khelshere

[khelshere]

Why Kris can’t let go of the Soul (My theory)

I’ve been thinking about Kris. Not just as a character, but as a person. And the more I watch them, the more I wonder:

What if Kris isn’t being controlled against their will? What if… they let us in?

Not because they want to. But because they don’t know how to decide.

Maybe Kris is one of those people who stand at the edge of every choice and freeze. Someone for whom choosing feels like breaking something. Someone who lives under the quiet, invisible weight of doubt, so heavy it becomes easier to hand over the wheel.

And that’s where we come in. The player. The soul.

Not as a parasite. Not as an invader. But as a crutch. A coping mechanism. A desperate way to keep moving forward when the burden of making a decision alone becomes unbearable.

We are their substitute for willpower. A mask worn not out of deception, but out of necessity.

But over time... it starts to rot. It starts to hurt.

Because we don’t always make good choices. We manipulate. We coerce. We push. We treat the world like a puzzle to be solved or a story to control, and Kris is left behind in the noise.

In the Weird Route, we see something crack. Kris doesn't just remove the soul like before. This time, they throw it in the trash. And kick the bin.

That isn’t rebellion. It’s rage. Frustration. Grief.

* “I let you choose for me… and this is what you did?”

And yet… They don’t destroy us. They don’t leave us behind.

They put the soul back in.

Why?

Because no matter how much they hate what we’ve done… Kris doesn’t know how to move without us.

That’s the tragedy.

The soul, us, isn’t a shackle. It’s a survival tool. A borrowed voice for someone who has lost faith in their own.

Maybe Kris hates the control, yes. But maybe what they truly hate… is the part of themselves that can’t function without it.

And in that, Kris becomes something painfully real. They are not a hero. Not a vessel. Not a chosen one.

They are a person quietly falling apart under the pressure to choose. So they let someone else do it.

And now, they’re waking up to the damage that silence caused.

They want to reclaim themselves. But they’re afraid that without us… there’s nothing left.

So they hesitate. Resist. Return.

That’s not weakness. That’s a portrait of someone learning to be real.

A story about what it means to borrow a soul when yours has forgotten how to speak.