that he fell into it after pushing the child clear.

Terrapin: And Todd?

Pekan: He says the ground gave way under Stonewall. He marked the site with a radio beacon before escorting the child back down the mountain.

Terrapin: Rescue response?

Pekan: Immediate. Teams reached the beacon within twenty minutes.

Terrapin: And?

Pekan: Nothing. No sinkhole. No disturbed earth beyond the storm damage. The radio beacon was exactly where Todd said he dropped it.

Terrapin: Drone sweep?

Pekan: Negative.

Terrapin: Ground-penetrating radar?

Pekan: Negative.

Terrapin: Subsurface anomaly of any kind?

Pekan: None detected. No cavities, no voids, no unstable shelf. According to every instrument we had, that summit was solid rock beneath the soil.

Terrapin: Yet three independent witnesses place a sinkhole there.

Pekan: Yes.

Terrapin: That contradicts what we've seen.

Pekan: I think it’s statistically improbable that a seven-year-old child, a private with no disciplinary record, and another private with commendations would fabricate or collectively hallucinate a geological event during a thunderstorm.

Terrapin: So…

Pekan: So I doubt they’re lying. Or mistaken. Which suggests… an anomalous explanation.

Terrapin: Given everything else that’s happened this week, I'll admit that’s probably the case.

(Silence.)

Terrapin: What happened to the child?

Pekan: Private Todd delivered them safely to Station One. Identified as Frisk Torres. Age seven.

Terrapin: Condition at time of arrival?

Pekan: Physically unharmed. Mild shock, which is to be expected. They are selectively mute for… well, reasons we suspect are mostly unrelated to this incident. Communicates exclusively through American Sign Language.

Terrapin: …and that’s why it's mandatory for MVPS agents to know American Sign Language.

Pekan: That it is. The debrief team had no communication barrier, fortunately.

Terrapin: Why was Frisk Torres on Mt. Ebbott in the first place?

Pekan: That’s… complicated.

Terrapin: Try me.

Pekan: Well… Officially, the Exclusion Zone exists because of a rare insect species discovered in 1994. MultiVer Private Security officers protect the habitat from civilian interference.

Terrapin: You can’t be serious.

Pekan: Of course not, I’m Agent Pekan. Agent Sirius is our contact in MultiVer’s Finance department.

(Exasperated sigh from Agent Terrapin)

Terrapin: Continue.

Pekan: Unofficially, there have always been rumors about Mt. Ebbott. People who reach the summit don’t return. Been that way since long before we got there.

Terrapin: And Frisk Torres?

Pekan: Child Protective Services has been called to the Torres residence multiple times. Unsafe conditions. Neglect. Emotional abuse is strongly suspected.

Terrapin: That explains the selective mutism?

Pekan: Likely a trauma response. Preliminary assessments suggest prolonged psychological stress in early childhood.

Terrapin: You’re suggesting the child climbed a restricted mountain in the middle of a thunderstorm—

Pekan: —possibly as a suicide attempt, yes.

(Silence.)

Terrapin: Seven years old.

Pekan: It can happen to anyone. Trauma doesn’t wait for someone to be old enough.

(Silence.)

Terrapin: I hope there’s good news?

Pekan: Yes. Private Todd had a few conversations with young Frisk through sign, and reported information to local law enforcement. The courts reviewed the Torres household. Based on prior CPS reports and the information Todd provided, the parents were deemed unfit.

Terrapin: Custody?

Pekan: Revoked. Frisk Torres is now a ward of the state. They’ve already been referred to a licensed therapist.

Terrapin: That’s good.

Pekan: There’s more.

Terrapin: Go on.

Pekan: Private Todd has expressed interest in adopting the child. And Frisk has indicated, quite clearly, that they would like to be adopted by him and his wife.

Terrapin: Hm. Mr. and Mrs. Todd have been attempting to adopt for years. Given Frisk’s current status and the established bond, I see no reason we shouldn’t assist in facilitating the process.

Pekan: Agreed. Marcus is a good man.

Terrapin: He is.

Pekan: And the child deserves better than what they had.

Terrapin: Yes. Most children do.

Transcript Ends

~

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